Villain

"Maxwell?" Romeo's call went to voicemail again. "This is your son—"

He kept his messages short. The Capulet thugs loved to eavesdrop, the Church zealots patrolling the premises. Cameras were everywhere.

"I'm sure Max is fine," Mercutio said as he patted his back after hanging up. "And I keep everything under control here," he joked around—unless he wasn't.

Well, no new challengers, street fights, or assassination attempts happened.

"It's still annoying. He calls Mom but never me."

"What if he forgot his voicemail?" Benvolio hypothesized. "He calls, then goes back to work." It was a possibility, but he had a hunch. His father avoided him on purpose.

It's been three days, all rushing by in a blur.

He couldn't do anything; they didn't leave him alone long enough. No secret research or testing out his new abilities. He learned nothing about Vat 16, and it was already Friday.

"I bet you're still his favorite son," Mercutio joked.

Romeo rolled his eyes. He had no siblings but a nosy friend, a loyal cousin, and a caring—albeit clueless—mother. He was thankful, even if he didn't want to involve them.

"I guess I'm too impatient," he sighed, trying to see the silver lining.

The Church didn't kidnap, shun, or burn him on a stake. Yet. Even Friar Laurence stopped him after school, "I'm sorry about that lecture earlier. I should have handled it better."

"We all learn until we die," Romeo bowed.

"Indeed. Make sure you learn for long." The preacher lowered his voice. "And know who your friends are." Settling into Verona High, Romeo's opinion had changed about him.

He wasn't that old, but his robes and the bowl-cut did him no favors.

Beyond the incense and dogmas, he was open to the world. And about friends—those Capulet thugs weren't them, but he could eavesdrop on them too.

"Juliett is recovering fast. No Montagues could get her down for long," they sneered.

Romeo clenched his fists—relieved but miserable. "How long will she wear that cast?" he groaned once out of their earshot. She still hadn't attended class.

"You worry about her a lot," Benvolio noted, checking the dark clouds.

"No, he's lonely," Mercutio claimed. "But that ends today 'coz we're going to crash the Capulet's party," he waved a flyer around. "What? I told you I'd hook you up with the hottest chicks."

"I never consented." Romeo eyed the paper. He wanted to go home, lock himself up, and experiment to his heart's content. "What kind of party?"

"They always celebrate something; who cares? There'll be girls."

"Well, have fun then, because I'm not going," he decided but caught a glance of the flyer. "The Regent Hotel is way too fancy anyway," Romeo noted, but he had other reasons.

He knew nothing about his new abilities.

He got used to his heightened senses, but his reflexes sped up, too. His hand often moved before he could think. It was inhumane—like a mutant.

Going to a party their rivals hosted, instead of figuring out how to get it under control, was asking for trouble. Still, the flyer had one more note on it.

"Celebrating Juliett's high school debut," Benvolio read.

That tempted Romeo. "It's a fancy masquerade, though; I have nothing to wear."

"You sound like the chicks we're about to pick up," his friend poked him. "But I have that covered. They'll only realize it was us after we got away with the hottest girls."

It was a terrible idea. He didn't even know how he survived the week. And now, they were about to enter enemy territory as a ticking time bomb. What if they noticed something?

"You'll be like the phantom of the party." Mercutio pushed him into a boutique.

"A villain costume?" Romeo raised an eyebrow. "No," that was all he could say when they stopped by a mannequin.

"Oh, it's Necro-Thunder, from that zombie movie," Benvolio gasped. "But where is the cloak?"

"Don't sweat the details," his friend pushed them around. "The original is bald, too."

The costume was black, smelled of rubber, and was full of plastic bits painted to look like metal. It came with a balaclava with its scalp cut off at the forehead.

His spiky white hair was visible, contrasting with the dark material. "What's the point if I'm recognizable?" It was a pain to put on, but it looked cool and menacing.

"Imagine heroes with superpowers wearing it," Benvolio mumbled.

"You mean mutants." Romeo adjusted the balaclava. "In blue, it wouldn't scream 'I'm evil' at least." For once, he liked how his hair looked.

"So you're coming?" Mercutio returned with a grin and a lion costume for his cousin.

"Never said that. It's rigid and hot, and—help me with that zipper."

It took thirty minutes, but Benvolio praised him until he ran out of breath. Getting his inhaler out like a lion was a challenge, too. These must have cost a fortune.

"So what will you wear?" Romeo asked, swept up in the flow.

"Oh, I'll make it due with this." his friend pulled a small but ornate mask from his backpack.

"No, you're not," they both protested. "You had us dress up like idiots, so you'll be one too."

"That's the spirit," Mercutio laughed. They walked right into his trap.

Romeo would lie if he said he didn't enjoy himself, and the party hadn't even started.

As a punishment, they picked a merman costume. It had fins, a black wig, and fake muscles for the 'naked' torso. It was impossible to walk in it. "If I have to suffer, you'll too."

Romeo also considered a wig, but his white hair was too cool in this costume.

It was the first time he didn't hate it—all thanks to his friend. The real problem was that rain began to fall, and the drains couldn't handle it.

It was quite the downpour, and they were all dressed up.

"Good thing I'm a merman because I'll be drenching before we make it."

The Regent Hotel was across the road. It was the most prestigious building on the island. The wealthiest tourists spent their fortunes in it before the lockdown.

Even the governor's palace couldn't compete.

Now, only cleared envoys or heads of states booked rooms there. Sometimes, the two influential families burned their insane wealth on a party. Yes, his father was a big spender too.

They still lived in luxury, even if he didn't like fancy chauffeurs, maids, and other staff.

And they had to outspend the Capulets on things that didn't matter.

The rest of the island was in a state of neglect. It could've housed hundreds of thousands of people. For the remaining ten thousand, affordable housing was simple.

"Well, wish me luck," his friend rushed out into the storm.

Which meant pathetic little bunny-hops at a snail's pace across the pavement. There was no turning back now; they followed the maniac jokester and overtook him a few yards later.

The hotel's luxurious main hall brimmed with people.

At least the flyer didn't lie. Everyone else wore costumes and masks, too. Thanks to his sharp senses, Romeo immediately caught a whiff of cinnamon.

His eyes snapped toward the source, and he found a firefighter.

A red uniform with a yellow gas mask, orange hair spilling out, sitting in a wheelchair.

Agreeing to come was his best decision this entire week.