Chum

The crisp autumn air hits us as we step outside, a welcome relief after the stuffy gym. The sky is a brilliant blue, dotted with puffy white clouds, and the trees lining the street are a riot of red and gold leaves. It's the kind of day that makes you glad to be alive, that makes you want to go out and do something.

"Relax, Sam," Rampart murmurs, noticing my tension. "We're just two friends out for a walk. Nothing suspicious about that."

I nod, taking a deep breath and trying to loosen my shoulders. "Right. Just a walk. No superhero business here, no sir."

Rampart chuckles softly. "You know, sarcasm isn't actually a superpower."

"Could've fooled me," I shoot back, grinning despite myself. It feels good to banter like this, to fall back into our old rhythms. For a moment, I can almost forget about all the restrictions and red tape that have been holding us back.

Rampart and I fall into step beside each other, our pace casual but purposeful. To anyone watching, we probably look like any other pair of friends out for a walk. But beneath the surface, we're both on high alert, our eyes scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. Instead of costumes, the both of us have hoodies on, although my tiny little frame means that I'm dwarfed by mine, while Rampart's perfect sportsman barrel chest strains his.

"So," I say, keeping my voice low. "What's the plan? Are we just going to wander around and hope we stumble across a crime in progress?"

Rampart chuckles, shaking his head. "Not exactly. I've been keeping an ear to the ground, you know? There's been some chatter about increased gang activity in the Olney area. Nothing major, just some petty theft and vandalism, but it could escalate if nobody steps in."

I nod, impressed despite myself. Even with the restrictions on our official hero work, Rampart's been staying on top of things. "Olney, huh? That's a bit outside our usual patrol route."

"Exactly," Rampart says with a grin. "Which means it's less likely we'll run into anyone who might recognize us. Plus, it's an area that could use some help. The local cops are stretched thin as it is."

As we walk, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. It's been weeks since we've done anything even remotely hero-like, and I'm itching for some action. But at the same time, I know we're taking a risk. If we get caught, it could mean the end of the Young Defenders for good.

We make our way towards Olney, taking a roundabout route to avoid any areas where we might be recognized. As we walk, Rampart fills me in on what he knows about the gang situation. Apparently, there's a new group trying to establish themselves, muscling in on territory that used to belong to the Philly Phreaks before their capture.

"The thing is," Rampart says as we turn onto a quieter street, "these new guys aren't metas, as far as we know. They're just regular thugs with delusions of grandeur and a couple of Jumpheads, as per usual. But they're causing real problems for the community."

I nod, understanding. It's not the kind of high-stakes, world-saving action I'd like to bury my face in, but it's important. These are real people being affected, their lives and livelihoods at risk. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly go in fists flying without our costumes."

Rampart grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Who says we need costumes to be heroes? Sometimes, all it takes is being in the right place at the right time."

As if on cue, we hear a commotion up ahead. Turning the corner, we see a group of young men harassing an older woman outside a small convenience store. They're not being violent, not yet, but their body language is aggressive, intimidating.

Rampart and I exchange a look. This is it. Our chance to do some good, even if it's on a small scale. We quicken our pace, approaching the scene with purpose.

"Hey!" Rampart calls out, his voice carrying easily across the street. "Is there a problem here?"

The group turns to look at us, their expressions a mix of annoyance and wariness. The woman takes advantage of their distraction to slip into the store, the bell jingling as the door closes behind her.

One of the young men, clearly the leader, steps forward. He's trying to look tough, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "This ain't none of your business," he says, his voice gruff. "Why don't you two keep walking?"

I step up beside Rampart, my heart pounding but my voice steady. "We're making it our business," I say. "Harassing people isn't cool, guys. Why don't you find something better to do with your time?"

The leader scoffs, but I can see some of his buddies shifting uncomfortably. They're not used to being challenged, especially not by a couple of random teenagers. "And who's gonna make us? You?"

Rampart smiles, but it's not a friendly smile. It's the kind of smile that makes you think twice about picking a fight. "Maybe. Or maybe we just call the cops. I'm sure they'd be very interested in what you guys are up to."

That gets their attention. The leader glances at his friends, then back at us. For a moment, I think he might try to call our bluff. But then he shakes his head, spitting on the ground. "Whatever. This place is boring anyway. Let's bounce, guys."

As they slouch away, trying to look like it was their idea to leave all along, I feel a surge of satisfaction, mixed with equal parts boredom. A small, nasty part of me wishes they started a fight, but I don't express it. Leave that one buried.

Rampart turns to me, his expression a mix of pride and relief. "Nice work, Sam. That could have gone south real quick."

I nod, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Yeah, but it didn't. We actually helped someone, Rampart. It feels… good."

He claps me on the shoulder, grinning. "That's what being a hero is all about, kid. It's not always about the big fights and the flashy powers. Sometimes it's just about being there, standing up for what's right."

"We're basically the same age," I protest.

We spend the next couple of hours walking the streets of Olney, keeping an eye out for trouble. We break up a few more minor incidents – a heated argument that looked like it might turn violent, a kid trying to shoplift from a corner store. Nothing major, but each time, I feel that same sense of satisboredom. I almost wish a Jumphead would start flinging fireballs at me around the corner, just to give me a little more to work with. The cop cadet stuff is important, but totally anodyne (a word that means "a sort of overwhelming sweetness").

As the sun starts to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, Rampart checks his watch. "We should probably head back soon," he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Don't want to push our luck too much."

I nod, understanding but also feeling a twinge of disappointment. Part of me wants to stay out all night, to keep doing this unofficial hero work. But I know he's right. We've already taken a big risk coming out here at all.

"Yeah, okay," I say. "But can we at least stop at Wawa on the way back? I'm starving, and we did promise Captain Plasma a hoagie."

Rampart laughs, the tension of the day finally breaking. "Absolutely. Can't go back empty-handed, after all."

As we walk back - ducking back and weaving in and out of older, more familiar ground - I notice little things that have changed since we were last here. A new mural on the side of a corner store, bright and colorful against the brick. A playground that's been renovated, with shiny new equipment replacing the rusty old structures. It's good to see these improvements, but I can't help wondering if there are other changes – less positive ones – that we're missing out on by not being able to do our job properly. Or that I'm missing out on by just not paying attention.

Rampart, ever the observant one, seems to pick up on my mood. "Penny for your thoughts, Sam?" he asks as we turn onto a busier street.

I shrug, trying to put my feelings into words. "I don't know. It's just… do you ever feel like we're missing stuff? Like, important stuff? There's so much going on in the world, and we're just… walking around."

He nods, his expression thoughtful. "I get it. It can feel like we're not doing enough, especially when we're used to being in the thick of things. But sometimes, just being present and aware can make a bigger difference than you'd think."

As if to prove his point, a sudden commotion up ahead catches our attention. A young woman is arguing with a street vendor, their voices rising above the general hubbub of the city. As we get closer, I can make out snippets of their conversation.

"…told you, I don't want any trouble," the vendor is saying, his hands raised placatingly. "Just take your business elsewhere, okay?"

The woman, visibly agitated, leans in closer. "You don't understand," she hisses. "I need it. They said you'd have it. If you don't…"

She trails off as she notices us approaching, her eyes darting nervously between us and the vendor. Without another word, she turns and hurries away, disappearing into the crowd.

The vendor lets out a relieved sigh as we reach his stand. "Thanks," he says, even though we didn't actually do anything. "That was getting a bit intense."

"No problem," Rampart says smoothly. "Everything okay here?"

The vendor nods, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Just a misunderstanding about… merchandise."

I raise an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "What kind of merchandise?"

He shrugs, suddenly very interested in arranging the fruit on his stand. "Oh, you know. Just a normal misunderstanding. Nothing important."

Rampart and I exchange a look. Something's definitely off here, but I don't think we can push too hard without causing an even bigger commotion, and I think Rampart knows it. We're not in costume, after all.

"Well, glad we could help," Rampart says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "You take care now."

As we walk away, I lean in close to Rampart. "That was weird, right? It wasn't just me?"

He nods, his expression grim. "Definitely weird. And did you notice how nervous that woman was? She looked like she was expecting trouble."

I bite my lip, thinking. "You don't think… could it be related to that new gang you mentioned? The one trying to muscle in on the Phreaks' old territory?"

Rampart's eyes light up. "Could be. Good thinking, Sam. Let's keep our eyes open."