9

  Through the streets of Legazpi, Philippines, one could hear - if they focused - the humming tune coming from an inconspicuous old man with grayed hair as he trudged on, mumbling a song from his childhood. However, there was little reason for the average citizen to pay any mind to him or his song, seeing as there was nothing about him that made him stand out in the crowd. He definitely wasn’t young, already nearing sixty years of age, but he also wasn’t old enough that it was a hindrance to him; he could still walk and move around without any difficulties, and his mind was as sharp as in his youth, but he could still feel some drag to his feet. His dull gray eyes didn’t have much youthful spark left in them, laying way for an expression that was both passive and calm, like a grandparent that had lived through a little too much. Despite his kindly and worn out expression, though, an astute observer could still detect hints of the fire that used to rage during his prime deep within his irises, albeit one would have to focus to see it. The old man stopped and turned to look up at a billboard that stood between the two buildings in front of him, stopping his walk by the bus stop he used to take to go to school every day as a child. What a silly looking thing. That woman has got no taste at all. The man thought tiredly, half-pursing his lips in distaste. The billboard presented Eight’s pleasantly smiling face and the World State’s slogan; “Unity. Prosperity. Safety,” as well as faceless soldiers in the background marching off to some war or another. He sighed and shook his head, disliking the whole feeling of fakeness about it. She didn’t even try to hide the fact that it’s propaganda. Even a child could tell at a glance. Although he disapproved of such things, he didn’t really complain about them out loud. Despite the fact that both the World State and the Hero Association were sources of bitterness in his long life, he at least argued that they were better than the alternative. He knew better than most, after all.

  As such, the old man resumed his walk without pondering too much on his current situation. He weaved through the crowds of people on the streets like a seasoned veteran, making his way down a winding alley and finally escaping the bluster and obnoxious loudness of the crowd. Now, if memory serves right… It should be somewhere around here. He yawned, although a small smile did show on his lips, thoughts of delicious food bobbing around pleasantly in his mind. But then, right as he was going to turn the corner and finally come face to face with his favorite restaurant, he was stopped dead in his tracks. His smile dropped and his eyes narrowed harrowingly, beginning to glow slightly as a deafeningly loud BANG erupted throughout the alleyway. The jarring sound violently interrupted and superimposed itself above the sounds of the bustling nearby street, and for a split second it seemed as if the world grew silent. It didn’t last, though, as the sounds of screaming and panic settled in soon after, the populace very clearly recognising the ever iconic sound of a bullet. The old man sighed, his peaceful expression being replaced with a frustrated and saddened frown, all while remaining perfectly calm. Well, at least with panic setting in there won’t be any bystanders nearby after a couple of seconds… The old man pondered, taking solace in that fact.

  He sighed once more, turning around and looking down at the dead body of his would-be murderer, a clean bullet hole running straight through her temple and out the cranium on the other side. Blood oozed from the hole in her head, her hand still clenching the gun she had used to shoot the old man. He approached the lifeless body of the criminal, looking down at it pitifully, squatting down to get a better look. The old man began to extend a hand towards the woman in an attempt to wipe the blood off her face, tilting his head to try and get a better look. His attention was diverted before he could accomplish his goal, though, as he noticed in his periphery the two men perched up on the roof to his left. He stood up solemnly, turning his head to stare up at the men with narrowed and glowing eyes, completely unfazed by the glint of rifle scopes pointing right at him. The men noticed his stare, becoming agitated and shouting to one another as their fingers began to press on the triggers. “Don’t-” the old man began to say in a tired and pitiful voice, creating a stark contrast between it and his menacing expression. He didn’t manage to finish his sentence, two more resounding gunshots filling the alleyway as the men fired their weapons. The old man didn’t bother to flinch, resigning himself to just watch attentively as the two men’s bodies went slack and dropped their weapons, falling over the edge of the building unceremoniously before hitting the ground with a soul wrenching crunch. He sighed, scratching the side of his head while closing his eyes.

  He slowly approached these two bodies as well, dragging his feet on the ground hesitantly. He never did like to come face to face with the people he killed, but he always forced himself to do it anyway. He pursed his lips, crouching down once he finally reached the corpses, extending a hand to wipe away the blood and hair to the side so he could get a good look at their faces. His teeth grit, his eyes softening yet his heart pounding with anger. Not at them, his would-be assassins, but more so at the world. What led you to pursue the path of murder? Poverty? Necessity? Or was it just plain old greed? He clenched his fist as hard as his aging body could allow him, furious with a universe that allowed these men to become killers - with a world that forced him to be a killer. He took a mental note of their faces, standing up, his eyes glowing a sharp silvery grey as he pondered on the sorry state of humanity. His thoughts were interrupted for a third time that day when he heard a voice shout behind him, once more turning around to meet a new assailant. Except this time, the man staring down at him had an expression of horror rather than murderous intent engraved on his face, his eyes darting between his three felled comrades and the intact old man standing among them. Sweat ran down the young man’s face, his eyes wide as marbles as his voice came out a stuttering mess, “N-NUMBER NINE?!” he gasped, recognising the inconspicuous Filipino, “Oh SHIT!! Oh FUCK!!” the criminal yelped, immediately dropping the handgun he had been aiming at the old man’s face, letting it clatter on the ground as he scrambled to grab the radio in his breast pocket to warn the rest of his group.

  Nine smiled at the criminal in amusement, his kind expression returning, “Sorry, I can’t let you do that,” he sighed tiredly. The young man yelped in horror as he realized that his hand was physically incapable of reaching his breast pocket no matter how hard he tried, being forcibly stopped just short of it - an invisible wall standing in the way. The panic in the young man’s eyes intensified as he realized Nine had used his power on the radio, his pupils shaking. “No- PLEASE!!! I’m SO SORRY we’ll NEVER bother you aga-!!!” but then his screams became garbled nonsense, his body spasming and foam coming out of his mouth, his eyes rolling to the top of his head as he collapsed on the floor. Nine let go of the taser, turning it off after being sure that the criminal was no longer conscious before putting it back into his pockets, a hopeful smile etched on his face.

  So they didn’t bother to profile their victim? No wonder they tried to shoot me, they’d never do something that stupid if they knew who I was. They’ve probably been following me after spotting all the cash I withdrew at the bank… foolish idiots. Nine readied his taser again, sighing, staring up at the sky to hope before the rest of the gang came after him. To hope to save at least one more of them, like he had just saved the man in front of him by tasing him. It was his job to clean out criminal groups whenever possible, but he did vainly hope to do so non-lethally at least. He detested his job. He looked around and picked up the tased man effortlessly despite his age, walking to the far end of the alley and dumping his knocked out body on a corner and far away from the fighting that would soon commence. Nine sighed and rubbed his hands together, turning around and walking back towards the mouth of alleyway right as a bulletproof pickup truck swerved across the street, coming to a screeching halt right outside the alley as if acting like a wall to prevent Nine’s escape, which he found to be at least a little amusing. Soon after, a large man covered in tattoos exited the driver's seat while three heavily armed goons exited from the passenger and copilot seats, each of them sporting a rifle. Nine looked at each of them in turn with sorrow, raising his hand as a sign of peace while they approached, however doing so without the sort of fear one would expect from a surrender. “It doesn’t have to end this way… Why don’t we just talk this out like civilized men?” he muttered defeatedly, already knowing that their leader wouldn’t heed his warning, but deciding to give it a shot either way. And just as he expected, the large tattooed man laughed at Nine’s words, closing his fists to make his muscular arms erupt into orange flames menacingly, the heat making his goons lean away from fear of being burnt. The gang leader scowled in anger, his laugh disappearing with a snarl, “Hah!! I was originally just going to demand that sweet hundred thousand you got at the bank, you know? But now look at what you’ve done!! Up and killed my men. Sorry gramps, but I ain’t ever going to be respected again if I let that shit slide. You get me?” he hissed, taking a step forward menacingly.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Nine looked at the other three, noticing how one of them wasn’t holding a gun, but rather a pulsating ball of blue electricity was amassing at his fingertips while the rifle remained strapped to his chest. The other two were aiming down the sights with submachine guns. Nine retracted the invisible wall that had been around the radio in the breast pocket of the previous goon, enveloping himself in it once more. Please… Please reconsider… Nine begged inside his mind as he reluctantly prepared himself. He let out a deep breath, making the tattooed man grin, only to then casually reach into his pocket and pull out a phone, staring down at it while unblocking it. The criminals all faltered for an instant, surprised at how Nine simply ignored the apparent grave danger to his well being so casually. “Huh?! What the fuck is this idiot doing?!” the gang leader asked, baffled and with a bruised ego, “Just shoot him already!!!” Meanwhile, Nine’s call was answered by the local police center immediately, “Mister Nine??” a police officer asked, baffled, “Is this about the ruckus down at Tinago?? We’ve gotten a ton of calls already-” The submachine guns were the first to fire, the bullets taking less than a second between being fired, hitting and subsequently bouncing off Nine’s barrier, and finally returning to sender at the same speed as they had been shot, piercing through the goons’ guns with ease and killing them nearly instantly. Meanwhile, Nine’s eyes were locked unto the electric orb that the third criminal had fired at the hero, his trained gaze easily capable of tracking the much slower-than-a-bullet projectile, raising a hand and quite literally slapping the lightning ball to the side, letting it explode against the brick wall and leaving a black charred mark. Before either of the two survivors could process what had just happened, Nine lowered the barrier around himself and aimed his taser, firing it and overflowing the electromancer’s body with a potent shock before he could react and redirect its flow, causing him to drop to the floor while spasming violently, knocked out almost instantly. Nine took a deep breath and adjusted the phone with his other hand, “Yeah. I’m about to be finished here, so please send some people. …Call the morgue too.”

  The gang leader was flabbergasted, taking a step back in confusion and fear of the old man that had just taken out three of his best goons in a matter of less than seconds. His mind raced, putting two and two together as dread filled his expression. “You… You’re NINE?!” he wailed out in surprise, falling on his ass without having even been attacked, the fire that had been glowing around his arms suddenly gone as he scurried backwards in fear. Nine smiled softly at this, happy that in the end fear made it so that this man wouldn’t have to die like his comrades. He placed his barrier around the scurrying figure, making him bump his head against the wall rather loudly. The tattooed man looked around, his breathing accelerated as he touched what looked like thin air only to find his movements stopped forcefully by an invisible wall - a barrier. Nine approached the skittish gang leader, sitting down a meter away from him with no fear, even as the gangster kicked the barrier around him violently, attempting to escape. “You can keep trying as much as you want,” Nine joked, looking around at the bloody battlefield, “You’d be the first to succeed, you know.”

  ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  Half an hour later, the police finally arrived. They dragged off the corpses in body bags, and handcuffed the two tased goons while placing them lying down on a police car, since they had yet to wake up. As for the leader, Nine only let down his barrier after he was completely surrounded by powered policemen and his hands were behind his head. He was promptly handcuffed, his head hanging down in defeat. A random policeman approached Nine, who himself had been watching apprehensively the entire operation. “Sir, it is an honor!” the man exclaimed, clearly anxious, his posture straight as an arrow and sweating bullets. Nine turned to look at the full grown officer, who couldn’t be any younger than thirty. “Oh it… it was nothing. I only managed to save three of them,” Nine muttered softly, unable to look his admirer in the eyes. The policeman shakily handed him his police notepad anyway, open to a blank page, “It doesn't matter, Sir! You… you were my idol as a kid… but I never got your signature all these years…” Nine perked up at those words, blinking a few times in surprise before apprehensively reaching out for the notepad. He stared at it for a second and then up at the beaming policeman, before picking up the pen slowly and writing down his hero name on it; Stalwart. He didn't quite know what to think about this, but he did feel a semblance of accomplishment deep down - a feeling that he hadn't felt for a long time - and smiled. How silly that a kid that used to look up to me is now a full grown adult… and yet here I am, still doing the same thing all those years later. I wonder, have I grown at all?

  The policeman reached out and grabbed the notepad back like an excited teenager, thanking Nine. But before the hero could reply, the crackling of ignited fire and surprised yelps interrupted them. Nine turned around in awkward surprise, eyes widening, the handcuffs around the kingpin's wrists having melted off - his right hand blazing with bright orange fire while using his left to take hold of a policeman by the scruff of his shirt. He had his blazing hand raised up to their neck, much in the same way someone would threaten a hostage with a knife. “STAY BACK!! LET ME GO AND NOBODY GETS HURT!!” he yowled, his eyes shaking and fearful. Nine’s dull gray eyes narrowed, a spark of life flashing through them. From the way the gangster acted, Nine was certain that he would rather die than go to jail, the foolish idiot. The hero nonetheless took a step forward towards the gang leader, making him squeak and hold the hostage closer. He once more roared like a cornered animal, “I SAID NOT ONE MORE STEP, OLD FOOL!! I'LL DO IT!! I REALLY WILL!!” Nine sarcastically chuckled internally at the ridiculous words coming out of the captor. Oh yeah, I don’t doubt you’d do it if you could.

  Nine's eyes narrowed further, taking another step forward anyway. The gang leader scowled, finally snapping and shoving his fiery hand towards the hostage's neck in a desperate act of violence - only for his hand to painfully crack and the bones in his fingers to splinter as they impacted against an invisible wall with an audible crunch. He screamed in pain, trying to pull his hand away only for his elbow to slam against an invisible wall instead, causing yet another yelp of pain. He then tried to take a step back, but his back gently bumped against yet another invisible wall. That’s when everyone quickly realized that his entire body was encased by a barrier, effectively paralyzing him where he stood, sweat running down his face in a panic as his eyes darted all over the place, unable to even talk since his jaw was also locked in place. Another policeman approached the hostage, pulling out a knife from his pocket and cutting the part of the hostage’s shirt that was being held by the criminal - and hence the part of the shirt that was also inside the barrier - letting the two officers walk away from the situation with no damage beyond a shirt needing repairs.

  Nine sighed, moving the barrier around little by little and as such forcing the kingpin to move with it, almost like a puppet on strings. He made the criminal sit on the ground, every forced movement making the gangster grunt in pain through his closed mouth. “He's too dangerous for a normal jail cell. Call the Hero Association, please,” Nine asked the recently released policeman, all joy from before now gone from his expression. The officers nodded and complied, pulling out their radios and contacting the police station. It didn’t take long for a couple of certified heroes to step out of an official Association truck, both of them bowing at Nine. “Sir, it is an honor to meet you!!” one of them, a woman, said. Meanwhile, her male counterpart approached the paralyzed criminal, also turning to Nine, “It’s alright, sir. You can trust us to keep him under control, we assure you.” The old hero turned to both of them, using his experience to gauge that they seemed to be competent enough, at the very least. “Alright,” Nine expressed with a grim frown, looking down at the utterly terrified pyromancer that was forcibly sitting on the floor, “I just hope he doesn’t prove to be too troublesome.”

  He took down the barrier, putting it around himself once more - its default position - while the heroes took away the muttering mess of what used to be a proud gangster. The policemen all gave their salutes to the hero once more before getting into their cars and driving away while Nine gave a short nod in return. Once everyone was gone and the old hero was finally left alone with his thoughts, he allowed himself to sigh softly while sitting down on the dirty floor, staring up at the setting sun. Damn, I didn’t get to visit my favorite restaurant after all. But that’s not what’s actually bothering me, is it? No. If One had been here, all of them would have lived. We could have captured all of them alive. He thought to himself, angered by his own helplessness. He turned around to head back home, deciding that he'd try to go to the restaurant tomorrow instead. He turned to look at the same billboard from before with Eight's face on it, but was instead surprised to see it was showing breaking news. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as a frown of despair appeared on his face. Oh no… he lamented as he read the words crawling on the billboard, putting a hand to his wrinkled face and groaning in misery, one of the police cars from earlier suddenly zooming next to him and stopping as the door flew open and a wide eyed officer yelled something at him. Nine barely heard him, getting in the car as if by instinct as the world around him became blurry. Not again… Not another Paris!! The officer, which Nine only later recognised as the same one from the signature, turned on the sirens and rushed to the airport as fast as he could.