Team C

"That's some messed up shit."

As the sun began to set towards the West, Hunter, Synaes, and Martel sat with their legs crossed in front of Katsu. The wind had dies down from the ocean, and the stillness caused the heat from the retreating sun to blare down and encroach on the diminishing shade from the oak tree's branches.

The Japanese boy held the large shoebox in his hand. After explaining Bakugo's story, he scanned the various photos of the box. Most of them were of Bakugo and Uraraka. However, there were a couple of other photos with his other friends. Even Shoto was perched within a picture or two, and Bakugo seemed at least tolerant of the half-and-half hero.

"So does that explain why he's such a hothead?" Synaes asked.

"No, he's always been like that," Katsu said. "In fact, he's probably calmed down ever since it happened."

"That had to have been the worst day of his life," Martel held up a palm to his forehead. "Oh, how the good die young."

"So he buried this here," Hunter said. "And then went home?"

Katsu shrugged. "Was there any other place on the tracker it showed?"

Martel stared down right at the device and minimized the map. "It only has a small radius, but I can tell that he came here and then went on the highway back into Los Angeles. We could follow the trail and see if it gives us a clearer picture."

"Idiots," Synaes said. She rose to her feet and positioned her head so it was directed towards the ocean. "Have you ever thought that maybe Bakugo wasn't the one that planted it?"

"We didn't have Deku's DNA, and this was the track we chose," Martel said. "So what do you propose we do?"

"Don't you have a bomb tracker in there somewhere?" Synaes huffed.

"It's not 'somewhere'," Martel clutched his chest as if he had a necklace of pearls around his neck. "It's my void space! My quirk."

"Great, so you can pull a rabbit out of a hat," Synaes stared towards Martel's general area. "Can you do something thats, I don't know...useful?"

"We wouldn't be out here if it weren't for me," Martel said in an angry tone.

"You're right," Synaes shrugged. "We wouldn't have dug up our teacher's memory box and wasted our time on this hill if it weren't for you. Thank you so much!"

Katsu tuned out the arguing that erupted between the two students. He felt the thin photographs in his hands. Picking one up, he noticed it was graduation day for the students. The giant group were posed outside of U.A. and its gate, the towering glass buildings jutting out of the frame. Bakugo seemed calm for once, an arm wrapped around Uraraka. His face held a ghost of a smile as everyone else clambered about with faces that ranged from pure joy to goofiness.

"Shoto told me something one time. About being a hero."

Synaes and Martel stopped talking and looked down at Katsu. Hunter turned his seated crouch towards him as well.

"I don't know how it matters here, but I think it's something that's forgotten. The sacrifice that has to be made. The things that you have to let go. And I think Bakugo is still learning how to let go of some things. Uraraka dying being one of them."

Katsu closed the box and looked up at the other students.

"There's this story that Shoto tells me a lot. To remind me to lower my ego and work with others. He was out on patrol one day by Tokyo Bay. He ran into Bakugo who had just had lunch at this really cool restaurant. They have amazing Katsudon! Anyway, they were by the restaurant, and there was this store that was next door to it. It was an old convenience store. Family owned. Not many like those anymore."

"What's the point," Synaes said.

"Just let him finish," Hunter reassured. "I'm sure it's important."

"What they noticed was that the front door had a sign on it. It always glowed a bright red, just like Shoto's hair. It was a joke Uraraka used to tell him. Bakugo, I guess, decided to tease him about it. Well, that day, they noticed that it was blinking weirdly. It never blinked before, but Shoto actually didn't think it was a big deal. It was Bakugo that noticed that the lights were blinking in the same pattern as the morse code for 'SOS'. They investigated, and they found that the family that ran the place had been taken hostage. Some yakuza shit about wanting money. Quirkless. They solved it in five minutes."

Katsu stood up, putting the box back into the hole that it belonged.

"We're gonna have people we don't always agree with, but we are all a team. It's us: the heroes. We are up against the villains. There's no hero that means more or less when you think of it that way."

Synaes bowed down her head. Martel bit his finger.

"I was just frustrated. It's hotter out here than in Iceland," Synaes said. "You're quirk is very good, and...I'm sorry."

Martel nodded. "You don't seem like someone that says that a lot."

"I don't," Synaes said. "So enjoy it while you can."

"Thank you," Martel said. He flashed a small grin at Synaes. Even though she could not see it, Martel noticed that she seemed to relax from her pin-straight soldier posture.

Katsu lapped his hands together. "There we go. Now, we can get back to working together. That was the lesson."

"I guess the other lesson was to pay attention to things that are different than before," Hunter said.

Katsu nodded and stretched his arms. "You're right. Making sure that things that were one way were...the same...as they were...before."

The other three students saw Katsu stare out towards the city behind the ridge. His mouth pried itself open, and he thought back to the day up to that point.

"Did any of you notice something different in class," Katsu asked. "Specifically, about the grandfather clock."

"Oh, let me guess," Synaes said in a sarcastic tone. "It was a different color than yesterday."

Katsu snapped his fingers in a eureka moment. "That's it!"

"I was joking."

"No, you are completely right," Katsu grinned. "The face of the clock was a different color today. The color of the face was gold yesterday. Today, I looked at it and it had white numbers with a black background."

"Why does that sound familiar?" Martel asked.

"Because," Katsu gave off a self-assured nod of his head. "Today, Shoto drove me through Santa Monica instead of the route we took yesterday to get to school. The pattern of the grandfather clock's color matched the exact same color pattern of the clock that I saw when Shoto drove me to school today. I know where the bomb is!"

Katsu looked back down at the hole before him, his grin becoming a wistful smile as he saw the memories that were piled into the box.

"Let's cover this up first," Katsu nearly whispered. "Maybe even leave a few flower seeds. Make it look good for when Bakugo comes up and visits."

"Now that," Martel said, whipping out a packet of rose and daffodil seeds from his void space. "I definitely got."

TEAM D

"Whittier, huh?"

Out on Hollywood Boulevard, Drake leaned on a neon green light pole. The small wooden box with a combination lock remained in his hand. He tumbled the cube around his fingers, the dust-ridden plywood holding a secret of some kind.

Megan stood in front of him,

Drake sighed and threw up the box before catching it. "Not the most exciting place."

"Not as exciting as London, I'm sure. That's a good thing, though."

"I got the hot dogs!"

Blake bounded towards them like an excited puppy. He held a bunch of three hot dogs in aluminum wrappers balanced on his left arm like a skilled waiter. When he got to the light post, he stopped on his heels. The forward momentum made him lurch forward, and one of the hot dogs slid off and tumbled to the ground. It splattered mustard-side up and squished onto the dark marble ground of the Walk Of Fame.

"Oh no," Blake shouted. "That's too bad, Megan"

Blake handed Drake a hot dog and began to munch into his own.

"Why was that my hot dog?" Megan asked while gesturing at the ruined food. "A gentleman would offer a hot dog to me."

"Of course they would," Blake said. "But I am really hungry, and I can't think straight if I don't eat. Besides, I thought all you ate was broccoli."

"I never said 'all I ate.' I only said I liked broccoli a lot."

Drake, without another word, pushed his hand out to Megan and presented the hot dog to her. She grabbed it from his hand, a wry grin on her face.

"Thanks, Drake."

Drake nodded and looked back down at the box. He thought about the different tactics that Deku and Bakugo were trying to use on them. Much like in chess, there were a plethora of strategies that could be used in these scenarios. The combination that could unlock this box could be anything. A birth year. Zip code. A word that was made by the corresponding number of the letter that would spell it out. The possibilities were endless.

"So, what do you think is inside?" Blake asked with his mouth full.

"Chew, you dingbat," Megan said with her face crinkling in disgust.

Blake stopped mid-chew and snapped his eyes towards her. This time, there was a deep scowl on his face. Megan was taken aback at the sudden change in the hyper boy's demeanor. His normally happy grey eyes had an odd, almost dangerous glint that Megan felt raked into her spine. Neither of them said a word It was a strange attitude change, and the self-assured Brit found herself becoming uncomfortable within seconds.

Drake noticed this too. His eyes narrowed, and he examined the sprightly shorter kid. Blake put one of his hands in his pockets, and it stayed there.

The three of them were frozen in a stare-down triangle. The passing tourists and rolling tour buses did nothing to take away from their concentration.

Suddenly, a gasp.

Megan hopped back in pain as she grabbed her left thigh. Smacking it like she was swatting a mosquito, she gasped out as it felt like she had been stabbed by a thin needle. Then, just as the pain jabbed her, it disappeared.

She patted the area, but the area in her thigh felt just fine. As if the pain never happened, the flesh was untouched, and she felt no puncture or wound.

"What the fuck just happened," Megan asked and looked over at the other two.

"What?" Blake asked in an innocent voice.

"I don't know," Megan looked down at the sidewalk. "It was as if something stung me. Like a little needle jabbed my thigh. Did somebody walk past me and do that?"

Blake took his hand out of his pocket and opened them up in an inquisitive pose. "Didn't see a soul. Maybe a bee? I heard they come down here this time of year."

Drake leaned back on the light pole and contemplated the two. All he saw was Megan and Blake standing just opposite each other. There was no way Blake could have reached over and stabbed her. Nobody had walked close enough to her for any damage capabilities either.

"Yes, a bee," Megan said to assure herself. It was a strange, but sudden intrusion that slashed a blade of pain through her nerves.

Drake decided it was best to forget about the moment for later. He held out the box in his hands and shook it. A small thump rattled in the box, and Drake held it up to his ear.

"I guess we need a combination," Megan shook her head to refocus on the task.

"I guess we do," Blake said. His typical deep smile rested on his face, and he bounded on his tip-toes. He appeared to be an innocent child yet again as he shoved the hot dog into his small mouth.

Drake, while holding the box to his ear, turned to have the combination lock pressed to his ear lobe. With a inward grunt, his ear morphed into a coral red. It enlarged with a harsh point forming at the end of the new appendage. His human ear had grown into that of a dragon.

Listening with his enhanced dragon sense of hearing, he ticked the numbers on the combination until he heard a click emanate from the lock. Once he hit one of the correct numbers, he took his thumb and moved the number in the next column.

After a few extra clicks, he unlocked the four columns on the lock side. He held out the box, and his ear transformed into the fleshy pale white that was Drake's normal skin.

"Cool," Blake held out the word to emphasize his opinion. "Your quirk is so amazing!"

Drake slumped his shoulders and craned his head downward. "I haven't heard that before."

"But it is cool," Blake said. "You should be happy. Your quirk is who you are, and no one can take that away."

Drake nodded. He glanced over at Megan. The girl was looking down at her feet, her train of thought chugging towards a different station. When she looked up after noticing the silence, she saw the two men staring at her. She licked her lips and tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear.

"Yes, I agree. Completely."

Drake puffed his chest up. Peering down at the box, he took his other hand and popped open the lid. He saw inside, and pulled out a thin strip of paper. He held it out in his hand, and the other two read the inscription on the slip.

"A riddle?" Megan asked incredulously.

"The resource that is never renewed, but eternally growing," Blake read. "The temple were it rests, near where Ocean and Ocean meet. By 34 and 118, it is true that the past already happened, and will continue with only you."

"What the jerkins does that mean?" Megan asked.

"Ocean is capitalized," Blake chimed in. "Maybe that means something."

"What about the numbers?"

Drake tapped his chin. "Never renewed, but always getting larger. What could that be?"

"The national debt," Blake shrugged.

"My father's receipt every time he buys alcohol," Megan said.

Drake thought back to what they had seen throughout the day. The two wax sculptures of Deku and Bakugo. The strange way of them speaking and introducing the task. The constraints that they had been put under. Even the ornate grandfather clock that chimed in the corner of the classroom. Most classrooms he had ever seen did not have a grandfather clock. What significance did that have?

"What is this riddle supposed to solve?" Blake asked.

"We're supposed to find a bomb. So, is this where it is?" Megan asked.

"A bomb," Drake said. "How long will it be before the bomb goes off?"

Megan looked at the electric clock from the souvenir shop across the street from them. "I think we got three hours left before school ends."

Drake threw the box on the ground and held the slip of paper in his two hands. Three hours left. Three hours of time before the bomb erupts.

Time.

"That's it," Drake said. "It's time."

"Time for what? To give up?" Blake asked.

"No," Drake pointed upward at the sky. "Time is the resource. It can't be renewed, because you can't get it back. But..."

"Time goes on forever," Megan added. "Well after we are gone."

"So," Blake tried to rack his head around the riddle. "If it's time, then the temple is...where time is stored? Oh, wait! It is a place where time is stored. Like a time bank? Or maybe just a place where time is given."

"Given. Where is time given?"

"I know where."

Drake looked between the two students in front of them. With a flash, two flames jutted out from his back, and his wings appeared to span out and stretch. He gestured at the two to grab on to him. His dragon wings flapped and prepared for flight.

"Given," Drake said. "Or shown. A place where time is shown."

Team A

Behind the row of shrubbery, Anton picked at one of the leaves poking into his lime skin. The sun was now beginning to get in his eyes, and he rustled the bush to get in a more comfortable position. His knees ached from the crouch he twisted himself. The muscles in his thin legs began to lock up and strain under the tension, and he shimmied himself harder.

"Stop elbowing me," Anton said to Moxie.

"That's not my elbow," Moxie said.

After grunting out, Anton fell backwards and banged the back of his head on the brick wall. He coughed out and rubbed the sore spot, a slight gash stinging at the back of his head. Rustling his shiny black hair, he applied pressure and rubbed the spot.

"Sorry about that," Moxie said. "You hurt."

"No, I'm fine," Anton dug his fingers onto the bump that was already forming.

"Wait, I hear someone."

Moxie covered her mouth. A vibration pulsed in the concrete from inside the house. Anton could feel the movement in the bricks that his back was pressed into. A thin, nasally voice crescendoed in volume with footsteps thumping harder over tile flooring.

"...so I'll make sure to give it to him."

A lock clicked.

The glass door slid open, and a pair of brown penny loafers clacked onto the concrete in the backyard. Anton looked up and saw the back of a balding, wrinkled head with dark liver spots and strands of graphite grey hair hanging on for dear life on the skull. A short, stout man held up a flip phone to his ear. With a cable knit pink sweater vest wrapped around his portly body, he gazed out towards the swimming pool while listening to the voice behind him.

"I thought I'd apologize after what I did. Not everyday someone does that to your mother, y'know." He said in pensive concentration at the rippling water below his feet.

Moxie tapped Anton on the shoulder and pointed at the open door. Anton tilted his body to the side and pressed down on the hot concrete with his hands. He clenched his teeth from the hot surface, but shuffled himself put of the bush to the door just feet away. With the litheness of a trembling poodle, Anton scooted himself to the edge of the concrete and hoisted himself up the small step into the house.

In the house, his knees slid on the grey tile of the kitchen area. He pulled himself to the chromium island that glistened under the sunlight beaming into the house. He twisted himself around the corner and planted his back onto the island. He allowed himself to breathe, now out of the view of the man on the telephone.

Moxie and Leo turned the corner and placed themselves next to him. They rocked forward and back to calm their nerves after just avoiding the man. Only the breathing of the students and the faraway chattering from the man could be heard for a few seconds.

"Basement," Moxie whispered.

Anton faced the girl. She had her finger extended towards a yellow plywood door that sat next to the silver oven across from them.

"I bet it's in there," Moxie explained.

"Nothing is in there," Anton said. "The bomb isn't here."

Without another breath, Moxie bolted for the doorway. Seeing there was no way to dissuade her, Anton grunted in anxiety and followed her. Leo held a deep breath like he was diving into the shimmering pool outside and trailed behind them.

Moxie shunted the doorway open and tiptoed her way down the wooden steps. As Anton followed suit with Leo hovering uncomfortably behind him, they gripped the golden railing as the rickety steps seemed to betray them with every squeak.

There was one more door, this one a steel door that had a similar handle to that of a toilet bowl. Moxie waited for the other two at the bottom. Once they arrived, she gave both of them serious glares of concern.

"Be ready for anything."

"I'm ready to get arrested," Anton muttered under his breath. "Or shot."

Moxie turned and pressed the handle. The steel door let out a hydraulic hiss and slid backwards. Once it had exited its grove, it slid to the side and revealed the basement. The three of them gawked at the sight before them.

The basement was a simple steel cube. The walls and ceilings were all steel with a dull glare shining off the surfaces. However, not a piece of furniture existed except for the marble pedestal that rested in the very center of the room.

On that pedestal rested a red button.

Moxie threw on a brave face and strutted towards the center of the room. Anton said and shoved his hands in his pockets before covering Moxie's footsteps. Leo hunched himself behind Anton, his erratic breathing beginning to annoy Anton.

Once the trio had reached the lever, Moxie turned back. Her intense grey eyes switching between the two other boys.

"Whatever happens here," Moxie said. "We did our duty as heroes."

"Just pull the lever," Anton said.

"Wait," Leo huddled himself into a small crouch. "I need to mentally prepare myself."

"Prepare yourself for what?"

"The explosion."

Anton rolled his eyes. "There won't be an explosion."

"Why is there a lever here then?" Moxie asked as she grabbed the lever.

"Because he has a secret dungeon or bunker or drug lab or something," Anton argued. "He's Steve Buscemi! It could be anything!"

Moxie, with one more absolute nod, pulled the lever.

The entire room shook like an earthquake ravaged the shoreline. All three of them toppled onto their backs. Plumes of smoke hissed into the room, and the entire world was thrown in disarray like a rocket ship was being launched just above them. Anton tried to get up, but he found himself glued to the ground by some invisible force that pinned him down into the cold steel floor. He could not even muster a scream, because his face was being pulled to the side by the heavy wind that thrashed down onto his body. Even his hand was stuck in place, the knife he used to cut himself and release his Pathogen unreachable.

Then, it stopped.

Just as soon as it happened, the room was as silent as a morgue. Anton sucked in precious air and stared up at the ceiling. If he was not dead, then he would be once the owner of the house showed up in the basement from that loud noise.

"What in the world?"

Hearing Moxie, Anton fought the ache in his back and sat up. Looking back to the Cajun girl, her mouth was agape as she pointed to the left of the trio. When Anton turned he first noticed that the wall that was placed in that area had been removed. A brand new room was revealed.

What was inside that room made Anton drop his mouth as well.

TEAM B

James roared out at the cloudless sky.

The sopping wet student's legs bent upward in front of him, the obsidian-haired boy buried his head in between his knees. His muscular arms wrapped around his legs, and he blew out a hot breath. The wet droplets of water trailed down his hair and dripped onto the warm wood of the pier. The heavy sun hovered just over the tall ferris wheel that spun around in the park beyond the hot dog stand and information kiosk.

How could he, someone as smart and capable as himself, be tricked like that? He should have known it would have been too easy. The boy smacked his bare knee; he was still clad in only his dolphin-printed navy boxers.

The empty cardboard box rested mangled and worn from the seawater that battered it previous. After recovering from hitting his head on the sand, James waded up to the box. His hand massaging his head, he took the other and ripped off the cardboard box attached to the pillar with duct tape. He ripped the lid off and saw the contents of the box.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

When he got back to the pier, he simply threw the box at Lloyd's head and sulked next to the hot dog stand he jumped from. The sizzling of the meat filling his ears along with the whispers from the others behind him. They were probably making fun of him like some loser. At least he had the guts to do something, unlike all of those other lazy manatees.

"I could get you a hot dog."

James bit his lip to stop from throwing a quick retort about not being fucking hungry at this point in time. However, he recognized the saccharine voice as that happy Asian girl, and he could not muster the strength to shout at her.

The girl sat down next to him, a light thump vibrating along the wood.

"I feel stupid," James said.

"Probably won't be the last time," Robyn took a bite from the hot dog. "One time, I thought I saw a snake on the sidewalk. Turns out it was just a crumpled up brown beanie."

James stared at Robyn. The girl had a kind smile on her face with a pork hot dog clasped in one hand. Draped on her other shoulder was a bag with the hilt of what appeared to be a samurai sword. His damp hair dripped with salty water as he looked underneath his brow out to the ocean.

"I kinda thought I'd make a better impression than this."

"You did," Robyn said as she gestured James. "You showed that you are more than willing to take your clothes off to save people. That is the essence of a true hero, and a big plus in my opinion."

James rubbed his bare shoulder of the water dripping down his skin. This girl had just batted her eyelashes at him. What was she doing talking to him? "Whatever. It's just a setback."

"That's the spirit."

"No one said being the number one student was going to be easy," James said to stroke his own ego.

"Aww," Robyn said with a teasing chuckle. "Are you number one already?"

"In fact, I am," James growled out and whipped his head towards Robyn. "I jumped in there and acted when no one else did. That makes me number one by default."

"What if I don't want you to be number one," Robyn leaned closer to James, her smirk growing. "What if I want to fight you for it?"

"Tch. That fight would be over in five seconds," James closed his eyes and turned back towards the shoreline in front of him.

"You shouldn't be so modest. I bet you'd last at least ten seconds."

James opened his eyes and swallowed. Facing Robyn, he examined the sprightly girl. She was certainly more spirited than many of the other students. He could tell that she was just teasing, and she seemed like someone that truly gave everyone a chance. The chances of her having any real ulterior motives seemed miniscule. She seemed harmless to him and his quest for domination of the school. In fact, she may aid him one day despite him not needing her help. Maybe she even wanted to help him.

A part of him wanted to vomit over the railing at how sweet that sounded. The other part of him had his curiosity piqued.

"By the way, just so you can avoid any awkward asian nicknames or slurs," Robyn said as she twirled a strand of her hair that fell over her eye. "My name is Robyn."

James cleared his throat. "Right. I guess we never got to names."

"I'm not good with them, either," Robyn said. "But I think I'll remember yours. James."

"Robyn," James felt the name fumble off his tongue like it was a strange riddle. "Not a bad name."

"By the way," Robyn pointed down at James boxers. "Dolphins?"

An angry flush fizzled over James' tanned face. He babbled out choked noises and leaned backwards as his cheeks grew warm.

"Shut up!" James shouted with a clinched fist. "I'm from Florida! There's a lot of beaches there!" He stammered.

Before Robyn could laugh louder and he could respond further, a white damp rag draped itself over the throbbing bump on James's head.

"Are you going to be this reckless the entire school year?" Lloyd asked, talking down to James.

The Canadian plopped himself next to James by the railing. Austin, meanwhile, sat himself on the other side of Robyn and went to town on his hot dog, his legs swinging in delight over the edge of the pier.

"Are you going to be this reckless?" James mimicked while flapping his hand like a mouth. He glared at Lloyd. "I'm busy not having a concussion. Thank you."

"It would be best if you grew up," Lloyd chastised. He held out a hot dog that was in one hand towards James. Seeing this was being offered to him, James questioned whether he was being weak for accepting Lloyd's offering. On the other hand, he was suddenly very hungry and thirsty despite being drenched in water.

"Thanks, I guess," James said. He grabbed the hot dog and took a bite from it. The warm juices of the pork swam into his mouth. He chewed on it, the succulent taste of the soft bun mixing with the meat. The tangy mustard sizzled and tickled his tongue, and he swallowed with a surprised look on his face.

"It's actually pretty good," James said.

"I know. I can't believe pork actually tastes this good," Austin said. "Angus beef is still the best."

"You're just saying that cause your from America," Lloyd said. "We have pork all the time in Canada."

"Another example of how backwards that place is," James shot back.

"But this is what we have in Canada. Just what the hot dog stand says," Lloyd said. "Completely pork, halal hot dogs."

"Whatever that means," Robyn munched on the pork.

James twisted his neck to spy the hot dog stand.

"Pork, huh?"

James rose to his feet. With a stretch of his arm, he lumbered towards the front of the hot dog stand. Three people stood in front of it in a line. The lady with her blue eyes and matching hijab scooped up the meat and placed it into the bun. He could not make out much of the rest of her face as it was cast in shadow. She muttered out her thanks as she handed another hot dog over, the slightest hint of an asian accent.

James looked down and read the sign on the hot dog cart. His multi-colored eyes narrowed.

Lloyd noticed this strange behavior and stood up, leaving his hot dog on the floor in the aluminum wrapper. He brushed away a strand of his scarlet hair from his eye and stepped over to James. When he reached the boy, he turned and faced the front of the cart with him.

"Something has bothered me about this stand."

Lloyd scoffed and crossed his arms. "You have a problem with muslims, now?"

"Do you know what Halal means, red-head?"

"What?"

"On the sign," James pointed at the font printed on the hot dog stand's front. "I know you Canadians don't come across it a lot, so I'll spell it out for you."

James took a step forward and licked his lips. He took the rag off his head and squeezed it in his hands. Lloyd followed next to him, but he noticed the faint yellow glow emanating from the towel like a lighter was ignited underneath.

"I grew up in Miami. What do you think of when you think of Miami?"

"What are you talking ab-."

"Answer me, eskimo."

"Uh...Cubans. Latinos. That movie about the gay nightclub."

"A lot of people don't realize it, but there's a large muslim population." James said. "Based on the cross on your necklace, you're probably not an expert in that religion."

"In fact, I know quite a bit about Islam, thank you," Lloyd said. "I paid attention in religion studies."

They reached the front of the line. The lady, with her head still lowered, flickered her eyes to spot the boy.

"Can I help you boys?" she asked.

"Yes," James said. "Why are you out here selling hot dogs?"

"Huh?" The lady said.

"Why is a woman like you selling hot dogs on the pier?" James asked. The glow of his hands underneath the towel grew brighter.

"Woman like me?"

Lloyd gasped and jilted his head in a double-take movement towards James. "You can't speak to a civilian and disrespect her hot dogs like that. This lady has probably worked years to perfect this recipe!"

"Get back, lady!" James shouted.

James flipped off the towel and threw his hands up in front of him. His hands glowed a bright neon orange, and he thrusted them right at the lady. She leaped back and let out a shout, while the other people in line cried out in surprise. Lloyd took a step back, dumbfounded by the brash move by the crazy member of his team.

With a step around the edge of the cart, James scared the lady away from the immediate back of the cart. James stepped around like a gunslinger holding his fists open eady to strike. He circled to the back of the cart and turned to face it. The boiler to heat up the dogs bubbled and spat out wisps of steam. Next to it, a sack of cold sticks of pork meat and a bag of buns sat in the cool shade of the purple umbrella overhead. A few metal cabinets built into the cart were closed in front of James.

The light went away from James' hands. He kneeled down and flung open one of the cabinets. His spindly fingers danced through the layers of silverware and plastic tongs in search for something.

Lloyd jumped around the corner and kneeled down next to James.

"You just threatened a civilian with assault," Lloyd seethed through his teeth. "They're going to suspend you!"

"No, they won't," James said. "Because their ploy didn't work."

Seeing there was nothing in that cabinet, he pulled open the cabinet next to it. Piles of wax paper and aluminum foil crumpled underneath James's grasp.

"In Miami," James grumbled while sifting through the supplies. "I used to live down the street by a deli. A deli with halal food. Food for muslims. It was run by a guy named Abdul. Just one of about a hundred thousand muslims in the Miami-Dade area."

James slammed the cabinet shut. Only two more to go. He ripped open the next one. This one had layers of plastic forks and spoons sprinkled over one another. He dug his hands into them again.

"My parents made me go there all the time. Great falafel. But I learned one important thing from Abdul. One day, my parents told me to buy bacon. When I asked for it, Abdul called his friends to the register, and they couldn't stop laughing. Turns out it was just a joke. You know why it was a joke?"

"Why?" Lloyd asked.

"Because to be halal, the food can't contain pork," James said. "So my question is...why is that muslim lady-."

"Selling hot dogs made of pork and advertising them as halal!" Lloyd pointed at James, the point finally emerging in his head. "This hot dog stand makes no sense. It's a fake!"

James closed the cabinet. His hand hovered over the metal handle of the last cabinet. "Guess that map was just a little off. Because the bomb wasn't in the box. It's in this hot dog stand."

He clasped the frigid handle of the cart. Turning it downward, he threw open the heavy metal door. Once he peered inside, he found three long crimson sticks of dynamite laying on the bottom of a silver shelf. Wrapped in black duct tape, the dynamite was held together in a strong bundle. On top of the mound, a digital alarm clock ticked a countdown that was currently set with just one hour remaining.

As James flashed a cock-assured smirk, a whip came and slashed his hand.

He roared out in pain and flung himself backwards. Landing on his back, he kicked his feet to push himself over the wooden floorboards away from the stand. The harsh sting welted the back of his palm, an angry gash formed across the wound. His fingers twitch as he clutched the arm. His thumb rubbed over the wound. He looked up from the hand to the source of the whip, the lady ripping off her hijab.

"I'm impressed that you pieced it together at all," the lady said. "I thought my accent would give it away for sure."

She took off the blue apron and revealed the tight, leather leotard that clung onto her off-white bodysuit costume that lay underneath. Black thigh-high stockings connected to the straw-colored utility belt clasped around her wide hips.

"Sadly, the mystery is only half the battle," the lady said. "Now, you get to handle me. That is, if you have the stamina."

Lloyd pulled James up to his feet with his arm. Still clasping his right wrist, James said nothing as his teeth clenched together. They backed up until they stood right in front of Austin and Robyn who stood and gaped at the sight before them. The group of four students thought that finding the bomb would be their biggest threat, but the threat turned out to be something even bigger; Pro-Heroes.

Nemuri Kayama: A.K.A: Midnight! Her quirk: Somnabulist!

A twist! Kind of! It's Midnight, a PRO-HERO! How will Team B do against them? Will there be any other Pro-Heroes showing up? I guess we will all find out later!

Here is some more stuff for you all! Make sure you review! It is extremely important to me and it helps me get these chapters out faster.

Have any of you figured out where the bomb is? It's all there in black and white! Who is right? Who is wrong? Does midnight have it in her hot dog stand? Is it where Katsu says? Drake? Steve Buscemi's house? The decisions are endless!

Make sure you send in some females, villains, and any teachers! I will consider everyone!

Any suggestions, ideas, fan art, and critiques are much loved. The more in depth your reviews are, the better!

Thank you. See you soon!