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-”