Unheroic Life of a Certain Cape-Chapter 86 Purple Friend?

Chapter 8
6
Purple Friend?
Nicole crossed the street with measured steps, black heels clicking on the cracked pavement as she made her way to the building opposite Highmark Cemetery. The sign above it read, Grace & Serenity Funerals, its gilt letters dulled by smog. She didn’t even glance my way.
I stayed crouched under the skeletal shadow of a delivery truck as it rumbled past. The growl of my bike beneath me reminded me where I was. My helm was secured in my head, and so was my empathic camouflage over myself, ensuring I was invisible in plain sight.
Onyx was doubled over with laughter behind me. “Ha ha ha ha ha~! The irony! She’s working for funeral services… or maybe she’s there to buy a casket?”
Silver crossed her arms, lips pursed. “That’s mean, Onyx.”
Onyx straightened, still grinning, and leaned an elbow on my shoulder. “So, what’s the plan? We chloroform her ass and take her with us?”
Silver shot her a sharp look. “We are not kidnapping anyone, Onyx. We’re just curious, isn’t that right, Nick?”
I didn’t answer at first, just watching Nicole disappear through the glass doors. Curiosity tugged at me. It was heavy and unwelcome. What kind of life had she carved out since I’d disappeared from hers? Did she ever manage to be normal again? Did she miss me?
But curiosity wasn’t enough to risk ruining whatever she had now.
Silver’s voice grew softer. “Nick?”
“It’s fine, Silver…” I said at last, my tone flat. “I’m just curious. She called me Nick, even with me wearing a helm and all. It explains why she’s there, though, if she’s working for funeral services.”
Onyx flicked her hair back, unimpressed. “It honestly doesn’t explain anything, unless you get it from her mouth or you thoroughly make a background check on her.”
Silver’s eyes softened, her voice a shade more thoughtful. “As for her calling you Nick, it’s highly likely just a coincidence… She’s the original owner of your empathy, and she also has telepathic ratings, something I’m certain she retained even with Onyx wiping her memory of… us.”
Onyx gave a low hum, thoughtful for once. “It’s possible. Psychic memory bleed-through is a thing.”
I stared at the funeral home sign again, fingers tightening on my handlebars.
Silver leaned close, brushing her phantom fingers against my cheek. “Don’t be paranoid, Nick.”
Onyx followed, her smirk softening into something like a smile. “Yeah… no need to spin yourself into knots over ghosts of the past. We’ve got you.”
I was about to leave, engine half-turned in my thoughts, when my empathic threads jolted like a plucked string. A ripple bled into my perception, subtle but deliberate. My instincts screamed. I immediately coiled my empathy back in, masking it, and shielding it behind the folds of camouflage I’d honed through years of paranoia. Whoever had brushed the air wasn’t just another curious telepath or empath… This was a sweep.
Silver's voice slid sharply into my ear. “Someone’s sweeping the area.”
Onyx followed, her tone clipped with concern. “Is it Vanguard? Or maybe SRC?”
Vanguard. The thought soured my stomach. I regretted not keeping up with their roster since half their golden team had been slaughtered. I didn’t even know which faces would be wearing their flags now.
“Keep looking,” I told my girlfriends, my fragments, and my proof of insanity. Imaginary or not, they were sharper than most operatives or capes I’d ever seen.
I slipped my helm free, empathic camo still wrapping me like smoke, and jogged casually toward a small hotdog stand by the curb as I left my bike by the sidewalk.
Onyx clicked her tongue. “Hot dogs again?”
I ignored her, scanning the street angles, mapping blind spots against security cameras. I stopped where I was certain the CCTV cones overlapped and wouldn’t catch my face.
“Hey,” I called, raising my voice to the vendor. “I’ll give you a thousand marks if you bring your hotdog stand over here.”
The man blinked at me. “What the fuck? Can't you just walk—” He stopped when he saw the bill between my fingers. “Never mind…”
He wheeled the cart with a squeal of rusted wheels, parking it where I wanted. I pressed the money into his hand, more than he’d make in weeks, and shoved a few more bills after. “A hot dog, please.”
His eyes widened, but he kept quiet.
Silver murmured, more to herself than to me, “Smart. You need to be inconspicuous, so whoever’s psychic presence this is won’t immediately hone in on you.”
Onyx groaned. “Less yapping, more looking.”
I took the hot dog, bit into it, and let my threads unravel again. This time, more carefully, with no flare, no signal, just soft strands weaving outward like whispers on the wind.
The threads stretched, danced, spiraled into a web spanning five hundred meters. And there, like a flame in the dark, was the signature. My threads recoiled around it, honing with precision.
A dapper black man stood beneath the shadow of a lamppost. Purple suit, pressed sharp as glass. A tophat perched perfectly atop his head. A monocle gleamed against his eye. He didn’t pretend not to see me.
He was staring straight at me.
Onyx’s voice sounded sharp and delighted. “Oooh… He can see through your empathy, Nick. Assume he got a good look at your face!”
Silver’s tone was flat and immediate. “I hate him already. Kill him, Nick.”
Her hostility made sense. Black skin, psychic signature, and a monopoly-of-trouble vibes. Monarchy, or someone who liked the Monarchy’s toys. Those people collected ‘minds’ like trinkets. I understood why she was hot to torch him on sight.
“Calm down, Silver,” I said out loud, keeping my voice low so only they’d hear. “We’re here for a short visit. No need to escalate. We should just go.”
The vendor moved closer, voice suddenly small and urgent. “I just want to talk.”
I frowned. I glanced back to where the purple-suited man had been. The lamppost was empty. He was gone.
Onyx pouted. “I feel so lame. Someone just bested us at hide-and-seek: psychic edition.”
The vendor’s voice dropped further, brittle as dried paper. “There’s a café next block. Let’s talk. Refuse, and this man dies. Believe me, you don’t want that. You’d hate the heroes’ attention a great deal, especially after what you did. Isn’t that right, Monster of Markend?”
Monster of Markend. The city’s pet name for me. It fit like a splinter.
“We are talking now, aren’t we?” I said. “What do you want?”
He blinked, his eyes assessing me. “Oh, that’s right. But I prefer talking face-to-face. Bit of heart-to-heart, you know? Hotdog?” He shoved one toward me, like it was a peace offering.
I took it, casual as breathing, and bit into my second hot dog. Silver’s voice skittered, sharp. “Hey, Nick, what if it’s poisoned?”
Onyx purred. “Then we get to kill the other guy with no remorse… If it isn’t poisoned, then the other guy must really just want to talk.”
“Or I’m just hungry,” I said, chewing slowly. The hot dog was warm and dumb and exactly what I needed. I guessed five hot dogs for lunch hadn’t been enough. “What do you think?
The vendor didn’t flinch when I noticed the subtle tremor on his pulse; he was under a compulsion crisp as ice. My empathic threads brushed the edges of it with forced obedience, and fear layered over fear. Whoever had put that fold into him had done it clean: a leash tied to a distant hand. It was the closest thing I had seen to stereotypical mind control, unlike Crow’s parasitic hypnosis or Royal’s words of compulsion.
A small, private thought settled into me: our purple friend couldn’t see Onyx and Silver. The petals of my hallucinations didn’t register on his sweep. That meant his telepathy shouldn’t be much of a threat to me if he could not see the ghosts my empathy birthed, meaning I had a decent advantage over any mind control he tried at me. It was a small mercy, after everything.
The vendor’s voice was a whisper when he spoke again. “Hurry now, because I’d hate to kill this poor vendor in front of you—” He stalled, eyes cloudy like a man trying to find a name behind a locked door as I drove my empathic powers on the vendor’s skull.
“You talk big for someone hiding behind a meat puppet. Why don’t you crawl out and face me?”
The vendor’s eyes twitched. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
I leaned closer, my voice sharp. “Try pushing me again, and I’ll tear your heart from your chest. You won’t like what I do when I’m angry.”
I sent my empathy down into the man further, stirring what was buried: the core personality. Fear, confusion, and desperation wormed into me. The telepath’s grip snapped, threads falling loose. The vendor staggered, blinking.
“W-what just—?” he muttered.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” I shoved a wad of marks into his hand. “For the dogs. And for keeping your mouth shut.”
He nodded, dazed, clutching the money. I slid my helm back on, mounted the Silverside, and rode toward the café. I revved the Silverside’s engine low as the city’s traffic hissed past me like static. The hot dog taste still clung to my mouth.
Onyx leaned over my shoulder. “What’s the plan?”
“Of course, we kill him,” Silver said from the pillion, her voice cold and direct. “Bury him six feet under the ground.”
“No,” I murmured, keeping my eyes ahead. “We leave.”
Onyx clicked her tongue. “I suggest you don’t. He’s already seen the bike, the helm, and your very stereotypical biker aesthetic. It won’t take a genius to put two and two together. Your cover as the Courier will crack, and the whispers will turn into a name… Eclipse, the Monster of Markend, Nicholas Caldwell. Oh my god, Silver was right. We should kill him.”
Silver exhaled, her tone resigned. “I’d hate to have your support, but I think you should kill him. Like, in most brutal ways imaginable.”
My fingers tightened on the throttle. “I’ve decided,” I said under my breath. “I’m killing him. But first… I’ll hear what he has to say.”
Silver’s glare burned in the corner of my vision. “I don’t think that’s wise. He might string you along, like Royal, like Crow.”
Onyx was already smiling, fangs glinting in my mind’s eye. “But now, he’s dealing with all three of us. We can manage. Besides, what if there’s another party involved? We need information, Nick. You’re just one man. You can’t afford to be blind. So yes, I agree with your decision to hear him out, but you have to keep your guard up.”
“I know it’s important,” Silver whispered, “but I’d hate it if Nick gets… you know…”
“It won’t happen again.” My voice was steel now. “I’ve been diligent in practicing my mental defenses. More than that, I have the two of you. I’m confident I won’t be influenced easily. I’ll talk to him, not out of trust, but to learn his motives and how much he knows. Markend’s already dangerous for me, but Nicole lives here. The longer I stay, the more I risk her life. I have to be sure she’s safe. And to do that, I need to understand our psychic friend.”
The Silverside purred to a stop just outside the café. Through the wide glass window, the dapper man in purple sat like an exclamation mark in an otherwise mundane scene. Top hat tilted, monocle gleaming, his gloved fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee.
Our eyes met. His lips never moved, but his voice brushed against my mind like velvet. “I see you didn’t run away. Please, come in.”
I killed the engine, swung my leg off the bike, and stood on the curb, my shadow stretching toward the café door.