Senior Mage Melia Talavalu was bored.

Bored, and a little irritated. Her current assignment was seriously cutting into her ramen time.

She crossed her legs on the kitchen table of the apartment she was using as a lookout, watching the Liberation Day festivities below her. Once a year the nation's capital celebrated the fifteen clans that banded together to start the independent nation of Zaram; a utopia free from magic and the evil people who practiced it.

How ironic is that? Melia thought. The country's biggest holiday celebrated the extermination of the very thing Zaramians now craved: magic. For all their talk of how the synthetic serum was better than natural magic, Melia knew they feared people like her--people who were born with something they had to manufacture. In Zaram she was a freak, and had been for half her life now. The only reason she hadn't been sent home was because she was a freak who could catch bad guys.

Three parade floats passing outside blasted music loud enough to make Melia's teeth rattle. She clenched her jaw and covered her ears, watching the obnoxious floats passing in a vertical line through all three traffic zones. The one in the top aerial zone was for this year's Miss Capital City. Below her Miss Teen Capital City floated along in a hoverport and in the ground zone Miss Pre-Teen Capital City sat on the back of a stretch groundmobile.

How can anyone listen to this? Melia thought, If this is what it sounds like fifty feet away, I'd hate to be up close.

Yet she knew the pageant queens wouldn't be the worst of this parade--not by a long shot. By Zaramian standards that had been downright mild. The thought of that motivated her to finish her mission; the sooner she stopped the terrorist attack, the sooner she could get out of here.

"Senior Mage Tallyvaloo," came a scratchy voice, "Do you still have eyes on the target? Over?"

Melia rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Orville, I have eyes on the target."

"Roger that, Senior Mage Tuh-lee-value. Over."

"And stop saying 'over!' We're in the same room."

Junior mage Orville flushed, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson matching the necktie pinched around his throat. He rocked back and forth on his toes, wiping one hand at a time on his freshly-pressed pants while fumbling the plastic rifle in his hands.

Melia fought the urge to slap him. He could make two hours feel like fifty years, and was way too antsy to be in law enforcement. If this was the young blood they were bringing into the Mages, Zaram would collapse by the time Melia's contract expired.

She heard Orville swallow hard, tugging at his collar for the umpteenth time.

Melia sighed. "Do yourself a favor, mage, and lose the necktie."

Orville blinked stupidly. "Huh?"

"Your tie, Orville. Can't you feel it pinching your carotid arteries?"

"Oh. Um," Orville stuffed his rifle under his arm,, reaching for the damp tie with both hands. Unfortunately his sweaty pits couldn't get a firm grip and the rifle slipped out with the safety off.

Orville screamed and fumbled for the gun like a drunkard. Worried he might kill himself in a way that involved a lot of paperwork, Melia kicked his chest. Orville flew back as his plastic weapon clattered harmless to the ground. Melia picked it up, clicked the safety on, and held it out to him. Then, thinking better of it, she laid it on the table.

"You don't know anything about guns," she observed, sitting cross-legged behind the rifle, "All models we use are drop-safe. You were more likely to hurt yourself trying to grab this with your sweaty hands than you were by letting it hit the ground."

"Oh." Orville sounded embarrassed. As well he should be. Hopefully the shame would make him rethink his career plans.

Turning her thoughts back to the mission Melia closed her eyes, using her earth sense to map out the streets below.

One of the good things about Zaram Liberation Day was that there were always flowers. Flowers tossed to eager crowds of patriots, flowers worn as elaborate hairpieces by young women, and thousands upon thousands of flower petals drifting down from the Aerial zone; all to commemorate how the fifteen clans had thrown flowers to celebrate their victory. The practice was wasteful, but it also made it easy for Melia to find a suspect.

Much like how a spider could sense every vibration in her web, Melia could pinpoint every stem, petal, and flower crown in the city if she wanted to, along with what was in their immediate surroundings. She had honed her skills to the point where tracking someone via greenery was more accurate than satellite positioning. It was more discreet, too. Zaramians went to great lengths to avoid the synthetic mages, stripping themselves of plastic, glass, metal, even clothing. But nobody ever thought to consider how the leaf stuck to the bottom of their shoe or the pollen stinging their eyes could give them away. Which was ironic, given that Zaram hardly had any greenery. Especially in the capital.

Melia found the four men involved in the hit. Two of them were a block ahead, poised to intercept the float carrying the prime minister and his exalted First Mage. Another was riding up in the Hover Zone, his gun ready should the first two fail. And towards the base of the capitol building was the fourth man. He undoubtedly was waiting for confirmation that the prime minister and the First Mage were both dead before detonating the explosives strapped to his chest. He carried enough to take out half of a city block.

Melia frowned, feeling disappointed. For people who prided themselves on radicalism, these terrorists were surprisingly predictable. She reached out again, double checking to make sure she hadn't overlooked another suspect or explosive, but found nothing. She sighed. This mission was like something from a cheap holofilm.

She focused on the two men poised to take out the prime minister, wondering if they carried any surprises she hadn't noticed at first. Through the petals they trampled under their feet Melia could sense their urgency, their total commitment to the plan. One wore leather boots and had glass knives tucked into his belt, a glass mage. Melia noted that he didn't have any metal on his person. The other had concealed himself in a building. Petals blew in through the window he had propped open to set up his sniper gear.

There were no curtains or furniture in the second man's room. Upon closer inspection, Melia found there wasn't any type of fabric in there at all, not even on the man's body.

Well, she thought, This is about to get real awkward for you.

Clearly this second man was trying to protect himself from Cloth Mages, those who could manipulate processed materials found in clothing and drapery. She couldn't see what the man looked like (thank goodness), but knew he must've run into her oyaji before. Who else could've inspired this level of paranoia? Cloth magic wasn't at the top of the synthetic hierarchy. Oyaji was the exception to that.

Melia assigned the hitmen nicknames. The glass mage on the street she dubbed Glassy, and not sure what else to call the steel sniper she decided to go with Naked Man. She thought she detected facial hair on the man in the Hover Zone, and named him Beardilocks. As for the guy who had rigged himself up, she went with her classic Bombellina. Not her most creative work, but it would do. Melia liked giving her marks nicknames; Oyaji said it was childish, but it made them so much easier to keep track of in her head. That and, honestly, how could anyone be afraid of a sniper called Naked Man?

She Rooted binding spells close to each of them, feeling the earth stir to answer her call. Now all she had to do was wait.

The drifting clouds of rose petals from the Aerial Zone announced the prime minister's arrival. He was two blocks back, sitting with his wife on one side and his exalted First Mage on the other. All three of them waving politely to the crowds.

Melia readied her spells. She didn't know when the hit would happen and wanted to take out all four marks before it could. She reached out with her mind and--

Radio static buzzed in her earpiece. Melia opened her eyes, irritated.

McIlroy, the Mage running point on this operation, came on the line. "All units, report. Over."

Melia rolled her eyes, bored by the protocol. Hadn't Vallinor run enough missions with her to know she didn't need his babysitting?

"I've got eyes on the prime minister. Over." came in Dante, the Mage assigned to tail the prime minister's float.

"All clear at the capitol," buzzed in Clancy, who clearly hadn't realized Bombellina was prepping for the big finale right under her nose.

Three other units called in, each reporting that they had the situation under control in their designated areas. Melia ignored all of them, thinking instead of what she would do once Bombellina and his little friends were all in jail. She had to get her ramen with Oyaji, of course. After that they could grab ice cream. Ooh, but wasn't Dark Trefoil supposed to release a new season to--

"MELIA!!"

Melia winced, ripping her radio out of her ear and holding it at arm's length. Orville took his out, too. His face twisted in pain. Even without their radios in it was easy to hear Vallinor McIlroy ranting on the other side.

Orville looked like he wanted to wet himself. Melia held a finger to her lips and tried to give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. From the way he grimaced, she wasn't sure that was how he'd taken it.

Oh well.

Melia brought the radio to her lips, clicking the button on the side. "This is Senior Mage Talavalu," she said into it, "I've got eyes on all suspects."

"Finally!" McIlroy shouted, "Where have you been?"

Melia shrugged, "Doing my job."

There was a pause on the line before McIlroy said, "Care to enlighten the rest of us?"

A sarcastic comeback bubbled in her throat, but Melia swallowed it. "There are four of them. Two assigned to hit the prime minister and the exalted First Mage. A third is up in the Hover Zone for insurance, with one more ready to go boom outside of the capitol."

The capitol which you, Clancy, said was all clear, she added in her head.

"How could she possibly know that?" Clancy sniped.

"You know those savages," came Mage Bellhart's voice, "They have their ways."

Melia bristled at that. Not just at the insult but at the casual way Bellhart had said it. Nearly fifteen years they'd been working together, and the man still insisted on being a racist.

"She's never been wrong before," Dante cut in.

"Can you send out coordinates?" McIlroy asked.

Orville nodded like a bobble-head. Melia rolled her eyes, McIlroy still didn't know how earth sense worked. Yes, she could sense all four marks, but she couldn't see any street signs pinpointing their exact locations. If she wanted to, Melia supposed she could describe a route from her exact location, using the flower petals in the streets to map out all four marks, but the prime minister would likely be dead by the time she finished.

"Negative, McIlroy," she said, stifling a laugh as Orville went pale. "It'll be safer if I take them out now."

"That's a negative, Mage!" McIlroy barked, "Stick to the plan. You need to--"

Melia rubbed her thumb over the receiver, muffling the sound of his voice. "Sorry, what was that, Val?" she said, "I can't hear you. Guess I'll just have to do this one on my own."

If it were possible to die from nervousness Orville would've given up the ghost. He gawked at Melia, mouth wide open.

"Did we just disobey a direct order?" he asked.

Melia waved the thought away, allowing her earpiece to fly out the window. She feigned surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that? We've lost our communications. Now I guess we have no choice."

Orville offered her his earpiece, which Melia "accidentally" dropped into a glass of water.

"I'll get you a new one." she promised.

Orville stared at the fizzing piece of hardware as though it were his own tombstone. "Holy Mage of Mercy," he whispered.

Melia rolled her eyes, "Don't pray to the Holy Mages, Orville. There are no synthetic mages in the afterlife. And if there were, I highly doubt they'd be living upstairs."

Reaching out with her earth sense, Melia zeroed in on all four targets, feeling excited for the first time since she'd agreed to this dumb-az assignment. Maybe now that none of the others could get in the way, now that it really was just her against a group of terrorists, she would find that spark Oyaji said was missing from her. Maybe she would be able to tolerate another five-year contract with Zaram. Those stipend checks had done wonders for her family back home...

The prime minister drew closer. Melia sensed Glassy and Naked Man readying their weapons. So did Beardilocks up above. She waited until all three of them were poised to strike, Beardilocks and Naked Man with their guns, and Glassy with his knives. All the while Bombellina pranced merrily on the capitol steps, no doubt blending in effortlessly with all of the festivities around him.

She let out a measured breath and closed her eyes, adrenaline pumping through her in a way it hadn't for months. Only one shot, she told herself, Concentrate. Don't mess this up, Lia.

She was glad she had tossed the earpieces, hearing McIlroy's tirade wouldn't help her at all right now. She could barely focus with Orville praying as though it were World War 21. If this went sideways McIlroy wouldn't hesitate to throw her under. And when word got to Oyaji...

The thought of what he would think triggered her response. She felt the four places where she had Rooted her spells teeming with life and she activated them with a single word: Bind.

Vines erupted out of the four spots she had Rooted, bigger and wilder than she had wanted, but effective nonetheless. She felt Naked Man's scuffle of surprise as he spun around and attempted to snipe the vines snaking around his body. Glassy stabbed at one of them, which Melia laughed at as she bopped him in the face before tying him up.

Beardilocks went down easy. The vines were so heavy, and the hoverport he was on was so narrow that he was pushed over the edge. Melia spiraled thousands of flower petals around him, coiling them tighter and tighter like a constricting cyclone. The crowds gasped in excitement, pointing at the tumbling terrorist as though he were some kind of side show.

Must be nice to be ignorant, Melia thought.

She set Beardilocks down next to Glassy, extending the vines so that she could secure the two criminals next to each other. Then, just for fun, she threw Naked Man out the window, too. He was close enough that Melia could hear his screams as he spiraled down to the others. From the beet-red look of his face, he was regretting his decision to shed his clothing, even though the vines kept him decent. Melia laughed. Served him right.

That left Bombellina. His had been the trickiest because suicide bombs could often be detonated from a distance, a kind of fail-safe put in place should the bomber get caught or lose his nerve. Because of that, Melia had Rooted a tree underneath the vines. As the vines bound his hands and feet, the tree shot upwards--climbing at a speed of one hundred feet per second. Melia pushed him higher, Rooting other growth spells around him in case she needed them to contain the shrapnel from the explosion. The bomb would go off, Melia was certain. Since she couldn't reason with Bombellina, she figured the next best thing was to make sure he wasn't near anyone else when he blew himself up.

But, even after she had pushed him well past the Aerial Zone, Bombellina was still in one piece. Melia could tell from the way he kept trying to blow himself up by throwing his weight against the vines she had trapped him in. Irritated, she brought up another vine from behind and used it to knock him out. Melia reached out with her earth sense, searching for other signs of trouble. Possibly another accomplice she had missed, or a contingency plan she hadn't accounted for. But there was nothing.

Melia frowned. Was that...was that it? No backup plan? No wild cards? It hadn't even been a full minute, and she already had all four terrorists gift-wrapped for the local precinct. Either these particular terrorists were total amateurs or Melia really had outgrown her work.

Well that sucks, she thought bitterly. Using the vines as extensions of her hands, she quickly dismantled the bomb, breaking it down into non-threatening pieces before dumping Bombellina with his comrades.

Orville gawked at the streets below, his plastic rifle forgotten under the table. Outside Melia heard the high pitched echo of the prime minister's voice, amplified by a speakerphone.

"And here we see the excellent work of Tokuda's protegeé," he said cheerily, "More evidence that our Zaramian Mages are hard at work."

Melia scowled. She wasn't Zaramian. Neither was Oyaji. But that was the way things worked for non-natives in Zaram: nobody remembered you were a foreigner until you did something they didn't like.

"Senior Mage Talavalu," Orville said, pronouncing Melia's last name correctly for once, "Did you do all of this?"

Melia sighed and nodded. She pressed a finger to the table, Rooting a Bloom there. When she activated it, a single rose grew out of the spot where her finger had been. The stem was strong, and the leaves were a vibrant green, but when the petals unfurled, they were black as death. Melia scowled, thinking of all the colors she used to make. Vibrant reds, sultry purples and lavender pinks. Melia could still grow colorful orchids, plumerias, and stark white gardenias. But no matter what she did her roses always came out black. Healthy and robust, but always black.

"You're a hero, Miss," Orville said. Melia glanced at him, noticing how he had dropped to one knee and wouldn't meet her eyes. Wrinkling her nose, she plucked the black rose from the table.

"Don't call me that," she said, tossing the rose at him as she left, "I'm no hero."

She paused outside of the safehouse just long enough to see the terrorists handcuffed by the local police officers. Two of them were having a hard time cutting out Naked Man, and Melia cast a Withering to dry up the vines holding him. As McIlroy and the others posed for press photos, Melia slunk off to find Oyaji.

I better not be a hero, she thought. Heroes--at least the ones she read about in Oyaji's old comics--usually made more money than she did. They had more charisma, more social acceptance, and some kind of sick hideout full of all kinds of cool tech. Melia had a one-bedroom apartment and a used hoverport.

But heroes, most importantly, at least liked their jobs. Melia hated hers.