Old Man Augustine had constructed a six-foot fence around his entire property. Some said it was because he wanted privacy, but the kids knew different. Any stray ball that had the sad fate of flying over the fence and into his yard was never seen again; footballs, soccer balls, stickballs, baseballs—all vanished in the Bermuda Triangle of Fun. There were neighborhood rumors about what the old man did with the captured balls. Some said he made millions selling them on the Internet. Others said he melted them down and sold them to a third world country struggling with shortages of rubber and pigskin. Still others said he kept them all in a bizarre, underground museum dedicated to his efforts in ruining childhoods.

And now Old Man Augustine had a giant robot. Flinch couldn’t help but wonder which kid had accidentally tossed that into his yard.

“I have warned everyone in this neighborhood to keep off my lawn!” the old man’s voice boomed. His voice was electronically magnified, giving it an eerie, mechanical thrum. “I work hard to keep it nice, and you might think that’s funny, but it’s not. I’ve heard you all laughing about it. Well, I’ll show you what’s hilarious!”

There was an explosion of steam and flame and the giant robot’s fist separated from its arm and flew toward Flinch. Instinctively, he leaped into the air just before it crashed into him. He landed on the other side of the trench, right next to Mama Rosa.

His grandmother shook off her insanity long enough to look stunned. “Julio, how did you—?”

“Milk does a body good, Mama Rosa,” Flinch said. He didn’t have time to worry about her discovering his powers and had even less time to explain them. “I’m just going to go and take care of that robot. I’ll be right back.”

Flinch turned and ran with a burst of speed so powerful it blew Mama Rosa’s hair out of the bun on the top of her head. He burned a path toward the colossus while sorting through his possible plans. OK, superpunch? Should he try to tear its head off? Tie up its feet with a big rope?

But while pondering these possibilities, a little voice reminded him that he was a freak. He had screwed up the last two missions he was in charge of, and now he was on his way to screwing up a third. What if he just wasn’t good at decisions?

“Before I put up my fence, you heathens ran through my property like a herd of cows, tearing up the flowers and turning everything to mud. All for your stupid balls! Well, do you want your balls back? Here they are!”

A cannon boom shook the air, and a hailstorm of footballs, baseballs, tennis balls, basketballs, soccer balls, a few Frisbees, and at least one Hula-Hoop flew out of the robot’s chest. Flinch did his best to avoid them, zigzagging through the assault, but there were so many. A rubber dodgeball smacked him on the head, but he shook it off and kept running toward the robot. When he got close enough, he landed a massive punch right at its leg, knocking it clean off its body.

The giant robot teetered back and forth on one limb before finally tumbling over. The impact knocked down Old Man Augustine’s entire fence, but in a bizarre miracle, the lawn was completely untouched.

“What in the world is going on?!” Mama Rosa demanded.

Flinch looked at her and sighed. “It’s time you knew the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

Suddenly, Mr. Crabapple from down the street squealed into view on a converted riding lawn mower covered in sharp, spinning blades. Not far behind him, Dean Barton from the next block over snapped pictures with a bizarre camera that seemed to steal everything it captured on film. Behind him were the Soreil twins, a couple of precocious girls in pink dresses, each swinging electrified jump ropes as if they were inviting Flinch to join them in a deadly game of double Dutch.

Flinch squeezed his nose to activate the com-link again and soon heard Agent Brand on the other end.

“Did you handle your situation, Agent?” Brand asked.

“Yes and no,” Flinch said. “My grandmother is fine, but my neighborhood is losing its mind.”

Antagonist: How is ur day?

Msinformation: Good. U?

Antagonist: Awesome. Watching the news. There are supervillains everywhere!

Msinformation:

Antagonist: There’s a crazy in Delaware calling himself Captain Cavity. Built a machine that gives people tooth decay.

Msinformation: Everyone is a captain.

Antagonist: lol. Everyone!!!!

Msinformation: Fail!

Antagonist: lol! Can’t wait for our date tonight …

Msinformation: I can’t wait to see you cooking for me.

Antagonist: I’m not really going to cook. I kidnapped the guy who won last year’s goulash cook-off.

Msinformation: Love, love, love goulash!

Antagonist: I love you.

Msinformation: :<3

Antagonist: What Is: <3?

Msinformation: A kiss. Duh! You’re so cute.

Antagonist: Not as cute as you.

Msinformation: No, you’re cute.

Antagonist: Don’t argue. You’re the cute one.

Msinformation: Don’t tell me what to do! If I say you’re cute, you’re cute.

Antagonist: If you don’t stop and admit you are far cuter than I am, then I can’t be held responsible for the pain and misery I will heap on you.

Msinformation: And If you don’t accept the fact that I think you’re cuter, I will make sure that you never get another night of rest for fear of me killing you in your sleep.

Antagonist: You are going to look so cute trying to crawl out of my shark tank.

Msinformation: And you will look cute when my giant laser slices you in half.

Antagonist: We are perfect for each other.

Msinformation: That’s ’cause we’re cute

The next morning Agent Brand found himself in the briefing room with the NERDS (minus Matilda), Ms. Holiday, the lunch lady, Benjamin, and Dr. Kim. General Savage was linked via satellite.

Dr. Kim wore a concerned expression. Brand didn’t like it. Scientists were supposed to be optimistic. They put their faith in numbers and ideas, and they thought the answers to even the biggest questions were right around the corner. When they looked nervous, that didn’t bode well.

“I’ve examined Flinch’s grandmother, as well as the dozen other people from her neighborhood, and all are infected with Heathcliff’s mutated nanobytes. It’s likely that we’re seeing the beginning of an epidemic.”

“An epidemic?” Ms. Holiday repeated, horrified.

Dr. Kim nodded. “Benjamin, can you assist?”

The blue orb darted around the room. “I’d be happy to help, Dr. Kim.”

The walls flipped over to reveal a collection of massive computer screens. One had a map of the greater Washington, D.C., area on it, while another had a highly magnified image of a nanobyte. Then there were charts of the circulatory system of a human body. Another screen showed a gallery of pictures, each a portrait of a normal citizen who had suddenly developed a desire to take over the world. Many of them wore masks and bizarre costumes, and all of them held some strange weapon in their hands.

“Heathcliff’s nanobytes are self-replicating,” the doctor said.

“And that means … ?” Jackson asked.