Sparks fly as I lift the partially melted steel beam off of my chest. I'd love to just lay there and catch my breath, but the building is on fire, and regrowing burned skin is worse than ribs knitting themselves back together while moving. Gingerly, I roll over onto my side and push myself up.

The smoke stings my nose and eyes as I stagger towards the door. It's painful, but hardly life-threatening. Nothing is to me, which is why I've been nicknamed "Punchy Bag" by most of the younger generation of heroes. I hear they make a game of it, competing to see who can take me out the fastest whenever I try out my latest get-rich-quick scheme.

Hitting my side job though, that's a new one. Does it even count when they beat me up before I even put my plan into action?

I'm interrupted from this line of thought when I trip over a leg. The good news is, it's still attached to its owner. The bad news is, Christian's unconscious.

The hell? Did those idiots seriously knock out my cook and leave him in a burning building?

Fortunately, I've healed up enough to hoist Christian over my shoulders and stagger out of the gaping hole the Wolf Pack left in the front of my pub. I hand him over to the paramedics, then slump to the sidewalk to watch my shop burn.

I thank all the gods I can think of (even the ones who are patrons of heroes) that the heroes didn't attack until after closing. If it had been just an hour sooner...

My hands begin to shake as I think of Lucy and Ranjit, my bartenders. They're just kids trying to pay for college. Of Benny the dishwasher, who I sent home early today to take care of his sick daughter. Even Luigi, who owns the deli next door and supplies us- supplied us with most of the toppings for our pizzas, often comes over for a drink after hours. They all could've been in danger.

"Boss!"

There's Pete, the delivery guy. I don't move as he runs over to me.

"Boss, what happened?!"

"The Wolf Pack." I watch as the last of the flames are extinguished by the firefighters. At least Luigi's Market won't have to close down like I will.

"Those washed up D-list heroes?" Pete's voice is deadly quiet, and I finally turn to look at him. There's a dangerous gleam in his eye.

Pete's the only one of my pub staff who knows about my other line of work. He was one of my henchmen back when I was a full-time villain. Unlike the rest, he wanted to get out of minion life when I faded into semi-obscurity, so I offered him a delivery position when no other place would look past his record. By the look on his face right now though, Pete looks like he's a step away from going back to that life.

"I'll handle it." I finally stand, heading into the charred remains of my pub. "They won't get away with this."

"What you gonna do?" Pete follows me in.

In the ruins of the kitchen, I stoop down to pick up the mezzaluna knife that Luigi gifted me last Christmas. One of the fine wooden handles is blackened, and the blade has scorch marks on it, but it's still sharp as a razor. I heft the crescent blade and look Pete in the eye. "What I have to."
~~~~~
Amongst heroes and villains, there is one rule that is held sacrosanct. You don't touch the life outside the mask.

Some villains break that rule, of course. But very, very few of them survive to boast about it. And usually, it's not out of mercy, but as a warning.

It's basically unheard of for a hero to break the rule. I can only think of two other times it's happened, and both times were revenge on the villain that did it first. Never a preemptive strike.

Then again, it doesn't exactly surprise me that it's the Wolf Pack that did it. They've always been wilder than other heroes. It's what made them fun at first, especially when they first started out as reckless teenagers. But that was years ago, and the excuses of inexperience and youth died pretty quickly when they racked up hundreds of thousands of dollars in collateral and gained reputations for being loose cannons.

These days, most other heroes refuse to work with them, and the Wolf Pack clash with fellow vigilantes as much as they do villains. Which is why I'm not too concerned about any backlash when I kick down the door to their clubhouse by the levee.

Yeah, they're still using the same clubhouse as when they were in high school, judging by how dated the posters of bikini models and rock bands on the wall are. I can see magazine and comics strewn about the floor, and the whole place stinks of weed and booze.

As if to add insult to injury, I can see a discarded keg and empty pizza boxes I know were from my pub. Arson, assault, and now theft too. And they call me the criminal.
The five members of the Wolf Pack are playing poker and passing around a joint when I walk in. With marijuana dulling their reaction times, it's child's play to roll a glue grenade under the table, trapping everyone's legs in rapid-hardening foam.

"What's the big idea, Punchy Bag?" Alpha, the leader of the Wolf Pack, sneers at me. "Don't tell me you're mad about your shitty pizza place."

"Oh I am, but that's just the tip of the iceberg." I hop onto the table, upending a stack of cards and several red plastic cups.

"Oh God, is he actually gonna monologue?" One of the Tele-Twins rolls her eyes and whispers to the other.

I kick out at the one who didn't speak. Steel-toed boots shatter her jaw and send blood and teeth flying. Both twins start screaming in pain. Guess the rumors about them being able to feel the other's pain were true.

"I've had to listen to enough of your speeches over the years, so now you shut the fuck up and listen to mine. The only reason heroes and villains don't slaughter each other like animals is because there are rules we play by. And you broke every last one of them. Today was the final straw."

"You won't get away with this!" Speedemon, the team's speedster, yells at me. "When I get out of this gunk-"

"You won't be in any position to do anything." I finish for him, pulling out the mezzaluna knife. I jump off the table and kick it over, revealing everyone's trapped legs. Before any of the Wolf Pack can react, I've hacked clean through Speedemon's left knee. He's howling and sobbing as I methodically wipe the blood on his gaudy purple leotard.

"Rrraaggghhhh!!" Alpha roars as he manages to free one of his legs through brute strength. He reaches toward me, but stops when I level the crescent blade to Laser Lad's neck.

"Ah ah ah, I'm not done speaking yet. And I see so much as a spark from you, you'll die drowning in your own blood." I pat Laser's cheek with my free hand. "As I was saying, you imbeciles broke the one rule you shouldn't have. You brought innocents into it."

"That dirty ******? He deserved what he got, working for you-glrkk!"

I admit, I lost my patience when Laser Lad spat out a racial slur. The mezzaluna cuts cleanly through his tongue.

"Christian didn't know about my double life. And even if he did, heroes don't leave people to burn alive."

"Enjoy this while you can, Punchy Bag." Alpha seethes. "When I get my hands on you-"

"Were you not paying attention when Legless over there tried it first?" I point at Speedemon, who's turned pale from blood loss. I pull a stack of photos from my pocket and toss it onto the floor. "Here, maybe this will get the message through your dense skull."

Alpha's face turns purple as he takes in the images of the Wolf Pack's families. "You fucking has-been, how dare you..."

"You so much as fart in my general direction, and your families go bye-bye." I waggle a detonator switch. It's not connected to anything, because even now I'm still following the rule, but they don't know that.

"Here's the truth, kiddos. You made it personal. Now you're going to be the warning for anyone else who tries something so monumentally stupid."

I shove the mezzaluna back into my belt and heft the small tank of gasoline I'd brought with me. "You shouldn't have played with fire. Now I'm going to leave you to face the same fate that you left my employee to. Except I won't be around to carry you out."

I toss another glue grenade at Alpha, just to be safe, then set about dousing the entire clubhouse with flammable liquid with a cheerful whistle. The Wolf Pack, or at least those who can still speak, are begging and cursing at me now, but I ignore them, instead lighting a match. Without so much as a quip, I drop it on the gasoline-soaked floor and close the door behind me, muffling the Wolf Pack's screams.