Sneaks out of the house

I reached out and through myself and pulled on my chosen hero — if, indeed, you could properly call him a hero in the first place — and a moment later, I had taken on the form of the man swathed in black who had taken down Lung’s group of gangers, the Hundred-Faced Hassan.

I wasted no more time and clambered over my bed, sliding my window open so that I could slip out and through the gap with a liquidy, almost serpentine grace. I landed with a soft, almost inaudible thump on the grass of our yard, tensed and waiting.

Several seconds passed, but they felt like hours. An eternity stretched as I listened for the sound of someone rousing, crouched there on the ground, my heartbeat surprising calm and even, but no light flickered on in our house and Dad’s voice didn’t call out for me. He was still asleep.

I breathed a sigh of relief that sounded like the whisper of Death.

So far, so good.

I started off with a short, running leap, throwing myself over the fence and into the neighbor’s yard, then began making my way towards the abandoned, run down warehouse where I had first started practicing my powers what felt like an eternity ago. I moved like a shadow, flitting from spot to spot with an agility that I had not really appreciated, before. I touched down on rooftops without a sound, silent as the grave. I landed on tree branches with the slightest of wobbles. The only signs of my passing were the footprints I left behind.

I was a ghost.