Ricardo wiped the sweat from his face after training his biceps. He grabbed the fifty-ton dumbbells and placed them in the rack before taking huge gulps of water to refresh his sweating body. Ricardo pulled the water bottle from his lips, his face stern. He was listening to a podcast about the latest news.

  And of course, everyone was talking about the Crimson Angel, the Walking Supernova — the one shaking the very structure of the world. Truly, Red Justice's existence is unique. Nobody was sure if the boy was just a human with extra abilities or, like the superhero everyone compares him to, an alien.

  Ricardo wasn't sure himself, and he didn't know enough to form an opinion about the matter. But what mattered was that this guy was helping people. He'd seen the surveillance footage Mr. Nine forced them to watch — helping people get to job interviews, finding lost kids, and a hundred other small things. And when there were big problems, like the burning building yesterday, he was more than enough to save them.

  Ricardo gripped the plastic bottle, crushing it in his hands, feeling frustrated and envious. It was unbecoming of him; his Nanay had told him when he was young that jealousy is a poison to the soul. But he couldn't help feeling it. Otherwise, his feelings toward Red Justice had been positive.

  Which made him dread knowing that in just a couple of days, they were going to attack such a young child. He clenched his fist before summoning his courage and jogging to Michael's office. Once he got there, he opened the door to find Michael focused on some papers, wearing black-rimmed glasses and a white polo shirt. Michael looked up from his papers to face Ricardo.

  "Oh, Ricardo, what brings you here?"

  Ricardo's face flashed with guilt. "I can come back if you want—"

  "No!" Michael said a bit too quickly. He cleared his throat. "It's fine, Ricardo. What do you want to talk about?"

  Ricardo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. For a man who could bench tanks, it was strange to feel this nervous just talking. He slowly approached the blonde soldier and sat in the chair facing Michael's desk. He scratched the back of his head. "It's about the mission."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Uh, what about it?"

  Ricardo hesitated, then spoke honestly. "Do you really think he deserves to be treated like a threat?"

  Michael paused; he blinked rapidly, clearly not expecting that question. Ricardo looked away, rubbing his neck.

  "I mean," Ricardo continued, choosing his words carefully, "we've all seen the footage. He saves people."

  "Yeah?"

  "It's just... don't you feel it's wrong we're targeting someone who is just trying to do good?"

  Michael looked down; for a moment, Ricardo could have sworn there was a hint of guilt on his face. But Michael steadied himself and took a deep breath.

  "It doesn't matter what I think. Those are our orders, and we must follow them."

  Ricardo frowned. "But he's just a kid."

  "A kid who can outpace missiles, survive nuclear-level blasts, and shake international politics just by existing — Mr. Nine's words, not mine."

  Ricardo couldn't find any words to say. Michael stood, circled the table, and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

  "I get it, Ricardo. This is one of those missions where... we don't feel like heroes. But the government, while flawed, has the people's best interest—"

  "Some of the time," Ricardo added.

  That earned a chuckle from Michael. "I can't argue with that." They both laughed a little.

  "I know you don't agree with the Monarchs, and that's fair, but at the end of the day we are soldiers, and we do as we are told. I'm sorry."

  Michael squeezed his muscular friend's shoulder, which earned a sigh from the Filipino man.

  "It's fine... I'll just deal with it. I'll follow you wherever it leads."

  "Thank you, Ricardo."

  Ricardo waved his leader goodbye; his expression was complicated but more resolute. He said he was going to return to training, leaving Michael alone in his office. Once his friend was out of sight, Michael dropped his shoulders and slicked back his blonde hair. He released a sigh he'd been holding in since they were given this mission. He walked over to his desk and pulled a drawer.

  Inside was a comic book of a lesser-known hero. It wasn't part of the two big publishers, but it had been a gift from his poor father, who gave it to him despite hard times. The comic was about a soldier who escaped an evil government and started a rebellion. Soldier Man had always been his idol. If he were real, he would no doubt be disappointed in Michael.

  He closed the drawer and rubbed his eyes. There was no going back now; he was a soldier. And good soldiers follow orders, no matter what.