[WP] You have a voice in your head, but it’s a helpful one who only talks to you when you are sick or injured, telling you what’s ailing you. It’s never been wrong and one time it even saved you from a brain tumor. Then one day, unprompted, the voice says “Don’t freak out, everything is fine.”

In the middle of a crowd at the market, a man slows his walk to a halt and proceeds to argue with himself. “What? What do you mean don’t freak out?

The voice, calm and monotonous, responds as soon as he stops walking. “Keep walking.”

He instinctively starts walking again, looking around nervously. “What’s wrong?”

The voice speaks again. “Stop looking around. You are normal. You do not look out of place.”

The man shivers despite the warm summer sun and continues forward. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Knowledge would lead to panic, panic would lead to death.” The man swallows nervously, picking up the pace. Immediately, the voice berates him. “Keep calm, walk slow.”

He forces himself to slow his gait and he takes a shaky breath. He reaches into his breast pocket and lights a cigarette to calm himself down. He breathes in and out, a puff of black smoke annoying the older woman passing by him. “So I have to feel like nothing’s wrong?”

The voice is silent.

“Great, I’ll just finally buy some leeks and then head home…” He stops by the market stand and searches for the freshest produce. He pays for two bundles and places them in his basket before the voice screams in his mind.


Immediately, he bolts through the crowd as the market stands he was just at explodes in a ball of fire. The crowd screams and the man can’t help but to thank the Four that he became a Super that had an early warning system. He’d be dead a dozen times over if it weren’t for that, even more so if he counted when he was fighting a Supervillain. Which now that he thinks about it…

He looks up to the rooftops and sees a dark, lean form staring down at the crowd. It wears tight fitting black body armor, a porcelain comedy mask with a blue ‘X’ painted over it, and wields a large, blue sickle. Across a belt on their chest are four blue daggers, and in their offhand is a fifth. The man grimaces at the sight. Sickle. Now I know why I was on alert.

The voice speaks quickly. “Deflect!”

The figure launches the dagger at the man and he grabs the steel and wooden staff from his hip, raising it into the air. He clicks a button on the bottom of it, and it extends from half a meter to two meters long, knocking the dagger onto the floor.


He knocks it with his staff into the nearby ally and it explodes. He grits his teeth up at the figure as the people around him breath a sigh of relief. “It’s Monk! He’ll save us!”

Monk cracks his neck and steps forward. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore.” He presses down on the cufflink on his dark brown trench coat, and its color glows into a bright yellow as he dons a yellow half-mask that covers the lower half of his face. He puts on a set of green goggles and points the staff at Sickle. “Come on down here and face me like a man!”

Sickle merely stands up and turns around, leaving the rooftop they were situated on. Monk shakes his head, setting down his basket next to a stand. He looks at the vendor. “Mind watching this for me?” The woman behind it nods wordlessly. He gives her a wink and a thumbs up. “Thanks, love.”

Monk runs towards where Sickle ran off from, shrinking his staff down to half a meter, before reaching it into the air and extending it to three meters long and pole vaulting most of the way up the building. Using the superior strength granted to all Supers, he quickly makes his way to the roof and scans the buildings. He reaches into his belt and takes out a small walkie talkie. He activates it, scanning the rooftops as he speaks.

“Monk calling Anchester, got a hot spot. Supervillain Sickle spotted at Farside Market by the-” He gets cut off by a voice in his head.


He immediately falls prone, a dagger shooting through the air right where his head was. He looks to where the dagger came from, and he sees Sickle climbing over the side of the roof as an explosion rocks the roof he’s on. Monk stands up, speaking into the walkie-talkie. “Monk calling Anchester, this is a Tier 1 crime in progress. I repeat, a Tier 1 crime. Backup requested. Over.”

He clips the walkie-talkie on his belt and readies his meter long staff at Sickle. The figure tilts their head to the side, slowly approaching. They drag their sickle along the roof, taking their time in their approach. Monk calls out to the figure as he measures their approach. “Didn’t take the Blood of Supers to be so bold all of a sudden. What, they want to throw their only Super into jail just like that? Well, I’m happy to say that we have quite a few vacancies at-” The voice in his head interrupts him once more.


Sickle dashes at Monk, giving a wide slash with their sickle. He parries it, but he immediately hears the voice in his mind again.

“Duck left!”

He dodges a dagger stab but he can’t even-

“Back up!”

He steps backwards and-


He can’t even- “Dodge!” He- “Parry! Back! Left! Right!”

Monk’s head hurts; he’s never fought someone this fast before. The commands blur together and soon he can’t tell if he’s supposed to strike or block or parry or- He lets out a strangled cry as Sickle drives a spike into his chest and lightning courses through his body. He falls to the floor unconscious as Sickle looks over him, staring down at the spike. It’s blood red, nothing like what Sickle normally uses, but it’s what the Blood of Supers developed. The figure hoists Monk over their shoulder, marvelling at how light he is. Normally Supers are far heavier than normal people, but if this spike does what the Blood of Supers said it should, then Monk’s radiation should be temporarily stored in it for now. Sickle turns around and hurries away, leaving behind a wooden stick and a walkie-talkie.

The walkie-talkie chatters to life. “Monk, hang on. Blinkman is on his way soon. Just hang in there!”

No one responds.

(Criticism is both welcome and appreciated, I hope you enjoyed reading)