The wooden beams creaked loudly with every step Ernesto took, as if they would break apart at any moment. There were no railings or supports to hold onto, and the area he was walking in was covered in darkness, so he kept arms crossed and his gaze forward as he stormed towards his destination, trying to balance on the shaky structure the best he could.

He hated that he had to be down here, in this shabby and disappointing place. He'd just arrived in the Land of the Dead, but already he knew that this wasn't a good place to be. People whispered as he'd passed them in the streets, talking about this part of the city in a disapproving voice. This was the place for criminals, they said. Rejects. People who deserved to be hated.

Ernesto didn't belong here. He didn't deserve to be here. He should be in the upper parts of the city, preparing for his next concert, signing autographs, being fawned by his endless stream of fans. But if were to stay up there, he wouldn't have a place to live yet. He'd have nowhere to go at the end of the day. No living space to retreat to like all of the other celebrities have.

That's why, no matter how much he despised it, he was down here, where he wouldn't be bothered, where the residents would surely turn a blind eye, where he wouldn't have to face his fans or the paparazzi until he had a more professional setting to meet them in.

The closer Ernesto got to the bottom of the stairs, the more movement he saw, which made him think that he might not go as unnoticed as he'd hoped.

He could see dim lights set up around the place now, flickering on and off constantly and making his eyes hurt. One-story, poorly built houses with cracks and slanted roofs lined the unstable walkway, which was surrounded by deep water. The ground was littered with crushed cans and bottles, candy wrappers, and torn pieces of paper. Conversations and bursts of laughter floated around Ernesto as he walked deeper into the town.

Ernesto kept his head down as he passed people to hide the gashes in his neck and crack on his skull, also making sure that his arms were crossed so people couldn't see how his ribs were cracked. He already didn't want to be seen down here, but he didn't want the injuries his death had given him to show either. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to give him pity or sympathy, or for one of the residents to notice the injuries and think he was some sort of easy target. He just needed to get to the most isolated place of the town he could find and stay there until he had a place to live in the upper parts of the city.

Hopefully they would alert him of his mansion being completed soon enough.

When Ernesto passed the various skeletons hanging out on the sides of the town, he could hear their conversations dying abruptly. People gasped and murmered, giving him wide-eyed looks. Ernesto could see a few fingers pointed in his direction out of the corner of his eye, and he swore he heard a dark chuckle from somewhere behind him. Some of the people whispered a bit louder, and Ernesto could hear their words.

"Who is that?"

"Is that Ernesto de la Cruz? Why's he down here?"

"He looks too good to be one of us. Maybe he's lost or something."

"¡Dios mío! You see those cracks in his bones? I would hate being hurt like that. I wonder how that happened."

Ernesto still didn't look at any of them, praying to disappear. He loved receiving attention, but he didn't want it from these bastardos. He didn't like that these criminals and rejected souls were ogling him like a hurt child.

He picked up his pace, uncrossing his arms as he jogged further and further away from their obnoxious commentary. Still, though, he could hear their whispers trailing him, filling him with annoyance and dread. He wanted to hit something, throw those people into the deep lake that surrounded this pathetic area, but he kept running instead. He was going faster now, a full run, until suddenly he caught sight of two skeletons blocking his path, turning to face him with startled expressions.

Ernesto skidded to a full stop before he could crash into them, finally lifiting his head to look at them.

One of them averted his gaze as soon as Ernesto met his eyes. He was at least two feet shorter than Ernesto, with long, thick and wavy black hair that stopped at his shoulders, disrupted by three streaks of grey. He kept his head bowed, so Ernesto couldn't see any of his facial features, but he could see the beginning of a crack that started at the man's left cheekbone and seemed to continue across his skull if Ernesto were to judge without looking closer. The stranger wore a tight undershirt that seemed to fit him perfectly, but the brown pants that went with the shirt appeared too big, and they looked like they were nearly falling off.

The other person did not avert his gaze and stared Ernesto down with his large, round brown eyes. He was just as tall as Ernesto, if a few inches taller, and he looked way younger than his companion next to him. Possibly twenty pounds skinnier as well. This man had thick, short, straight black hair with many strands in disarray. The marks on his skull were colorful swirls of green, yellow, orange, and purple. The purple jacket that he wore was torn and had a wide hole in the back and was missing a sleeve. The beige pants that he wore to go with it didn't look like they were in much better condition, bearing several rips. A red scarf was tied loosely around his neck.

The two of them stared at each other for a few minutes longer, and the man suddenly furrowed his brow, giving a forced smile.

"Superhero. What are you doing here?"

Ernesto bristled in shock. There was only one person who called him by that terrible name.

He gaped at the man, giving him a closer look. The big brown eyes, the unruly hair, the tall and skinny frame...

Ernesto stared in shock, and a jolt of dread went through him. "Héctor?!"

Suddenly laying low in this place until his mansion was ready seemed like an even worse idea now than Ernesto had thought it was before.