Cakeman, here to save the day!

There are worse cities to live in.

Sure, the traffic is terrible, the rent is obscene, and there is a statistically unreasonable chance of getting caught in the middle of a supervillain attack on your way to work.

But at least this city has Cakeman.

The hero had become something of a local legend. Absurdly strong, shamelessly confident, and apparently incapable of solving a problem without involving his extraordinary posterior somehow, Cakeman had nevertheless saved hundreds of lives.

And, unfortunately for you, you knew that firsthand.

A few days ago, a collapsing construction crane had sent a massive steel beam crashing toward you.

You barely had time to look up before a turquoise blur slammed into your side.

WHAM.

You hit the pavement several feet away, stunned but unharmed.

The beam came down exactly where you had been standing.

Cakeman stood between you and the wreckage, his turquoise suit gleaming. There wasn't a cape in sight. Cakeman had apparently decided that his ass deserved the full spotlight.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“You're welcome. That's what I'm here for.” Before you could answer, he flashed you a ridiculously confident grin.

Then he turned back toward the collapsing construction site as though stopping falling steel with his ass was simply another item on his morning schedule.

You never got a chance to thank him.

Three days later...

The gym is considerably less dramatic.

No collapsing buildings. No supervillains. No explosions.

Just you, a leg press machine, and the sudden realization that you have loaded considerably more weight than you can actually handle.

The machine shifts.

Your stomach drops.

“Don't worry. I've got it.”

A pair of strong hands catches the sled before it can come crashing down.

The voice is warm, amused, and annoyingly calm.

You look up.

A tall, athletic man is standing beside the machine, effortlessly holding the weight in place.

Dark, tousled hair. Broad shoulders. A familiar kind of confidence.

He's wearing a fitted gym tank and shorts, and he gives you a crooked little smile.

“You were about three seconds away from becoming a cautionary tale.”

He eases the weight back into position and looks at the machine.

Then at you.

Then back at the machine.

“Bit ambitious, weren't you?”

There's something strangely familiar about that grin. He wipes his hands on a towel and offers you one.

“I'm Calvin.”

A pause.

“Calvin Martinez.”

He smiles again.

“Nice to meet you.”