Seek {Superhero AU} - Ending 1

3: I Do It My Way

NPOV

Track: Venus Fly Trap, MARINA

I have perfected the art of the home invasion. If the language of the universe is math, then I wrote the formula for breaking in—and it's only ten simple steps. On Tuesday, I find myself going through them again like a dance routine that I've practiced a thousand times.

STEP ONE: RESEARCH

I do my fucking research. Only the stupidest criminals break into a home without stalking it for weeks beforehand. If you ever plan to break into someone's home, I don't care how you do it, but you better buy a pair of binoculars and sit your ass down for hours each day to make sure you understand when the family will and will not be home. If you take even just one thing away from listening to me, let it be the mantra of a home invader: before you break, understand the plan; know the home like the back of your hand.

Okay, fine, that's not a real official home invader's mantra. I just made it up. But it's true, and I cringe with second-hand embarrassment every time a criminal gets caught over something they should have researched beforehand.

My target this time is a man named Rick Rowling who lives in the suburbs. He's a renowned author, so it might seem a little unconventional at first to break into this house in particular. But it only seems strange until you realize that Rick Rowling has a criminal history a mile long; I read through each charge and conviction like a southern woman memorizing Bible passages.

Rick Rowling lives about an hour away by car, but flying is much quicker. It's the cusp of evening, not night, so I won't have the cover of the sky yet, but that's alright—I'll have it by the time I need to escape, and that's more important anyway.

Rowling has a speech this week across the country; he's going to talk about what it's like to be an author. Good for him. He can think of this as an unexpected house sitter. (I did make sure he didn't hire a real house sitter—he was too concerned that a housesitter would find illegal contraband in his house, so he opted to leave the house vulnerable instead.)

His house is laid out with a pretty basic floorplan. The bedrooms are in the back, the kitchen and living room are in the front. Just one floor is his; the second floor belongs to a separate family who has reported his criminal activity on four different occasions. I won't need to break into the second floor because no kidnapper would willingly bring police to the premises.

STEP TWO: GET A MAGICAL SUIT

I wear my suit. It's black, and I wear a light pair of boots that help to quiet my footsteps and ensure I'm not slowed down by awkward footwear. I've considered using a heavy pair of boots instead for more kicking power, but the truth is that I generally try to avoid kicking when I can. If you kick low, you don't need all the painful power of a heavy boot; if you're kicking high, you've already made some serious mistakes because now it is going to be really easy for your opponent to grab your leg.

My mask covers my entire face—not just the tiny area around my eyes, as so many movies and TV shows like to depict. (I'm looking at you, Miraculous Ladybug.) I mean, what even is the point of a mask that only hides the one-inch radius around your eyes? I don't get it.

The suit itself doesn't provide much padding to protect me from attacks, but it does allow for swift movement. And it gives me the ability to control shadows, so I'll settle for no padding. The trade-off is fair.

Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of night gasping for air, dreaming of the night Bianca died, I desperately want to buy a bulletproof vest or something—but I never fight anyone who's shooting at me, and bulletproof vests are expensive. (I checked Amazon. Good quality vests are around six hundred dollars. I guess I'll just die, then.)