After a solar flare thrust the populace into a super-powered age, some got on luckier than others. Some can fly, stop hearts with their mind, or vanish into the shadows. Others, most, pulled the short straws. Tracey can grow out his fingernails, up to a maximum of two centimetres. His cousin can selectively smell flowers up to fifty miles away, and his barber’s fiancé is in a constant state of zero-G, but only internally. So naturally, the lesser gifted were shafted into doing the grunt work, the labour and office jobs that needed doing before the flare occurred. Same old, same old. Some would consider those like Tracey lucky, landing a job as an assistant to a “real” superhero. But Tracey doesn’t feel lucky. He feels like a guy with Microsoft Excel experience and an ability to smile through the tedium and occasional humiliation.

“Don’t forget, conference at 3, Trace. Will the PowerPoint be done by then or should I find a vamp guy?” Genevieve stood in the doorway to Tracey’s small office, her face a sickly pale as it often was before lunch.

“No need, I’m just finishing it up now. If you need, I can take your 1 PM, give you a longer break to recover?” He stood up from his desk, crossing off the PowerPoint from a to-do list magnetized to the filing cabinet. A few months ago, Genevieve tried her hand at crime fighting. Or rather, vigilantism, as she was denied the paperwork to do so professionally. On her first night out, she phased forward directly into a raised knife. Reforming the physical body around a blade does a lot more damage than a simple stab wound, as it turns out. Now, she needs daily pills and a biweekly blood and plasma transfusion.

“Oh for real, could you? You still have so much to do and Jack will be here any minute and-“

“I got this, you go get your blood and take a nice long lunch to recuperate. Hell, it’s on me.” Tracey strolled over and slipped a $20 into Genevieve’s hand. She smiled and gave a weak hug before leaving the doorway. Before Trace could even sit down and send off the presentation, Jack slid through the closing door. Jack the Ripper, he went by, and the man Trace worked his life away for over the last few years.

“Good you’re here, the 3 PM is cancelled. Keep the presentation handy for next week, but otherwise take the day.” He backed out of the room almost as quickly as he entered. Trace hesitantly saved the presentation and took a seat again. After a minute of staring at nothing in particular, he spun and turned on the small TV sat on the filing cabinet

“—calling the man ‘Blood Priest.’ Law enforcement of all kinds are urging citizens to avoid hos-“ He turned the TV off. Another day, another criminal, another twelve hours of media coverage. Trace didn’t mind, though, as more often than not it meant a half-day of work. One meeting with Genevieve’s boss in an hour, and he would be free to collapse on his couch and sleep the afternoon away.

‘Half Pint’ was the name Genevieve’s boss went by for business, Karoline Saunders for everything else. Standing at 4’7 and with the power to become more and more fortified as she became inebriated, the name seemed fitting. Tracey pushed open the conference room door to find several people crowding the table. Police, militia heroes, and various members of the office. Before they quieted, Tracey made out the subject. They were talking about Saunders’ apparent disappearance.

“You, uh… Trey! Get out of here, alright? Everyone was told to go home.” One of the office workers, Hiram, urged.

“It’s Tracey. I took over for Genevieve’s 1 PM, to put together an interview for Saunders’ press talk tomorrow?” He let the door shut behind him and stood at attention.

“Interview’s cancelled, so go home, and tell Genevieve the same if you see her.“ Hiram stepped toward Tracey and brought him in for a close handshake. “This is serious, get home and stay there, alright? Make sure Genevieve hears the same.” He pulled away. “See you Monday, Tracey. Stay safe.” With nothing else to do, Tracey left the room and started toward the elevator to find Genevieve.

Sitting at an outdoor table outside of Wendy’s, she nodded to Trace as he approached. “Day’s over, I guess. Mind if I steal some?” He pinched a fry between his fingers while awaiting a response. She made a muffled ‘mm’ sound and took another bite of her burger. The two sat and ate, discussing their theories of Half Pint’s whereabouts. Not out of concern, mind you, but out of boredom and curiosity. She was Genevieve’s 5th boss this year, after all.

“Blood for the blood god, probably. News said something about a ‘Blood Priest’? I dunno, I didn’t watch it.”

“Yeah, a guy going by ‘Blood Priest’ could probably take out a four-foot alcoholic pretty easy. Oh god, what are the odds I get stuck working for Trailblazer? I hate that dickhead.” She took the last bite of her meal and took a long sip of Pepsi. Colour had begun to return to her face.

“Almost certainly, at least you get to work with Hiram and Bellamy, probably the only guys I don’t hate in the whole building.”

“Love you too.”

“You don’t count. Anyway, want to catch a movie? Might as well enjoy the day off before the chaos of tomorrow drains us completely.” He stood and stretched his arms, involuntarily extending his nails.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. So how scared shitless did Jack look when he told you to go home?” The two started off toward the theatre, laughing at their panicked coworkers. “Man, why do all of my bosses have to die, or go rogue, or, well, you remember what happened to True North.”

“It’s a mystery alright, we sure you aren’t taking them all out until you land a boss who isn’t a total ass?”

“Hey now, Half Pint was only 60% ass. But seriously, she was the best of them… which is kind of sad, but still. I hope she’s alright, but enough of work, what kind of movie we watching?”