"Oh…"
After a wave of dizziness, Jovian was back in the house in his home world.
"Trash system…"
Rubbing his head, Jovian walked out. Every time he jumped worlds, he made a point of cussing the system out at least once.
"Hey, Jovian!"
"New suit?"
As Jovian stepped into the hall, he ran into Mark in the living room, hunting for milk.
"Looks better," Mark added.
Jovian gave a small nod.
"You heading out?"
Mark kept going.
"Haven't moved around in a while. Going for a walk."
Jovian sounded like he was just planning to stroll the neighborhood.
"Oh…"
Mark answered and stopped paying attention.
"Mark, you're past the age where you shoot up in height," Jovian said, eyeing the milk in Mark's hand with a grin. "No matter how hard you try, you're not getting taller."
"That's bullshit," Mark snapped like he'd been poked with a live wire. "Mom said you can still grow a bit at twenty-five. I'm not doomed to be shorter than you forever."
But when Mark turned to glare at him—
Jovian was already gone.
"…Seriously?"
Mark stared at the empty living room, then at the milk in his hand, his face turning miserable.
A dozen blocks away from Mark's house…
A bank had already shut its doors in broad daylight.
Pedestrians drifting along the street didn't even react. They'd gotten used to it. This bank wasn't closing early once a week because of some friendly "short day" policy—
It was because every seven days, a fresh batch of "little geniuses" with black stocking masks pulled their "big toys" out and came by to make a "withdrawal."
BAM!
About thirty minutes later, the bank doors were kicked open.
A group of masked geniuses walked out with their big toys in hand and four or five bulging bags slung over their shoulders.
"Shit, there are too many people out here."
A few of them looked at the heavy foot traffic and instantly got a headache.
"Someone stepped on my foot!"
One of the geniuses yelped after a driver clipped him in the chaos.
"Then clear the street already!"
The leader snapped at him.
"How?"
The one who got stepped on sounded like a newbie—completely clueless.
"Like this…"
The leader casually demonstrated.
He raised his big toy and pointed it at the sky.
Rat-tat-tat-tat—
A burst of gunfire.
"AHH!!"
The street—packed a second ago—erupted into screams. People scattered with practiced speed, diving behind whatever cover they could find, like they had assigned seats in their own little bullet-proof shelters.
"Like that."
Satisfied with the instantly emptied street, the leader tossed the big toy to one of his guys.
Then they strolled across the road, climbed into their off-road vehicle, and prepared to disappear.
"Boss… aren't we being a little loud? What about the cops?"
The newbie asked nervously.
"Hahaha…"
"What, you doubting the response time in America?"
The leader said it half-jokingly, looking at his crew.
"Hahahahaha…"
Everyone but the newbie laughed.
"By the time those idiots crawl out of their offices—stuffing their faces with donuts and burgers and washing it down with soda, with nothing but fat and syrup in their veins—we'll already be on a plane out of the country!"
A big guy in the passenger seat explained with a grin.
"Is that so?"
Right as the crew of bank "withdrawal specialists" laughed and bragged—
A raspy voice spoke inside all of their heads.
"Who said that?"
The leader frowned. He had a good memory. He was sure that voice didn't belong to any of his men.
"B-b-boss… look at the window…"
The newbie was shaking so hard he could barely speak, staring at the driver-side window like he'd seen a ghost.
"The window…?"
The leader turned—
And froze.
Standing right outside the door was a broad-shouldered man in a black-and-white skintight suit, a huge F stamped across the center of his chest.
He was smiling at them.
"Gentlemen," the man said pleasantly, voice cold as steel, "step out of the vehicle and line up."
"Fuck… Freeman…"
The leader's forehead instantly broke into sweat.
In America, nobody didn't recognize the captain of the New Guardians of the Globe—Omni-Man's oldest son.
Freeman.
"Boss," the newbie whispered, "what do we do when we run into Freeman? Get out and squat with our hands on our heads… or just kneel right away?"
"Don't be ridiculous," the leader spat.
"We earned this money with our own skills. Why should we give it back the second he shows up?"
"No reason."
"That's not freedom!"
As he shouted, the leader yanked out his prized M16 and opened fire at Freeman through the window.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat—
Bullets shredded the glass and poured into Freeman's body.
Clink-clink-clink—
The rounds hit him like they were slamming into hardened alloy—sparks bursting off his suit, but not a single injury.
A moment later, the leader had emptied the magazine.
"Are you ready to get out now?"
Freeman stood in the smoke with his hands behind his back, speaking calmly.
"FUCK YOU!"
"Monster!"
The leader cursed, then stomped the gas and peeled off.
Freeman didn't chase immediately.
He took a slow breath in.
"Mmm. That's the smell of freedom."
He savored the gunpowder in the air like it was fresh coffee. After spending time in that other world, he'd missed a real, authentic cloud of smoke.
Seeing a hometown bank get robbed again?
Honestly, it felt comforting.
Yeah.
That was the smell of freedom.
"Boss… we just shot Freeman. Are we really okay?"
Inside the speeding vehicle, the crew started panicking.
"We're fine!" the leader said confidently, like he'd done this a hundred times. "Superheroes can't do shit to us!"
"At worst we get caught and do a little time. Who hasn't done a stint in this country?"
Bzzzt—
The great Freeman watched their getaway car.
His eyes glowed red.
BOOM!
The gas tank ignited instantly.
The off-road vehicle exploded in a fireball and launched into the air.
"Surprise, motherfucker!"
Freeman flashed a very American grin at the flaming wreck.
He wasn't like the other heroes.
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