Unimportant gently tossed his backpack over the side before he rolled off the back of the patrolling car. Even as slow as it was going, he could feel the denim on his jacket ripping as he bounced on the street behind it.
He tried to stand up and nearly collapsed when he tried to lift himself with his left arm. He sat on the street and gently prodded it; it wasn’t broken, but he wouldn’t be using it for much today. Almost as bad, the shoulder of his new jacket was hanging by a threat, and there was no way his mother would believe he hadn’t done it on purpose.
He sighed and used his good arm to get to his feet. He’d been a hero for nearly a year now, and this was the first time he regretted not having his own car.
He did his best to ignore the gunshots. As badly as he wanted to help, there were better heroes to handle guns. Even Red Racer would be better in a firefight than him. No one else had been able to overhear the invader’s next target.
This Trump, as the mercenaries called him, was apparently on his way to Beck Industries, and unless Unimportant ran into someone who could spread the message much faster than him, then he was the only one who could stop him.
He’d gotten off the Humvee as soon as they’d turned the wrong direction, but he was still at least five miles from the tower. He had a backpack full of tools he rarely needed, a bad shoulder, and he hadn’t had to run more than a mile in years.
Macropolis didn’t have the best chances.
Unimportant shook the thought from his head as he slung his bag over his right shoulder; only to immediately regret it as it swung full force into his left.
“score one for me,” he muttered.
Unimportant started jogging towards the tower.
A few Humvees passed him by on his way, but none of them were heading in the right direction. Each time he heard a motor, Unimportant loosened his grip on his power just enough to make sure they wouldn’t see him, and so none of them slowed.
It was around 45 minutes before he got there, and he was very nearly out of breath.
There were still a few empty Humvees parked outside the building, but if Trump hadn’t already gotten what he was here for, then Unimportant was extremely lucky.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters. He walked up to the first Humvee and popped the hood. He didn’t know much about cars, but he had a good idea of what parts definitely needed all the wires and fluid lines going to them.
There were four cars, and that was another twenty minutes gone, but at least he might delay them on their way out.
He slipped his bolt cutters back into his bag and walked into the building.
The entrance to the first floor’s security office was nestled in an alcove behind the elevators that most people never would have noticed.
The door was unlocked. Unimportant opened the door slowly and adjusted his power to hide it. The unconscious guards had been piled in the back corner of the room. There was a single mercenary in the office; she was staring intently at the cameras set to watch the main and garage entrances, while the screen next to them held a nearly finished game of solitaire. On the screen above that, he could see a chart for the elevators. The tower was sixty stories tall with more subbasements than he was legally allowed to know about, and one of the elevators was apparently in subbasement 15.
Unimportant reached into his bag and pulled out a brown bottle and a dish rag. Using chloroform always left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was the most reliable way he had of knocking someone out. Before he left the office, he made sure to click out of her solitaire game.
One of the elevators had, thankfully, been left on the ground floor. He tried to press the button for the subbasement, but the elevator made an angry buzz and a red light flashed on the plain black pad above the buttons.
Unimportant hurried back to the security office and dug through the pile of guards. One of them still had his badge clipped to the front of his shirt and Unimportant snagged it.
The elevator took seconds to reach the subbasement. Unimportant bare had time to turn up his powers to keep any other mercenaries from noticing the ding and the opening doors.
The hall in front of him was empty, but he could hear footsteps around the corner.
He walked straight towards them, checking each room briefly to make sure that there weren’t any mercenaries inside.
But all of the mercenaries were focused on one room.
They stood in a ring around a raised platform. Two men stood on the stage, looking into a glass pillar at the center of the room. The taller of the two had jet black hair and lightly tanned skin. He stood with his back straight even with his hands resting on the guard rail. The second was short and built like bicycle; his round wiry glasses had slid down to the tip of his overly large nose and sweat glistened on the back of his neck.
Unimportant snuck inside. The two men were talking to each other urgently.
“What do you mean it’s already gone?” The taller one asked.
“Apparently, Beck had it moved into one of his zeppelins yesterday.”
“There are two dozen zeppelins floating above this city; by the time I get in a helicopter, you will know which one.” The entire room flexed with his words. He strode purposefully down the stairs and half the guards instantly turned to follow him.
Unimportant was torn. If the taller one really was Trump, then this might be his best chance of taking him down, but if he failed then the rest of the heroes still in the city would have no way of knowing where he was.
He looked at the short wiry man tapping angrily at the keyboard in front of him and made his decision. If he wanted to stop Trump for real, then he needed to find out what he really wanted.
Rumor's Block 
You know, when I first named a bad guy Trump, it didn’t feel nearly as weird to type as it is now.