Author's Note: Sorry this is so long lol. I was planning for it to only be four minutes long. Clearly, that worked well. Sorry for the length! I hope you enjoy!
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mYB9WpgAItDmbKl9g5SkH?si=0ead28f846c648b9
"Northern rooftop, twelve o'clock," a voice sounded in his ear. "How soon can you get there?"
"Fifteen, maybe ten, seconds," he whispered. "Let's call it twelve, why don't we?"
"Get goin' then!"
A black hooded figure leapt over the high-rises of New York City, silhouetted from above by the September sun. Fingers began to point, a few people in the crowded streets noticing the shadowed body. Most of the city-dwellers, however, chose not to see the figure.
"Five seconds until the target is in prime position! Hurry, Cypher."
"Twister, if you don't stop yelling at me, I won't get a good shot. I'm on the rooftop, target is rounding the building."
"Three seconds."
"Aiming."
"Now!"
"I see him," Cypher hissed, pulling the trigger on his assault rifle.
A middle-aged man on the street below slapped the back of his neck, flinching as though bitten by one of the mosquitoes that plagued this part of the city.
"Got him!" Cypher cheered, letting out a quiet whoop.
"Great, yes, good job. I've got him on the GPS now. While I track him, go figure out what Señor Cyclone is doing. I'm getting high wind readings over here."
"The bridge?"
"Where else?" Twister snapped in his ear. "Now hurry up. My shift ends in an hour, and I'm not going overtime because you don't have a sense of urgency."
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Cypher grumbled, pulling his hood low over his face. "Ten minutes, tops."
Turning away from the edge of the rooftop, he sprinted across the flat expanse of the New York City skyline. A few buildings away, he jumped down a fire escape, the metal ringing beneath his booted feet.
The instant he hit the pavement, he ripped his cape off, stuffing it into the duffel bag he'd stashed behind a dumpster at the end of the alley. Reaching up to his face, he removed the metal mask that so effectively concealed his true identity. He placed it beside his cape, shedding the leather jacket and black cargo pants that completed his 'Hero Outfit', as the Agency liked to call it.
In replacement, he shrugged on a pair of khaki shorts and a button-up tee. He hated his civilian outfit, but his favored aesthetic had been turned into a tool for propaganda.
High-end storefronts boasted classy remakes of his outfit, signs screaming 'Dress like New York's favorite hero, the dark, mysterious, incredible, Cypher!'
The only joy he got from that was the knowledge that his clothing came straight from the dumpster behind the Goodwill on 14th Street.
He let his bleached hair fall into his eyes, half-covering the makeup the Agency had seen on him and increased to the power of ten.
Sure, he liked all the attention and whatnot, the action figures and the parades and the movie deals, but sometimes...
All the time...
He just wanted to go back three years, back to before the Agency discovered his gift, back to the band.
Man, he couldn't forget the looks on the boys' faces when he told them he had to quit...
He shook his head and slung the duffel over his shoulder.
No time for the boys anymore.
The trek to the bridge was long, but nothing he couldn't handle. The only real problem was the probing lenses of the news cameras. They were always on the lookout for a new story, always wanting more information on their beloved Cypher.
Luckily, no one cared about Enver Prior, high-school dropout, failed rock star. No one cared about the punk-turned-pretty boy, the now-nineteen-year-old who switched his life around once his band broke up and he couldn't run with the wrong crowd anymore.
Of course, no one knew that Enver and Cypher were one and the same, but then, that was the whole point of a secret identity, wasn't it?
Enver may have been thankful for breaking up the band, but Cypher hated it. That band had been his entire life.
So what if he and the boys celebrated a good performance turnout with a couple rounds of illegal booze and a couple hits of Farrel's vape? At least then he'd been happy.
Now, here he was, taking down super villains and breaking up parties much like the ones he'd played at four years ago.
Who even cared anymore, honestly.
At the base of the bridge, a massive throng came into view. Most of the people were holding signs, the majority of them reiterating the words on the hand-painted banner that hung on the bridge, placed there by the man in the gold and blue cape who was standing proudly on a cloud of his own creation.
The banner screamed 'END THE AGENCY. RETURN POWER TO THOSE WHO DESERVE IT.' Many of the signs had pictures of Señor Cyclone, followed by words like 'THIS IS WHAT A REAL HERO LOOKS LIKE'.
Enver let out a groan. How many of these protests was Cypher gonna have to break up?
He slipped into the crowd, wishing desperately to join them as Cypher, but he saw more than one sign of his Hero persona marked over with a big red 'X'.
Almost every person he passed, he slipped a small black business card into their pocket, hoping that maybe a few short words would help them understand. As he walked through the crowd, the line of police at the edge of the street came into view, riot shields and guns raised and ready.
A large platform stood at the edge of the river. Normally, big-label bands played there on cool Autumn evenings, but today, the rioters had claimed it.
Someone was giving a speech, some little old businessman who was pouring out a story of how the Agency had taken everything from him, even killing his wife in a raid gone wrong.
Enver sat down on the steps as the man's speech ended, and a few volunteer stage hands replaced the microphone stand with a drum set.
So they did have live entertainment at these things.
Three handsome young men strode onto the stage, their hair all bleached and cut in various ways. The boys were so covered in eyeliner and chains that Enver almost didn't recognize them.
"Guys?" he gasped.
"Cypher, who are you talking to?" Twister's voice in his ear made him jump.
"Nobody," he shot back. "I'm going radio silent, there's too many people."
"Cypher, don't you da-"
But he had already taken the communicator out of his ear and crushed it beneath his boot.
Across the city, in a gleaming white tower, a young tech sat back in her seat with a furious expression on her face.
But back at the amphitheatre, Enver was sitting on the steps, staring up at his band, his friends, as Natan stepped up to his microphone and started singing his song.
Farrel started slamming on the drums as Calix, always the band's heartthrob, strummed wildly on his bass while simultaneously removing his shirt with his teeth.
Enver rolled his eyes, but he felt a terrible stab of emotion as he watched them. He remembered Calix working for weeks trying to perfect that move, and now, here he was, performing it like he'd been born knowing just how to do it.
Although he tried to remain indifferent, he caught himself singing along quietly to the song he had written.
Soon enough, the song ended, and Natan started speaking.
His voice had deepened, but the now-twenty-year-old had hardly changed at all.
"How we doin' tonight, NYC?!"
His enthusiasm was met with cheers from the protesters.
"We like to call ourselves 'The Agency', a little nod to our law-enforcing friends. Y'know," he continued, voice quieting a bit as he looked to his band mates. "We used to have a fourth member. Enver Prior, as some of you may remember, was our lead vocalist. Dude had an amazing voice." His voice seemed to catch, and for a moment he almost looked sad. But then he was looking back out at the crowd, seeming to stare right at Enver. "Y'may be wonderin' where he is now, if the guy was so good. Well, let me tell you folks something!" Natan screamed, holding his arms out to the crowd. "He had a power! And we all know what the Agency does to people with powers!"
The crowd howled with rage as Natan finished his speech.
"They take 'em! They take our family, our friends, and turn them into Heroes, Heroes they never wanted to be!" Natan paused to catch his breath, and Enver looked back at Farrel and Calix.
The drummer was wiping his eyes and taking hits on his ever-present vape. Calix, the oldest of the group at twenty two, was sitting on the stage with a bottle in one hand and his head in the other, openly crying in front of the people. His eyeliner was running and his eyes were red.
Natan glanced behind him and saw Calix on the floor. He rushed over to him, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around the crying man.
Enver caught snatches of Natan's words, the microphone still clutched in the twenty-year-old's fist sending the sounds through the speakers on either side of the stage.
"Cal, I'm sor... Ver didn't want... Agency... pay for it."
Enver saw Calix nod, and the two of them stood up. Natan slung his guitar on and began strumming the intro to what Enver remembered as Natan's favorite song, "Eternal Saturday".
"HEY, NYC!" Calix screamed into his mic, his bass swung around to his back, forgotten. "TELL ME IF YOU'VE EVER LOST SOMEONE TO THE AGENCY!"
The crowd erupted in infuriated screams as the people relived the memories of their loved ones being taken and turned into Heroes.
"Who here knows 'Eternal Saturday'?" Calix asked, looking out at the crowd.
Enver stood up, raising his hand. Calix pointed at him.
"Blond kid in the prep school clothes, you know all the words?"
Enver nodded.
"Can you sing?"
Enver nodded.
Calix nodded his head towards Natan. "Come take the mic, bud."
Enver climbed the steps, keeping his head bowed. He walked up to Natan, hiding the makeup he knew would give either of his identities away. His heart was pounding. The instant he started singing, the game would be up. They'd demand to know if it was him or not, and then... well...
He had a plan, tentative as it was, that would get him out of the Agency for good.
Natan was still strumming the intro, and Calix, puffy-eyed and drunk, joined him with the bass. Farrel took another hit, waiting for the first few notes of the song.
Natan stepped away from the microphone stand, and Enver stepped up to it, taking a deep, shaky breath.
Calix nodded at Enver, and the final notes of the intro faded away.
"The week's been long and hard, and I don't really wanna go back home."
Natan hit a sour note and his gaze shot to Enver, though he kept playing.
"The only thing that keeps me goin', well, let's just say that it ain't you."
Calix stopped playing entirely, grabbing his bottle up from the stage.
"F*ck, you, Ver," he whispered, emptying the glass.
Farrel dropped his drumsticks and Natan slowly walked toward Enver on shaky legs. He stood in front of the microphone and Enver's singing faded away.
Natan stepped closer to Enver, the younger backing away in fear.
"Natan, I-"
Natan grabbed the microphone, throwing an arm around Enver's shoulder.
"Tomorrow ain't nothin' but an eternal Saturday.
"I've got the bruises and burns from another bad day.
"Another bad week."
Enver glanced up at the boy who, three years ago, had been one of his best friends. A feeling swelled in his chest that he hadn't felt in three years, and a smile split his lips. He put his hand on the microphone in Natan's grasp, pulling it towards his face.
"An eternal Saturday ain't ever nothin' unless I've got you here too.
"A best friend ain't ever a better friend than you.
"When tonight comes for me, you're gonna follow me,
"Follow me home, follow me, b-b-back back home.
"Back home in the shade of eternal Saturday."
The last notes of the chorus died away, and Natan dropped the microphone, wrapping his arms around the younger boy.
"Backstage, now," Natan whispered. He grabbed Enver's hand and dashed offstage as the crowd went wild. Farrel grabbed a reeling Calix and followed quickly behind them.
Behind the stage, out of the glaring lights and the gaze of the protesting people, Natan snapped.
"What the h*ll was that?!" he screamed, shoving Enver in the shoulder. "You leave for three years, then come back as Prep School Peter? What happened to the band? What happened to us?!"
"What happened to me?" Calix slurred, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Ver, I don't... I can't..."
"Cal, sit down," Natan urged. "You're drunk, stop it."
Calix collapsed onto a crate, his lip stuck out in a childish frown.
Enver heaved a sigh. "Nate, you know as well as anybody that I never wanted to become a Hero. I fought them, every step of the way." He stuck his hand into his duffel bag. "Do you want to know what they turned me into? Do you want to know why I dress like Prep School Peter?"
Natan shook his head. "Enver, that's not what I meant. I'm glad as anybody to see you again. It's been three years too long. We've all felt it. I've been in an' outta jail twice. Farrel's a... what are you? A vape addict?"
The blond curly-haired boy shrugged. "I think what they called me was 'a candidate for rehab.'"
Natan frowned as he moved on to Calix. "After you left, Ver... I don't think Calix has been sober since. You know..." His voice cracked, and he sat down hard. "You know how much you meant to him. To all of us." He put his head in his hand. "Ver, you idiot."
Enver's breath caught in his throat. "Guys, I'm sorry. Once the Agency comes for you..."
"I know, there's no gettin' outta it," Natan moaned. "But couldn't you have visited once in a while? Get back in the groove with the boys?"
Enver shook his head. "They had to completely rework my life. The Hero persona they chose for me was way too close to my life. I had to become a new person."
"Yeah, but we coulda... We coulda..."
"What could we have done?" Enver's hands curled into fists and his face burned with anger. "If you knew... Oh, God, Nate, if you knew..." Enver let out a frustrated scream. "Do you want to know why I didn't come back? Because I knew if you knew what I had become you'd never want to see me again."
Farrel's eyes narrowed. "What are you sayin', Ver?" he asked warily.
Enver dropped his duffel to the ground. "I'll show you," he whispered, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping his khakis to the floor. Digging through the duffel, he yanked on a pair of black cargo pants, followed by a graphic tee and a scuffed-up leather jacket.
Farrel's jaw dropped, and Natan buried his head in his hands as Enver pulled the tattered cape over his shoulders.
They knew exactly who he was before he even placed the metal mask on his face.
Calix was the first to speak. "Ver, you... You're Cypher?"
"Cal, I swear, this was the last thing I wanted to become," he pleaded. "I never wanted this for us."
Natan let out a guttural moan. "Enver, I... God, Enver, why didn't you tell us?"
"'Cause I knew you'd want me dead, just like the rest of this godforsaken city," Enver hissed.
Farrel took a long drag on his vape. "Ver, we don't hate you, you blasted idiot. We missed you, 's'all," he murmured, voice fading slowly.
Enver let out a sigh of relief. "I missed you guys too, y'know. I never wanted to become Cypher, and I never wanted to become 'Prep-School-Peter'," he whispered. "I've been jealous of you guys for a long time. I miss this." He gestured to the boys' outfits, to the black and the red, the chains and the spikes, the eyeliner and the combat boots. "I hate my life without you guys. My new apartment is waaay quieter than our old one was," he grinned.
Natan shook his head. "Ver, we need you back in the band. We've been on a downward spiral since you left."
"But all those people out there-"
Natan shrugged. "Cult following. Everyone who knew us knew you were the real reason we almost hit it big."
Enver closed his eyes. "You guys, I'd kill to get back in, but there ain't no way I can just leave the Agency."
"Why not?" Calix asked, standing up and stumbling over to Cypher. "You left this Agency three years ago, why not leave the other one just the same way?"
***
Cypher I sprinted along the dark, abandoned alleyways that led to the back-door entrance of the illustrious Agency. He couldn't hear a thing besides Calix's heavy, drunk footsteps and his own shaky breaths.
"Okay, guys, this is it," he whispered, gesturing towards a gleaming white door set into an equally white wall. "Once we get in, there ain't no turnin' back, you understand?"
Natan and Farrel nodded, Calix giving him a loopy smile.
"Alright," he sighed, sliding his key card across the electronic reader beside the door. There was an ominous click, and the door swung silently open.
"Welcome, Cypher," a pleasant automated voice chirped. Cypher slipped into the dimly lit hallway, holding the door open as Natan, Calix, and Farrel followed closely behind him.
"This is gonna be fun," Calix slurred. Cypher grinned.
"Alright, Cal, let's just get this over with."
The four of them snuck through the halls on the bottom-most floor of the World Protection Agency. It was dark and quiet, and Enver knew that most of the Heroes were just getting off their shifts, coming back to HQ to clock out.
His Agency-issued watch buzzed and lit up, faintly illuminating the shadowy hall.
"Cypher, report to command. Cyclone and a mob of rioters are attacking the building."
"Roger," he responded to the disembodied voice. "Be there in a minute."
Removing the watch, he tossed it down the hallway behind them.
"Okay, guys, we've got fifteen minutes to plant it and get out. If this thing works like Techno-Brain said it would, the explosion will be contained inside the building, not harming any of the protesters, and, most importantly, us," he added with a wry smile.
"Natan, Farrel, you two plant the device in the Central Core. That'll completely destroy all their tech, so they won't be able to access any of their data.
"Cal, you and I are gonna be the distraction."
Calix grinned. "I'm great at bein' distracting!"
"He says with no shirt on," Natan teased.
Cypher grinned. God, how he'd missed these idiots.
"Let's get goin' then!"
Natan and Farrel dashed off down the hallway towards the Central Core. Cypher grabbed Calix's hand and dragged him down a side corridor, towards a bank of elevators.
"So, Envy," Calix hiccuped, "what, exactly, is your power? When ya left, you didn't give us much about why. Why'd the Agency want ya?"
Cypher pressed the 'up' button on the panel outside the elevators. "Sharpshooting was one of the smaller powers, along with a bit of super strength."
Calix nodded. "Classics," he mused.
Cypher sighed. "There were two big ones that really caught their attention. Omnilingualism and machine interfacing."
"The who 'n' the what now?" Calix giggled. "You're talkin' crazy, man."
"I can speak any language and talk to computers," Cypher said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Coooool."
The elevator dinged and the metal doors slid open silently. The two boys hurried in, Cypher jabbing the button for the seventy-fifth floor. He closed his eyes, and a glowing red grid spread out before him. This was the Agency's entire network, all laid out before him. He searched through the data boxes until he found the network that controlled the elevators. Quickly, he locked their elevator out of the network, and they began to ascend, unhindered by any other unwanted Agency employees trying to reach a higher floor.
Calix slumped against one of the mirrored walls, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. His chains clanked against the metal floor, and his eyeliner was streaked down his cheeks. He pulled a flask out of one of his pockets, unscrewing the lid and taking a long drink.
"Envy..." he mumbled, leaning his head against the wall. "Why'd you hafta leave?"
Cypher sat down next to the inebriated boy. "'Cause the Agency doesn't take no for an answer."
"Yeah, but..." The twenty-two-year-old buried his head in his hands. "Envy, we were boys. We were the band. Ver, we were the sh*t back then. We had a movie deal, almost!"
Cypher cast a confused glance at Calix. "What?"
Calix picked his head up. "Natan never told you?"
Cypher shook his head.
"Huh," Calix grunted. "That checks out. He got the offer, but turned them down 'cause he thought it would be the end of us. But then you left and it didn't matter anyways."
Cypher rubbed his temple. "Natan did everything he could to keep us together, and I went and ruined it all."
Calix clumsily wrapped his arms around Enver. "Nah. It ain't your fault. But hey!" he exclaimed. "Once we make the Agency blow up, you can come back to the band!"
Cypher smiled as the elevator ground to a halt. "Yeah. The band." Shaking off the feeling of dread that was growing in his bones, he jumped up, pulling Calix up behind him. "C'mon. Let's go be a distraction."
***
"Natan, are you sure this is the Central Core?"
Natan stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Farrel. "Farrel, look around." He gestured to the massive white monoliths pulsing with red light. The gigantic column in the center of the room seemed to go up forever. "This looks like a core to me, you moron."
Farrel nodded as he gazed around. "Fair point." Natan rolled his eyes.
"Let's just plant the thing and get the h*ll out of here, alright?"
Farrel shrugged, and the two strode over the central column. Natan pulled a black box from his pocket. Peeling the protective paper off of the double-sided tape, he attached the box to the core. He thumbed the red button on the side of the contraption, and a computerized countdown started.
"Ten minutes until detonation."
Satisfied, Natan and Farrel darted out of the Central Core, heading for the door they had entered through. They turned a corner, laughing about their success in blowing up the Agency, and ran straight into a Spandex-clad Hero.
"Halt, intruders!" the burly man yelled. "You are under arrest!" Natan and Farrel shot each other terrified glances, but nevertheless raised their hands in surrender.
You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you-"
"So only say my name, it will be held against you," Farrel muttered under his breath. Natan fought the urge to snort.
The Hero frowned. "We're going up to Council HQ. We've got a disturbance up there that requires my assistance. Come," he said, shoving them into an elevator. He jabbed at the button for the seventy-fifth floor, and they began to shoot upward.
As the doors slid open, a scene of destruction unfolded in front of them. Cypher was standing in the center of the room, the electronic machine guns mounted on the walls aiming where he willed. Calix was leaping over desks, drawing fire from the hundreds of Heroes in the room.
Taking advantage of their captor's surprise, Natan and Farrel darted into the fray.
"Cal!" Natan called. "We got six minutes to get out. Someone get Cypher!"
Farrel dashed over to the masked boy, grabbing his arm. Cypher gasped, his eyes flying open. Blood poured out of his nose.
"Ver, are you okay?" Farrel yelled over the din.
"We need to go!" Cypher responded. "You need to get the protesters away from the building. This entire thing is gonna go up!"
Farrel's eyes widened. "What did you do?"
"Nothing! I tapped into the security systems, but the whole thing is protected by insane fail-safes. Once I tried to access the Hero database, the self-destruct sequence initialized. We need to go!"
Farrel nodded. He dashed over to the window, flinging it open. He looked down at the dizzying drop, trying to spot the blue-and-gold clad Señor Cyclone in the throng. Seeing the flash of his cape, he yelled down to the so-called 'SuperVillain'.
"Yo, weather boy! We need a hand!"
Señor Cyclone's head whipped around, and he shot up, suspended by a cloud.
"Farrel, where are the others?" he called back. Farrel glanced back into the room. Natan was dodging bullets and whipping Heroes with one of his chains. Calix, nearly unconscious in his drunken haze, was slumped against the back of Cypher's legs.
Cypher himself was standing fearlessly in the center of the room, screaming out threats to the Heroes in the room.
Farrel leaned out again. "They're still fighting, but the device is about to blow!"
Cyclone shouted down to the people below him.
"Everyone! Return home! It is no longer safe for you here!"
The people listened, much to Farrel's surprise. That was the problem, he supposed, with the current leadership force. The people didn't listen. "Give them someone they'll listen to, and they'll follow him anywhere," he whispered, voice laced with sudden distrust.
As the street below them cleared, Farrel felt an almost undetectable rumble beneath his feet.
"Woah-kay, time to go!" He ducked behind a desk, making his way towards Cypher. Natan vaulted over the same desk and pressed himself behind it.
"Hey, Nate!"
"Hi, Farrel!" The two boys grinned. "Is Cyclone ready for us?"
Farrel shook his head. "I don't trust him. Grab Cal, I'll get Ver. We gotta go down the stairs and get the h*ll out of here."
Natan jumped over the desk, dashing towards the drunkard behind the black-clad Hero. Farrel followed swiftly behind, tackling Cypher to the ground.
"Time to go, bud," he whispered. Cypher glanced towards the window. "Not that way," Farrel hissed. "I don't trust Cyclone. Same way we came in, avoid the guy. Get out of the city, make a name for ourselves somewhere else, okay?"
Cypher nodded, and the two made a dash for the stairs, where Natan was slinging Calix over his shoulder.
"Come on, we gotta go!" he screamed, diving into the stairwell. Cypher and Farrel follwed him closely, jumping from landing to landing, flying down flights of stairs. All four boys reached the ground floor in under a minute, slamming out of the back door and barreling through the alley.
Calix was laughing, stumbling behind the other three as fast as he could.
"Guys," he slurred, "we did it!"
The Agency building rumbled, chunks of plaster falling into the alley behind them.
"We did, Cal, but we gotta get outta here quick!" Natan urged. "We just need to grab our gear from the stage, then we catch the first plane outta NYC."
The boys' footsteps pounded on the concrete as they raced back towards the bridge. As they reached the stage, they paused to look back at the gleaming white tower.
The face of the building was covered in cracks, and dust was flooding out of the streets.
As they watched, the building fell, a deafening crash screaming across New York City.
Cypher turned away. He felt no grief, no remorse. Just a cold sense of revenge.
Natan and Farrel began packing up their gear, carefully packaging up the drum set, the bass, the guitar. As Farrel threw the boxes into the bed of a nearby pickup truck, Natan gently placed an almost-unconscious Calix in the back seat. After securing the oldest boy's seat belt, Natan ducked under the steering column, prying away the paneling to reveal the wiring inside. Finding the two red wires he needed, he stripped them and crossed them. Stripping the brown wire, he touched it to the red wires, and the truck rumbled to life.
Enver slid into the back seat with Calix, and Farrel claimed the passenger seat. Natan sat up in the driver's seat and floored the gas, sending the truck lurching through the darkened streets.
"Next stop, JFK airport. And then," Natan continued, grinning at Enver in the rearview mirror, "we take The Agency to Vegas!"
Enver and Farrel cheered, and Calix let out a slurred whoop.
"We goin' to Vegas, y'all," he hiccuped. Enver smiled at him.
"Go to sleep, you idiot."
Calix shrugged, leaning his head on Enver's shoulder, a content smile playing across his lips.
"We missed ya, bud."
***
An hour later, the four were sitting in the terminal, waiting for their flight. Calix was passed out, stretched out on a row of seats, his head in Enver's lap. Enver was scribbling lyrics and noted on a pad of paper, and Natan and Farrel were discussing where they should first play.
"Flight 29 to Las Vegas, now boarding," a disembodied voice said over the loudspeaker.
Enver gently jogged his knee, and Calix opened his eyes with a groan.
"We boardin' yet, Envy?"
"Yup," Enver responded cheerily. "Vegas, here we come!"
The four boys got to their feet and made their way through the boarding bridge, finding their seats in coach.
Calix pulled Enver's leather jacket tighter his torso. He'd left his shirt on the stage, along with Enver's loathed cape, and Natan hadn't thought security would let them through if Calix tried to get in shirtless. He tried not to stumble as he made his way down the aisle, but he was drunk, and his legs weren't cooperating. Enver guided him to their seats, and Calix dropped heavily into the window seat, Enver sitting next to him. Farrel claimed the aisle, and Natan sat in the row across.
A few minutes later, the plane was taxiing down the runway. Enver glanced at Calix, whose head had fallen against his shoulder once more, and saw that he had once more dropped into sleep.
Enver no longer tried to suppress his smile, a feeling of freedom slowly working its way through his body. He turned to Farrel and Natan, the grins on their lips rivaling his own.
As the plane took off, the three boys took each other's hands, and Enver wrapped his arm around Calix's shoulders.
"We're goin' to Vegas," Enver whispered. Farrel let out a whoop, pulling Enver into a massive hug.
"Ver, you moron, I'm so glad you're back."
Several people in the seats around them turned to look at them, annoyance on their features at the noise the boys were making, but the three of them didn't even notice. They were far too happy at finally reuniting to be bothered with such paltry things as accidentally annoying airplane passengers.
A few hours into the flight, Natan had stretched out in his empty row, and Enver and Calix were leaning into each other, both deep in slumber.
Farrel was awake, however. He couldn't stop looking around him at the three boys. Every time he saw them, so peaceful in sleep, he couldn't help but grin.
These were the boys he remembered.
These were his boys.
He had just leaned his head back, ready for some rest himself, when the 'fasten seat belt' sign flashed on. Stewardesses rushed to the back of the plane, panic evident on their faces.
Farrel reached out and grabbed one of them by the arm.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but can you tell me what's happening?"
Her eyes were filled with fear, but she forced a smile. "Oh, sir, I'm afraid it's not good news. Someone has just threatened to blow up the plane."
Farrel paled, but he didn't feel any surprise. "Do you know who?"
"A man who calls himself 'Señor Cyclone'."
Farrel squeezed his eyes shut. "What's the plan, right now?"
The stewardess glanced towards the cockpit. "The pilot is obtaining permission for an emergency landing in Austin, and-"
"Ladies and gentlemen, please, fasten your seat belts and return your tray tables to their upright and locked positions. Stewardesses, please take your seats. We have encountered some rather rough turbulence."
The stewardess hurried away, and Farrel fumbled with his seat belt, finally getting it unbuckled. He dove across the aisle, shaking Natan awake.
"What, what happened?" Natan asked groggily.
"It's Cyclone," Farrel whispered, face pale and drawn. "He's gonna take down the plane."
"D*mnit!" Natan yelled, making Farrel jump. He pushed the palms of his hands against his eyes. "We were so close," he murmured, voice raw.
"I'm gonna wake up Cal and Ver," Farrel muttered. "Put your seat belt on. We may survive this yet."
Natan grappled with the seat belt as Farrel slid back into his own chair. He placed a hand on Enver's shoulder, shaking him gently.
"Ver, you gotta wake up!" he hissed in his ear. Enver awoke with a start.
"Farrel, what's going on?"
"Wake up Cal, Cyclone's gonna take down the plane."
Enver's face whitened, but he nudged Calix awake.
"What's goin' on, Envy?" he mumbled. "What's wrong?"
"Cyclone is taking down the plane," Enver responded.
Farrel nodded. "The pilot's gonna attempt an emergency landing, but I don't think it's gonna work."
"Put your seat belts on," Natan called from across the aisle. Enver buckled his, then reached over and fastened Calix's for him.
"Hold on, you guys, I'm gonna try something," Enver exclaimed. He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching a hand out for something the other boys couldn't see.
The glowing grid was spread before him again, this time in a soothing blue. The airplane's electronic systems pulsed around him, alive and thrumming with activity. He felt around the grid, searching for the steering controls.
Finding them, he banked the airplane hard to the right, fighting to keep the aircraft steady in the ferocious wind. Accessing the GPS systems, he aimed the plane for the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. Warnings and alarms screamed in his head, and he fought to ignore them. The engines were overheating, the cabin pressure was dropping dangerously low, the turbulence was impossibly rough.
The plane shuddered, and Natan's voice filtered through.
"One of the engines just got struck by lightning!"
Cyclone, Enver realized. He felt the yolk jerk out of his control, the plane falling into a downward spiral.
He opened his eyes with a gasp. He felt blood trickling from his nose, someone was pushing a napkin up to his nose, attempting to staunch the flow. His vision cleared, and he saw Calix's face, twisted with concern, his hand pushed against Enver's nose.
"Envy, you're bleeding!"
Enver grabbed Calix's wrist, clutching it tightly.
"Cal..."
Realization dawned on Calix's face. "We're goin' down," he whispered in horror.
Enver nodded, a sob escaping his lips. "I'm so sorry."
Calix wrapped his arms around Enver. "It's not your fault, Envy." Enver clutched at Calix's jacket, burying his face in the leather.
"Cal, if I had just... I coulda..."
Farrel placed his hand on Enver's shoulder. "Ver, there's nothing more you coulda done."
Enver swallowed another sob.
The plane rattled around the boys as Natan yanked his seat belt off, lunging across the aisle, throwing his arms around the other three boys.
"Enver, no matter what happens, we're all just happy you came back," Natan choked out.
Calix let out a whimper, and Natan tugged the three boys closer.
"An eternal Saturday ain't ever nothin' unless I've got you here too," he whispered as the metal screeched and groaned around them.
Enver swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled up at Natan.
The four boys gently placed their foreheads together, softly singing their favorite song.
As a gust of cold air hit the plane passengers, the last thing anyone heard were four strong, brave voices singing as the plane collapsed in midair.
"A best friend ain't ever a better friend than you.
"When tonight comes for me, you're gonna follow me,
"Follow me home, follow me, b-b-back back home.
"Back home in the shade of eternal Saturday."
ns 18.68.41.179da2
