An early group of trick or treaters knocked on the door of the house. The old lady gave them candy. She seemed to be the only one home.

Tom’s report to Mr. Bromgren would say that there was little activity in the house today. The bug in the house recorded only the sounds of the old lady sewing and doing dishes, plus barking dogs and meowing cats.

He was comfortable in an armchair that he moved to get a view out the window. This place was much better than the utility van that he used for a while. Mr. Bromgren authorized the acquisition of a house across the street when he decided that the van was too obvious.

The self styled Neighborhood Heroes weren’t home today, but they were busy. They had plans. The new one, the knight, had them out searching the city for villains. Tom recorded everything they said and passed the recordings up the line. Right now the Heroes were someone else’s problem.

*****

The billboard over La Cienega, right near the 10 freeway, showed a superhero in a white costume and the huge words SUN MAN. A release date for the upcoming movie was under the title. It was less than two months away.

How the hell are they doing it? Mike thought. First the comic book, now a movie, all in such a short time since he had to give up his original superhero name. Since he had to change to the wimpier name Light Man.

He stood in the air over the heavy traffic of the intersection. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. All they would see was a blob of bright light, anyway.

The cell phone beeped. That should be me up there, Mike thought. Who’s starring in it? Some actor? I could have acted and done all the stunts, with my real powers. I’ve never acted before, but how hard can it be?

He pulled the tiny cell phone out and said, “Bob here.” Mireya’s mom sewed a little pocket for the phone into his costume. There was nothing she could do about the huge binoculars that hung from a strap around his neck.

What kind of superhero carries a stupid pair of binoculars around? It didn’t fit his image.

“This is Joe,” a robotic voice came over the phone. It was the Knightbird guy. Everyone else had accepted him into the Neighborhood Heroes. Everyone besides Mike. There was something creepy about him. His armor and mechanical voice didn’t give the slightest clue who he was.

Plus, he showed up at the latest meeting with a van full of high tech gadgets. Everything changed for the group, and everyone was following his orders. No one voted him the new boss, but suddenly he was.

“Negative, Joe,” Mike said. The names were to disguise who they were. The phones were on one of those push-to-talk systems, and the Big Bird thought they were secure. Just in case, he said, we’ll use code names.

I’m Sun Man, I mean Light Man, Mike thought. I don’t hide. I don’t do surveillance. I swoop in and save the day.

“Keep following the grid. Joe out.”

He was not on the grid, the search pattern that was laid out for him. The billboard drew him off it. He also was not as high as he was supposed to be. Birdy wanted him to stay where his light wouldn’t attract the attention of people concerned with their street-level lives.

The binoculars were for spotting super villains doing stuff. Anything. See them and report. Don’t do anything unless innocent lives are in immediate danger. No superheroics, just gather information.

Mike flew higher and went back to the grid. Up one street, down another. Peering through the binoculars the whole way. He had to glance up every few seconds to make sure he didn’t run into anything.

He barely avoided a seagull that came at him very fast. It squawked angrily as he twisted to avoid it.

Bullets dissolved in his light, nothing could touch him with it on. Nothing Tom, A.K.A. Chrome, had thrown at him. A bird would probably just flame out. He was still surprised enough to veer wildly and flip over in the air.

Searching for supervillains was a good thing, but instead of cruising the whole city, he was sure he could find one giving orders to his friends and handing out expensive equipment like Halloween candy.

Tonight was the night for it. Trick or Treat time for all the kiddies. Mike was going to keep his eye on RoboKnight and find the trick. He knew it was coming.

*****

“That kid doesn’t like me,” Marcus said. “He could be a problem.”

“He has the best powers. He makes the plan possible.” Randall sat in front of a bank of computers. They were installed in his warehouse just a few days before. In his new role as secret central command of the Neighborhood Heroes, he had the pulse of L.A. running trough the system. He could hear police radios, keep an eye on newscasts, and make calls on the new phones that all the heroes carried.

One of the monitors showed all the local TV stations. The story was still Bonnie Pearson. Marcus pointed the screen. “Think the mother did it?”

After spending days appealing for the return of her daughter, Mrs. Pearson was arrested when the dismembered body of the six year old was found in a suitcase.

“Over eight hundred thousand children disappear every year. Some are runaways, some are found. Only a few thousand are kidnapped by strangers.”

“The cops look at the family first, in any murder. They’re usually right.” Marcus said. “At least that girl Maria was found.”

The cell phone next to Randall’s right hand rang. “This is Joe,” Randall said into it. His phone had a voice filter so anyone sounded like Knighthawk. “Good Job, Bob. Keep him in sight.” He put the phone down.

“Light Man has a sighting. From his description, it’s—” he let the computer flash through the known villains who worked in L.A. “—Hard Target. He wasn’t at the warehouse where we busted all the others.”

“I’ll suit up,” Marcus said.

*****

Jeremy Bromgren didn’t like to go down to Mr. Brown’s office any more. The art collection was gone. The lighting was harsh. This red haired Mr. Brown was hard, and came to the point quickly.

“Everything’s in place?” Mr. Brown asked.

“Yessir.”

“Tonight’s operation is on schedule?”

“Yes. Also, your monthly bonus has arrived.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

*****

Mike followed the truck from as high as he could. It drove west on Rosecrans. He had to use the binoculars to look at street names. He was supposed to report exactly where the subject went, street names and all.

Knighthawk’s plan was pretty simple. Now that “they,” whoever they were, couldn’t teleport supervillains all over town, it should be a lot easier to find villains and stop them from doing whatever they were doing.

A short time before, a flash of red caught Mike’s eye in the binoculars as he cruised above the southern part of L.A. It stood out against the drab brick and concrete of the area. It was a man in a red and white costume. A very big man, with enough muscles to make him the champion on one of those wrestling shows, even if all he did was glare at his opponents.

His ability to sense powered people confirmed that this was a supervillain. The red and white figure had more power than just his muscles would give him.

A white logo adorned the front of the costume. It might have been a trademark violation, but Mike doubted that a certain retail store chain would sue a supervillain.

On the phone, Knighthawk said the man called himself Hard Target. He was known to the Neighborhood Heroes. Lodestone talked about a run-in with this slab of muscle. Anthony’s heroic response had been to run away, fast.

Hard Target was standing with his arms crossed, while several normal looking guys loaded boxes into a delivery truck. The boxes looked heavy. HT must be security. He certainly wasn’t helping with the work.

Mike called in the sighting and was told to follow the truck. He could have made some headlines by capturing the villain and turning in all the drugs in the boxes, but he followed orders. Mireya believed in this Knighthawk character, and Mike was playing the Knight’s game for now.

He concentrated hard on the truck, again trying to fly while looking through the large binoculars. It was the kind of van that delivered stuff to stores, but it didn’t have the name of some chip or donut company on it. It was dark green, almost military looking.

The image of the van blurred and Mike was looking at just a tiny spot on the top of the van. What the hell? He pulled the binoculars away from his eyes. When he looked down he had a good view of the van. It was similar to what he saw in the binoculars.

Except he was not using the binoculars. He was high in the sky and he seemed to be looking at the truck from about ten feet above it. It was disorienting, something was wrong with his eyes.

He stopped still and tried to get his vision to adjust. His view pulled back, like a zoom lens in a camera. Then it zoomed forward again. It seesawed back and forth several times.

Mike shook his head and his vision returned to normal.

Either he had found a new power or he was having a stroke. Carefully Mike looked down, trying to find the truck again. His eyes zoomed in. He scanned the street. There it was, still on Rosecrans, approaching the 110 freeway. He could read street signs easily.

Well, damn. It was a new power. It was great, he didn’t need the stupid binoculars at all. He pulled them off his neck, slung them around by the strap several times, and sent the large ocular instrument sailing high into the late afternoon sky.

“Whoo-hoo!” Mike shouted.

After a moment he remembered he was supposed to report the movements of the truck. He called “Joe” to report that it was going north on the 110.

*****

As the sun did its thing over the Pacific ocean, Marcus soared over the city in the repurposed Protecto-car. He had one of the Neighborhood Heroes with him, the strangely named Petaurista.

Randall said cooperation with the group of amateurs was to be two-way, he didn’t want to just take over with his greater resources.

He looked through the Steiner 20 x 80 military binoculars, one of four pairs that Randall bought for jobs like this. He couldn’t get them into a good position on the eye lenses of the Knighthawk helmet. They were made to fit snugly against human eyes, or even eyes with goggles on them, but they didn’t work well with the helmet.

“Use these,” he said, passing the binoculars to Petaurista. “Look for a dark green van.”

Petaurista was the image of a superhero, with only his lower face showing through his costume. He had light brown skin, and spoke with an accent. He had wings stretched between his arms and legs. Similar outfits were used by thrill seekers to jump off cliffs and glide to earth, sometimes skimming within a few feet of rock faces. Petaurista also had claws built into his gloves so he could climb buildings, and when he jumped off one he glided down and usually crashed into some unsuspecting villain head first.

Not Marcus’ idea of a good time. Even parachuting was his least favorite part of any mission. Too many things could go wrong.

“Can he win? I have been watching the television eagerly.”

Petaurista had been chatting about the election. It was just a few days away, but Marcus wasn’t paying much attention. He figured the powers that be wouldn’t let a brother become President, one way or another.

“I don’t know,” Marcus said.

“I am from Jakarta,” Petaurista said. “Our elections are messy, too many political parties. Here you know who wins right away.”

“Except for that Florida mess,” Marcus said.

The two heroes fell silent. Marcus fought for his country and knew many others who died. His belief in the system died when a clearly corrupt Supreme Court appointed a moron as Commander in Chief. He didn’t expect much change, even if the black man did win next Tuesday.

A ball of light detached itself from the setting sun and paused in mid air next to the flying car. “Do you see it?” it asked.

“Not yet,” Marcus said.

“There it is!” Petaurista said. He pointed.

The green truck exited the 101 at Santa Monica. Where could it be going? It turned west.

The sun sank behind the horizon. Now Knighthawk was in his element. “Split up, Light Man,” he said. Having a ball of light next to him didn’t help him hide in the dark.

“Aye aye, Birdman,” the ball of light said. It vanished in the direction the truck went.

As they flew over Santa Monica Boulevard, something strange began to happen. People were walking towards the west. People dressed strangely.

He reported this by his suit’s built in cell phone to Randall.

“Halloween in West Hollywood,” Randall said and laughed. “Half a million people in costumes, most of them drunk.”

Marcus could now see that the people, in ever larger numbers, wore every imaginable costume. “West Hollywood,” he said. “A gay thing?”

“It’s not just gay anymore,” Randall said. “People go from all over the city. Speaking of Halloween, I have to put in an appearance at the Mossoft party tonight.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Marcus objected. “I’m your bodyguard, I should -“

“I know everyone there. I’ll be fine.” Randall hung up the phone.

Damn it, Marcus thought. The man gave up wearing the suit but he’s getting more reckless in other ways.

The crowds grew thicker. There were a couple of guys in cardboard boxes with ROBOT written on them in marker. They must have taken about two seconds to make the costumes. They were also falling-down drunk already, and they hadn’t arrived at the party.

There were people dressed as cartoon characters, superheroes and villains, movie characters, appliances, furniture, cars, bottles of soda, bottles of liquor, pirates, aliens, angels, death, famine, pestilence, war, Pac Man, brains, and many that Marcus couldn’t name.

“My, this is interesting American culture,” Petaurista remarked.

“Just keep watching the truck,” Marcus said.

The green truck was behind a small bus. The bus inched forward as people spilled from the sidewalk into the street, people ran across the street, and one of the robots fell down. The other one managed to pull him up, and they both staggered off.

Must be fun driving that bus tonight, Marcus thought.

The green truck turned off Santa Monica onto a side street.

The flying car was a better tool for following someone than the vans, Marcus had to admit. A van would have been way behind with the costumed crowds blocking the streets.

About two blocks north, the truck entered an alley. There were parking spaces back there, under each apartment building. One building, unusually, had a large wooden door big enough to drive a vehicle in. As the truck approached the door was pushed open from the inside.

The green truck vanished behind the door, which closed decisively.

Light filled up the flying car. “Want me to bust in there?” Light Man asked. He hovered next to the car.

“I want to see what they do next,” Marcus said.

“They deliver the drugs,” Light Man said. “What else?”

“Why bring a truck full of drugs from Compton to here? There must be more to it.”

In about two minutes, the door opened again. Marcus pulled the car higher and told Light Man to follow.

Hard Target emerged, followed by four men. Each man wore a Halloween costume.

They were Spongebob Squarepants, one of those transforming robots, a dinosaur, and—

“What’s that one?” Marcus whispered, “the yellow thing with the horns?”

“Pikachu,” Light Man said. “Don’t you ever watch TV?”

“I knew Spongebob,” Marcus replied. “Anyway, keep them in sight.”

When the four costumed men and the supervillain turned the corner from the alley to the street, with Light Man following them, Marcus took the flying car down.

“Should we not follow also?” Petaurista asked.

“I want to check out that truck.” Marcus settled the car to the alley pavement and hopped out.

The wooden door was locked, but running into it with his shoulder broke the wood around the lock.

The truck was locked, but what Marcus needed was on a map tacked to the wall of the garage. It showed West Hollyood, that oddly shaped town carved out of L.A. twenty years ago.

The map had four Xs on it. At Santa Monica and West Knoll, Westmount, Westbourne, and Hunley.

This was the heart of the party. Where the bars would be open all night and the streets would overflow with people in costume. People in outfits that ranged from the skimpy to the bulky. Where a supervillain could walk with no one noticing him.

And where four men in costumes that were big enough to hide anything could wait for their appointed time.

Half a million partygoers. The men could be carrying gas, bombs, or just machine guns. Whatever it was, when they started their killing spree, Halloween wouldn’t be fun any more.

“I think we have a problem,” Marcus said.

*****

Mike answered his phone. “You better come out here,” he said. “It’s getting hard to follow them, if they split up I’ll lose them.”

“Be there in a second,” the mechanical voice said. “I think it’s a terrorist attack. They’re carrying poison gas or bombs.”

“You sure?” A chill went through Mike.

“When I tell you, take out Hard Target,” Knighthawk said. “No fight, in this crowd people would get hurt. Just fly him and dump him somewhere far away.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll take care of the others,” the same voice said from right behind Mike. He turned, startled. The flying car was there. Knighthawk and Petaurista stood in it.

“Can you take four at once?” Mike asked.

“We have to.” Knighthawk looked down through binoculars identical to the ones that Mike threw away. “They’re still close together. Go. Now.”

Mike accelerated down. The crowd was getting denser as it approached La Cienega. Police cars in the street blocked all motor traffic at that point. From then on only walking was allowed.

Hard Target’s red costume didn’t stand out all that well in the dark, and with so many other bright colors moving around him. Mike tried to concentrate on the circles of the target logo.

He got his arms around the supervillain from behind. Partly around, anyway. The man’s upper body was enormous. And hard. His name wasn’t just for show. He was physically as hard as steel, he didn’t have any of the normal give of human flesh.

Mike lifted, getting Hard Target off the ground. It wasn’t easy, the supervillain started thrashing, trying to hit and kick him. Mike’s hands slipped, then he regained his grasp.

He flew higher. “You really want to fall from up here?” he asked his burden.

The man’s only response was a growl. He continued to thrash.

Where am I going to put him? Mike thought. He looked westward. Yes, he thought. Let’s see how well he can swim.

*****

On Marcus’ cue, Petaurista leapt out of the flying car. His gliding wings carried him towards the costumed revelers.

Marcus moved the car to a point just over Petaurista’s landing point. He saw an opening and he also jumped.

From ground level it was hard to see which costumed figures he wanted to attack. Then Pikachu appeared in front of him. Marcus hit the man, knocking him over. It wasn’t a very hard blow, though, the foam of the costume softened it a lot.

The transforming robot jumped on Marcus’s back. Marcus shook him off, and ran his knockout sword through a space in the man’s plastic costume into his belly. The robot collapsed.

The entire walking flow of costumed people backed up into a traffic jam.

Petaurista pushed his way through the crowd, pulling two unconscious Spongebobs behind him.

“The dinosaur is back there,” he said. “I did not know which of these characters was the right one.”

Marcus leaned over Pikachu and tore the foam costume apart. A man in black jeans a black t-shirt was inside. Strapped to his back was a cylinder of compressed gas.

“The one that has that,” Marcus said.

Petaurista quickly determined that one of the Spongebobs was a terrorist, the other one innocent.

“What’s going on here?” a voice shouted. “Move along.” A uniformed policeman angrily shoved his way forward.

“Arrest these three and a dinosaur over there,” Marcus said loudly over the noisy crowd. “That’s poison gas of some kind.”

“You’re under arrest, for causing a public nuisance,” the policeman said.

“You really want to arrest them,” Marcus said.

The cop saw the cylinders, then looked back at Marcus.

“Hands in the air,” he said.

Marcus looked around. Petaurista had faded into the costumed crowd. He had a phone, he could call later to be picked up.

Marcus raised his hands, holding the remote of the flying car. In a moment, the bottom of the ladder descended and touched his hands.

Marcus grabbed hold and was pulled towards the sky. The cop looked up and shaded his eyes but Marcus was beyond the streetlights and no longer visible from the ground.

*****

Mr. Brown opened the door of his monthly bonus. The large plastic pet carrier contained two items. One was for his pleasure, and one for sacrifice to the Masters.

A small black boy was clutching something to his chest. The other one was a white female of about two years old, hardly more than a baby.

He wasn’t sure which would please him most. Maybe he would flip a coin. He reached in and pulled on the object that the boy held so closely.

A toy elephant. The boy held it with grim determination, then let go with a wail. He continued to cry as Mr. Brown threw the toy over his shoulder.

He couldn’t enjoy himself quite yet. He needed to monitor the news from West Hollywood. The news that would change the world, again.

He sat behind his desk and pushed a button to make a monitor slide up into viewing position.

The wide screen would show him local and national news, as the hysteria began to spread.

Before the images came up, his phone rang. No one was supposed to call at this time.

He picked up the receiver and said, “Brown.”

It was Bromgren. He said four words.

“WHAT?” Mr. Brown screamed into the phone.