Bear in Sheep's Clothing | Book #1

seven: Mayor Brash

Superhero Brash McCockay, aka The Mayor, loved the perks of working as the head of the world-renowned Heroic League. TV appearances, hindering evil schemes, stopping explosions—he had everything a hero could dream of. But, alas, not a single latte machine.

"Celena!" he called.

Brash was sitting at a crammed desk covered by the message chips that composed his correspondence of the past two years. He was a vision of the bucolic old man trapped far away from his roots and whose soul was linked to his offspring alone. His shirt, of a thin, cheap linen, was wrinkled and stained, his trousers were old and shabby, and his disheveled white hair fell over his light eyes.

No, his hair was not white. It was gris.

He was always given to euphemisms. Sort of.

Brash scratched his beard, taking a deep breath. It was near the end of his shift, and the streetlights invaded the room in thin stripes of yellow clipped by the window blinds. Along with the lights outside, the bluish luminescence of an eighty-gallon aquarium helped him read the scribbled notes on his notepad. With a huff, he batted the notepad on the table, hitting a pile of chips in the process. When Brash tried to collect them, he bumped on a second and scrambled both piles on his lap.

"Damn it!"

He paused and stared at his desk. Furrowing his brow, he shoved the thousands of message chips to the floor, creating a silver-and-blue cascade of chips over the other side of the table. He only stopped when he could see the old mahogany tabletop again.

"So much garbage." He shouted again, "Celena!"

Brash couldn't understand why some people insisted on sending him physical copies of his mail. He had always thought technology would solve the waste of natural resources and deforestation—but no. Since that stupid Helgach guy had come up with his plastipaper or whatever that crap was called, Mother Nature once again found herself in the middle of baboons who knew nothing about the protection of the Environment.

Because maybe, just maybe, they could let some of the trees be used for what they were designed for: purifying air. But they wouldn't understand... few people really understood that nowadays. He missed his druids...

It was a pity he had to neutralize most of them.

Brash shook his head. "Celena!" he called again, this time stretching that last A until his office door opened.

"Yes, Mayor?" she said, panting. The woman swallowed the last of her coffee and threw her disposable cup away. While she was at it, she gave the second coffee to the old man and switched the office lights on.

"Thank you." Eyes shut, Brash groped to find his cup lid. He sniffed the jet-black liquid inside and grimaced. "Ugh, smells like sewage. Why can't we have a latte machine, again?"

Celena clasped her hands behind her back. "Because you refuse to buy yet another Invidia low-quality product that will stop working after three darn months of use. Your words, not mine... and for the record, I quite like the taste of our soy coffee."

Brash massaged his chin, a bitter expression on his face.

Celena relaxed. "How's your wound, Pops? Doctor Brinn said you'd be fully recovered in a few weeks, but—"

"Nah." The man brushed the thought away. "I'm fine, cub." He raised his sleeves, showing his burns were almost gone. "Your Pops' as good as new." Celena smiled and opened her lips to answer, but Brash had zero patience for his daughter today. "Let's review my tasks for tomorrow." He took a swig of his coffee and grimaced.