Exposure

“Where are you?!” Mithra demands from the bud in my ear.

“Run-ning late,” I pant.

“As long as you’re running,” she replies worriedly.

Freerunning, more like.

It’s not a coincidence that the traffic in the city centre has been paralysed by a series of simultaneous strategically-located accidents. Someone really doesn’t want us preventing the assassination of the Mayor.

I wish I had any freerunning experience at all. Jumping fifteen feet down is not fun, and I would be worth fuck-all to Mithra with a broken clavicle.

Alright, time to use superpowers.

“Mith’, make sure all photos of me are overexposed-”