You stretch as you climb out of your secret lair, stretching before leaning down to slide first the floor panel, then the rug back into place, concealing the basement from casual inspection. It might be a good idea to look into getting a more secure system in place later, but since you haven't made headlines in your new identity yet, you could just get a different costume if burglars find it.
You're dressed up at the moment, though, and you doubt anyone could figure out much from an empty glass case.
Mentally reviewing what you know about the aliens that have taken over most of the East Coast reveals that you don't know anywhere near enough about them. According to your mentor's notes, the Phazar haven't ever made a play this big before.
You did have a picture to compare to the videos on the news. Short, green, but muscled like bodybuilders, and with bald heads, they're not the kind of alien that gets good press. They've never tried to negotiate with the government in their earlier sightings, instead just showing up and picking fights with local heroes.
The phone rings, and you check caller I.D. It's a familiar name, and a surge of relief runs through you as you answer. "Hello?"
"This is Arnold. You seen the news, boy?" A scratchy voice issues from the speaker as your mentor figure contacts you for the first time in nearly a month. Arnold, as you knew him, was one of the few heroes that had managed to land a peaceful retirement. He'd kept that peace for almost five years now, when he'd finished tutoring you in the basics. It had been painful, like some Walt Disney training sequence pastiche, but the results were worth it.
You shake your head at the thought, and glance at the bright gold disc sitting on your kitchen counter. Two bold crimson letters sit on its face, one on either side of a recessed switch.
"I have. Phazar, right?"
"Damn right. What you gonna do about it?"
"I was thinking," you say slowly, "of using that signal badge you gave me."
Arnold hums thoughtfully. " . . . I think that would be a good idea. Those raids they were doing for the past year or so were intelligence gathering missions, most likely. That's why you're not seeing all of the faces you're used to on the news."
Ambush. That's a nasty way to go out. You walk over to the counter and pick up the Heroes United communicator. "So I just put my thumb in the depression, then say your passcode?"
"Yep. That'll let the teleporter know to lock onto you and pull you over."
Your thumb fits neatly into the slot. "Any advice?"
"Yeah. Keep your cool, but don't be afraid to be afraid. Fear lets you know that you're alive, but if you let it lock you up it'll make you dead right quick."
You crack a smile at that. The same advice he gave when you were fourteen and wearing a different costume, prowling the streets in spandex alongside a fifty year old man in his pajamas. In that case, the fear had been of being spotted, recognized, of having your picture splattered across the internet as "Super-Creep".
"I'll do my best." You reassure the man, and make to hang up the phone.
"Boy?"
You stop, finger on the button. "Yes?"
"You'll be fine."
He hangs up first, the old coot.
You press your thumb down until you hear a click, and say "Mister Mayhem, 41923".
After a second, the air around you fizzles, and you disappear.
What's your power set?
[]Incredible physical strength and durability.
[] Gravity manipulation increasing with potency as the area decreases.
[] Radiation emission and absorption.
[] Touch-ranged inertia negation.
[] Shapeshifting into a two-dimensional form.
[] Macro-scale control of air.
[] write-in