Under normal circumstances, would adore the prospect of a power cut. It gave him a real reason to step away from the television. A reason to head to that rickety old IKEA bookshelf in the corner and tear straight into a new world of adventure, romance, and excitement. He loved this time; curled up on the couch surrounded by an array of dimly lit candles, reading peacefully, his roommate fidgeting nervously on the armchair in front of him as she worried about how to get her mobile data working. It had been a simpler time.

Things were different now however. While Amir loved having time alone with just his thoughts and a good book, he knew that wouldn’t ever be an option again. Because now it wasn’t just him alone with his thoughts and a good book. Now it was him, a good book, and the Dark Lord Cthulhu chatting away in his head. Well chatting away probably wasn’t the best way to describe it. All he was doing was whispering. Whispering about Amir’s potential in the world. However the “potential” he spoke of wasn’t something that Amir was all too happy with. The whisperings often grew worse when Amir was alone, hence why reading wasn’t really much of an option anymore. He had to do something to take his mind away from the creepy little parasite.

Jogging was his solution; an activity that seemed to be beneficial in more ways than just blocking his voice out. It was soothing and relaxing for Amir, which was good considering it had become a daily routine of his. Now that the city was facing a mass power outage however, Amir had been jogging quite a lot more than his usual daily amount. He wasn’t stupid though. As Brooke had screeched to him worriedly before he had left the apartment, the streets probably weren’t the safest places to be at this kind of night, especially with the lack of lighting around. And especially for someone of his ethnicity. She was right of course. The news had been showing images and clips of looters from the previous night, all day. It was easy to assume that they’d continue.

Regardless Amir had to get out of that apartment. He had been going stir crazy, with him even beginning to follow the same erratic behaviour of Brooke. It wasn’t until the voice began speaking in his head one more that he had become adamant to leave. No way was he letting that thing grind his gears. The soft menacing voice of Cthulhu was quickly drowned out by the sound of the city’s nightlife as soon as he stepped outside, refreshing Amir slightly.

Still weary of Brooke’s previous warnings however, Amir decided not to take his run into the centre of The Sound and the Lower East Side like he had originally planned, instead turning up a side street, towards the looming peak of Mount Nysa that was just noticeable between the rooftops. If there was one place he could run peacefully without fear of looters and muggers, it was the Olympus District.

What harm could he come to there?

Miles Bergeron

---

One night after the explosion

Lesson One of being a Hero On the Rise? Stay in your lane. David may have been able to take on Goliath, but that had to be ordained by God himself, and most upstart vigilantes don’t have that kind of access, time or dedication. At least one ass whooping or pride bruiser is inevitable, it’s pretty much in the “Hero” job description. However, why take a waterboarding when you can just take a couple gut punches? Chances are, if your vigilante get-up doesn’t have a crotch sweat stain by the time you take on your first terrorist cell, it’s probably too soon. There is no shame in the vigilante who starts out tackling purse snatchers and enemies without military grade weapons, as mundane as it might sound.

Miles Bergeron tried to keep this in mind as he shook his jitters out, atop the SafeKnight International Bank building. A lone figure among the city lights that reached him.

‘Man. 10 stories seems like a lot more distance when you’re standing on top.’

He ideally had hopes of at least reaching 17, if only to waltz into a rated R movie unattended. Of course, preparing to jump from a building and quite literally hurl himself into danger might be counterproductive to that, but hey,

“Some things, you just gotta do.” His own voice startled him, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet for so long. On top of one of the corporate bank buildings in the Olympus district, the wind was all he needed to hear.

It was the highest he had ever been up with his powers. Up there, looking at the twinkling inter-network of a city flickering so dimly, he could almost convince himself that he could actually make a difference in the city. If he would just jump. Jump into the fray of the fight with Fitz around him, just maybe. Maybe he could do it. But, he couldn’t seem to take the plunge.

He sighed as his phone rang. He dreaded his mother’s voice. Her coming home early from work and finding him gone. It was bound to happen. He looked down beside him, only to remember that his phone was off, and stashed in his Hideaway spot.

“Then who…?” He turned to another figure outlined in darkness, on the opposite side of the roof of the building. The screen briefly illuminated a man’s face before it quickly plummeted into the darkness. Miles reacted with a start before catching himself. It seemed like the man had let go of the phone intentionally. A few seconds more of observation showed the man bouncing on his heels, shaking himself. Standing one foot and leaning forward! It dawned on Miles, what this was and his stomach sank.

Miles was an attentive kid, even if he was still rather hard headed. His mom often taught him little tips and tricks to survive in the world from the perspective of a nurse. Proudly CPR certified, 1st responder and all those other fun civilian titles to help a human in trouble, she’d even taken the time to describe those who might be suicidal.

It was going to be one of those nights for him.

Miles had to get the man’s attention. A hero would never stand idly by. No good person would. But shouting might startle him as would trying demand his attention. Miles decided to draw his attention instead. He focused on the source of his magic, the twist in the pit of his stomach. It spread to his chest and from his mind flowed the thought of this power. A soft aura began to emanate from him. The man began to notice and turned to him.
“Who are you?”

“You know it’s cold up here tonight, and you don’t even have a jacket. I’m not even that reckless, man,” Miles responded, thankful that he still had his hood up and his cowl on.

The man fully turned to him now, his interest momentarily piqued. “Are you…? You’re just a kid? What are you doing up here?” he demanded.

Miles shrugged, “I was actually about to ask you the same thing.”
This faltered the man and he was silent for a moment. “I...it’s easier when you’re young. Even as bad as it is now, it’s still easier when you are young.”

Miles’ heart was seemed to trying to force itself through his chest cavity from anxiety and nerves, but he leveled his tone, standing slowly. “You’d be surprised where a kid like me can be, because of how bad it is now. How did you do it?” ’Appeal to him. Calm him down. Talk him down. Calm him down. Talk him down. Calm him down. Talk him down.’

The man looked over the ledge again Miles used that break in contact to quicken his pace.

“I don’t think I can...it’s not worth it anymore,” the man finally spoke. Miles was upon him at this point. Now that the man could see him, he gave a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. “A ‘vigilante’ eh?” For a moment, the man seemed to calm. And Miles believed he could really talk him down.

Though he would come to realize one night that “Stay in your lane” also means “Use your goddamn common sense...dumbass” (roughly translated of course), tonight was not that night. And sometimes a man has to dig through the fool to find the sage inside. And Miles Bergeron, in his rambunctious glory, stepped out onto the ledge to meet Mr. Ozukai.

“Yeah,” Miles said putting his hands on his hips, proudly. “Somebody’s gotta try and make some change around here. Somebody gotta try to be something...like you said, shits getting bad out there.”

"Hiro Ozukai,” the man offered, giving a smile.

He hesitated for a brief moment, deciding to commit to his role as a Hero in Training. “PsycheOut at your service,” Miles planted his foot down and jutted his chest, a warmth spreading through his body. Mr. Ozukai’s smile, his sudden change in mood.

’Maybe this is what it’s all about,’ he thought with a soft smile as he let himself relax when the shudder ran up the building roof, violently shaking it --and its occupants. There was a gasp and a shared moment between the two males as they locked eyes--the danger realized. Imminent. They teetered over, arms flailed and gravity did what it had always done.

“FIIIIIIIIIIIITZ!” The young hero cried out as he plummeted with Mr. Ozukai.

Because when a fool falls, he falls fast. And God help the fool who hasn’t dreamed to fly.

When you don’t heed Lesson 1, your hero life might be short-lived.

Amir had certainly been right about the Olympus District. Unlike the rest of the city, the place still seemed somewhat peaceful despite everything that was going on. No gangs. No looters. Just an air of peace. It helped that the power was still on here, lighting the streets in a rich golden glow from the streetlights above. The district’s main high-street was no exception and as such, Amir decided to take his jog there. He kept at a steady pace, not wishing to tire himself out too much. In each ear sat a headphone, allowing Amir the pleasure of zoning out all his thoughts into the soothing feeling of the world moving past him and the pleasurable sounds of Beyoncé. It was just what he needed. He could block out the negative thoughts. He could block out him.

As he ran, Amir regularly turned to the shop windows on his left, watching the smiling reflection of himself. He didn’t want to seem egotistical, but he had to admit that he looked good. Better than he felt however. That was when the reflections changed however.

One second there was Amir, the dark skinned jogger. The next? Well Amir couldn’t even describe it properly. The thought made him slightly hazing. It was disorientating. Nauseating. The reflection was still there, although he seemed warped. The tentacles was probably the most noticeable thing. They floated dreamily behind him, like tendrils of darkness, with the mere sight of them instilling a slight air of fear to Amir. The reflection’s backdrop was different too. Gone was the peaceful Olympus street and its radiating glow. Now there was only fire and suffering. That wasn’t the worst thing though. No, the worst thing were the eyes. Eyes of an incomparable luminosity. Eyes resembling that of two disastrous black holes, swirling as if they might entrap anyone that got too close.

Despite all this though, they were still Amir’s eyes looking back at him.

Amir tore his eyes away, darting their attention to his feet. Breathing heavily, he realized that he had stopped walking, his legs feeling somewhat stiff as If he hadn’t moved them in several minutes. How long had he been stood there, staring into the shop window? What it him? Had Cthulhu somehow gotten to him?

Shaking away the feeling, Amir readjusted his headphones, letting a loud yet relaxing blast of music to pour into him. He took in one final breath before risking a glance back towards his reflection. He let out a sigh of relief however upon being met with nothing more than just his usual self.

“I… I must be going crazy” He spoke aloud, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

His head fell into his hands. He wanted to cry, yet no tears came. Why was this happening to him?

Before he had anytime to overthink that particular question, Amir found himself hurtling forward towards the window slightly, the cause of which being a gust of suddenly appearing wind originating from behind him. Turning, Amir caught sight of it. A blur of light moving up the street away from him. His eyes widened even further as that blur seemed to slow in speed, coming to a halt at the end of the road. As it slowed, Amir saw that it was a man. Extremely confused, he watched as this newcomer gazing around at the shop fronts before him. He seemed to let out a short laugh, something which Amir only barely managed to hear from this distance.

He opened his mouth to call out to him, when the man vanished, with the blur rocketing straight into the window of a jewellery store. As the alarm immediately began to sound, wailing into the night, Amir realized that this man, despite his superhuman looking abilities, was in no shape or form one of the classic superheroes he had read about as a child, but it would seem that he was actually a villain. A real life supervillain. The thought made his stomach churn.

_{”Don’t Amir… Let chaos be…”}

The voice that suddenly appeared in his head made it even worse. However it made his realize what he had been thinking, and that was that he had to help. He had powers. He could do this. Right?

Pulling his hood up over his head, and switching his music to something more upbeat, he charged forwards, a sound of extreme disapproval ringing inside his head.

Miles Bergeron

---

One night after the explosion

Lesson number 2 of being a Hero on the Rise: always have an exit strategy. You’re not invincible or immortal. Hell, maybe you are--but drowning probably would still probably hurt like a bitch. In that case, you need a plan B. Not the one that comes after plan A, but the one that comes after Becky made a couple bad decisions one night. Abort the hell outta there. Better to fight another day than burn out on your first leg of the journey, and unfortunately, you’re not cool enough yet to become a legend by dying heroically

Essentially, this is for those times when you forget Lesson number 1. A lesson everyone should know, but especially those ambitious ones.

Those ambitious ones always seem to make a point of finding a way to fuck themselves when they don’t follow the first two Lessons of the Essentials of being a Hero on the Rise.

And Miles found himself falling right to that point. That “Oh, fuck.” point as he fell. In the echo of his initial scram from their fall, he heard a high whine. It was Mr. Ozukai, his cry mixing with the howl of the wind as they whipped down. And in that instant, dripping away as he neared the ground with alarming velocity, Miles couldn’t resist it. He let out a short laugh. It was enough to nerve him once more.

“FITZ!” It wasn’t a cry, it bordered on a direct command. And Miles sunk a demand into his tone that was heeded with gusto. A glow engulfed him, quickly spreading outward and refining to the form of large torso and arms. The glow of the quasi magical construct illuminated the air as Miles turned Fitz’s torso toward the ground, jutting the arms out. It was almost the extent of what he could do in this situation, but he had to try. With a surge, he formed a small shell of energy that encased the Fitz’s torso and Mr. Ozukai.

Not an instant soon as it slammed to the ground. A small crack appeared on the ground where the shell hit. The shell itself shattered almost instantly, dissipating into nothingness. Miles felt Fitz slam to the ground and felt the wind leave him. Mr. Ozukai landed with a thud on top of Fitz’s form, rolling off the side. Fitz’s form flickered and vanished, Miles plopping to the ground in its absence.

Everything hurt. Even his hair. Miles wasn’t even sure how that was possible. But he was in pain nonetheless. Bringing out such a large part of Fitz with no preparation was dangerous, and he could feel the migraine coming, and he couldn’t decide whether the physical or mental pain would be worse. However, he could decide that it was a good time to call it a night.

The backstreet he landed on had only a small number of stores lit, his glazing eyes found themselves resting on a few of them. The few people on the street had already begun wondering over to him and Mr. Ozukai.

’Great start Miles….you’re regular superstar,’ he thought, as the plight of unconsciousness threatened to overtake him.
The takeaway from all of this: don’t hold conversations on the actual edge of the building. Get the hell off while you can. Take the win and run.

Miles Bergeron

---

One night after the explosion

Lesson 3 (and final) of the Essentials of being a Hero on the Rise:--and this is one too many young Vigi’s forget--your secret identity comes first at all* costs. All* is said with the addendum that you’ve followed the first two rules. If you have, you shouldn’t find yourself in a situation too perilous to trump this rule. Unless you’ve got the luck of Cassandra, the sense of Oedipus and the stupidity of those antagonists in “Home Alone” then you should be fine.

...I hope.

That’s pretty much it, and with this landing thought, Miles Bergerons’ eyes fluttered open in a quick panic. The onlookers were still heading over, he hadn’t been out long. He couldn’t catch his breath and the short, agonizing gasps led him to believe some healing past just time and bed rest was needed.

’Mom is gonna have a field day with this…’ he began to think before his attention was taken over by a more pressing thought.

’Mr. Ozukai!’

Miles struggled over to the man, he needed to make sure the old man was still with him. Or else his days as a Hero might be changed to the beginning of a Murderer instead. Fate was with him as the man was groaning and beginning to stir. Ozukai reached out to Miles and Miles froze. This was where he began to scream for Miles’ apprehnsion.

“Thank...you...you were right,” he managed to say and Miles smiled, beside himself.

“See, it was just a cloudy night you were going through,” Miles told him. He forgot his situation for a moment, feeling he’d actually made a difference.

“Now go. Go before they get here...” Mr. Ozukai managed before trailing off. His hand weakly pushed against Miles before it went limp and he succumbed to unconsciousness. Miles bit back a rise of watery heat behind his eyes and nodded, taking off into the nearest alley.

He felt a presence grow with him as he fled, his fear rising. It was Fitz, or what Fitz could manifest of himself, concerned for Miles. The energy aided Miles, enabling him to move with the slightest bit more ease while a faint glow encased him. It was all the young Hero could manage. The darkness of the alleyway swallowed him and he was unaware of where he was really headed.

He just had to get away from the scene.

“Way to not draw attention, Miles,” he chastised himself, wandering further into the Olympus district. He needed to get home, but he had to rest. There was no way he could use Fitz to make it back to his apartment in this state. He neared a more well-lit portion of the district, his eyes straining from the sudden change. Miles stumbled gingerly into the new portion of the Olympus District.

At least Mr. Ozukai was safe, and that was a score for him, right?

Evelyn Prince

---

Michaels Street, Lower East Side
The day of the blast...

---

At this time of day, Michaels Street was one of the busiest strips on the LES of Larissa. With the sun high in the sky, overalled workers from the nearby nuclear power centre would flock in their droves to waste away their lunch hour; being barely ten minutes walk from the facility, and boasting a modest offering of delis and food joints, Michaels Street really was the ideal spot for the men and women to get out of the office and a grab a bite to eat.

It was also the ideal spot for thieves. With the rhythmic waves of pedestrian traffic running on a near-immaculate schedule throughout the week, it became rather easy for would-be crooks to target at opportune moments. Evelyn Prince was one such crook who had taken advantage of the situation. She wandered along the busy strip, her eyes bound in cloth as she stumbled around feigning disability. Whilst most would consider her sight completely redundant, the young woman could actually see her surroundings with even more scope then they could imagine, and she was using this 'specialist skill' of hers to weigh up the most vulnerable target. It wasn't something she was particularly proud of, but she wasn't exactly riddled with guilt, either. Over the years she had grown used to borrowing from strangers. She found some solace for her conscience in the knowledge that she was not driven by greed, like so many criminals in the city. Evelyn was just doing what she had to in order to get by.

She soon locked on to a rather muscular man, his broad back stretching out his grey overalls and the clear bulge of a wallet pressing against the inside of his tight thigh pocket. He was faced away from her, in the midst of telling a particularly asinine anecdote to his posse; who of course, found this tasteless tale completely hilarious. The whole pack laughed and brayed like asses. He was perfect.

Wasting no time, she tripped straight into him and threw herself on the concrete. The group laughed louder, until she turned her head and feigned blindness with the Oscar-winning performance she had near-perfected. The fun stopped, half-assed apologies were uttered, and the man she had bumped into tried helping Evelyn to her feet. She used his pocket as a support to heave herself up, and once she had assured them she was okay she hobbled off down the street, rounding the corner and vanishing into the crowd... With his fat wallet tucked beneath her arm. She was neither proud nor ashamed, instead turning her thoughts to where she would be dining this afternoon.

Heading into a sandwich bar, she waltzed up to the counter and began flicking through the wallet as she waited for a server to attend her order. There was a fair bit of cash, which she pocketed; she would always pay contactless until the cards got locked, making the most out of every steal. She pulled out one piece of plastic, and discovered it wasn't a debit card at all. It was his employment ID, bearing the Michaels logo and an unflattering picture of the man she had just robbed. As she read the words 'Michaels Nuclear Power Plant', a familiar feeling washed over. A dizzying feeling, that made her feel at once dormant and alert; hyper-senseless and hyper-aware of everything and nothing. Her head felt disconnected from her body. A young woman arrived at the bar.

"Welcome to Rizzo's, ma'am, what can I get you?"

But it was too late. Evelyn knew that resistance was futile; she had tried countless times to shake off that initial sensation and stop the force that took over her in its tracks. But it was of no use, and soon enough the world around her began to fade to nothing.

Blackness. Siren whines. Keeps whining. Loud. Long. Danger. A red light becomes visible. Flashing. Pulsing. Warning. The ground is shaking. Shuddering. Grunting. The rumble of earth merges into chopping. Chopping. Helicopter flying low overhead, silhouette against the hellish red. Feel the wind on my face. I'm here. Watching but not watched. Figure falls from the chopper. Hits the metal walkway. Loud clang echoes through my head. But is absorbed swiftly by the chaos.

Man vanishes into the building. Red beam swings like a lighthouse. Rhythm. Spinning. Turning. Every rotation swishes along the brickwork. Illuminates a sign briefly as it creeps along the lettering: MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. Every time the words are lit in red for a second. Then back into blackness. Then back into red. Then back into blackness. Then back into red. Each time seeming more and more important. More significant. MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWER PLANT. MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWERPLANT. MICHAELS NUCLEAR POWERPLANT.

Huge shake. Like an earthquake. Then a wave of heat. Burst of light. Burst of flame. Wave of acidity coming over me. Washing me away. Dissolving me away. Into nothingness. The shaking stops. The light fades. Nothing anymore. Blackness.

And then, out of the blackness, emerged the face of a concerned young woman, looking directly into where Evelyn's eyes would be, were they not bound in red cloth. "Ma'am? Are you okay?" she asked, looking at Eve as though she were just another mad vagrant from the streets. Her tone was loaded with faux concern; that sneering superiority that the sane so often hold over the vulnerable. "Ma'am?"

The plastic ID slipped from Evelyn's fingers, clicking on the tiled floor. The bouncing wallet soon followed, as Evelyn turned over her shoulder to gaze out of the large storefront window. The staple silhouette of the power plant loomed unassumingly over the trees, peaceful white clouds drifting from its various towers.

"Oh, fuck," Eve gasped, as the gravity of the situation began to settle in. "Oh fuck, fuck. Fuck."

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." sneered the smug server, in her ridiculous yellow uniform. Evelyn obliged, pausing for only a moment to consider warning the girl of what was to come. Evelyn understood more than anyone else that the future was set in stone, but knowledge of what was to come at least allowed her the privilege of being able to enforce a little karma where she felt necessary. And so she left the deli not saying a word.

Better not to cause a fuss, she reasoned. Evelyn had every intention of getting as far away from Larissa as possible, and she didn't need blind panic hindering her escape from the impending nuclear disaster. But first, she had to pick up a few things from home.

---

112 Belgrade Way, Lower East Side
The night of the blast...

---

'Home' for Evelyn had, as of late, been a dilapidated old squat, as yet unsaved by the Michaels renovation project due to its seat on the very outskirts of town. It had taken her almost an hour to get out to the sorry site, and several more to properly plan her next steps; by now, the sun was beginning to set, and Evelyn was cautious that nightfall was only a few turns of the clock away. After that, fate was out of her hands... She had to act fast.

She'd already arranged for an Uber that would take her to the airport, where she would reluctantly part with what funds she had stashed in the old building and head to Europe. Her initial plan had been to head across the water to New Alexandria, but the logical side of her knew that this was not the time to take risks. She'd read about the ruin brought by historic nuclear disasters, and whilst she had no idea how devastating the Michaels blast would be... Well, she didn't want to take any chances.

The beeping of a horn alerted her of the cab's arrival, and Evelyn moved her gaze to an old wooden desk, upon which a golden locket lay delicately sprawled. This had, of course, been at once the reason she had called home and the reason she was reluctant to leave. Given to her by her mother on the day of her adoption, it was her most prized possession that she had managed to hide from Del's greedy eyes for a decade; her only physical souvenir of her brief time being loved. A treasure that was too valuable to walk the streets in, and far too precious to leave the country without. But it also reminded her of what she was leaving behind: it was going to be even more difficult to track down her mother from the other side of the Atlantic. And when she returned, how much of Larissa would even still stand? Would her mother survive the blast?

As the impatient Uber driver honked once more, Eve snatched the locket from the desk and fastened it around her slender neck, forcing herself to find solace in the fact that her mother might have long left the city. A lot can change in ten years... And so she headed out to the car.

A grinning, chubby white man greeted her as she got into the passenger seat. "Hey, darlin'. The airport, right?"

Evelyn nodded, not looking in his direction. "Yes, please. As quickly as possible."

He smirked, looking the girl up and down before nodding in appreciation. "Alright, princess. Let's get this show on the road." he said, starting up the engine as he glanced back at her blindfolded eyes. "And hey, don't worry about me, babe. I got my eyes on the road for the both of us." he paused for a moment, as the car pulled out and the wheels began rolling. "And I know exactly where we're going."



Eve had been riding in the car for about twenty-five minutes before she began to realise that something was amiss.

"You sure we're going the right way?" she asked, making little effort to sound unpresumptuous. "We should be there by now. I got a plane to catch."

The man simply grinned, pulling into an alley and shutting off the headlights. "Oh, doll, would you look at that?" he asked, smug in his assumption that his passenger was blind. "We're here!"

Eve had not even a second to react before the man was upon her, pouncing like some vicious panther as he leapt across onto the passenger seat and began smothering her with his form. Evelyn screamed in shock, but soon turned her attention to struggling back with the man. She'd lived with Del for ten years, and on the street since then. This wasn't her first time in this scenario, but it was dark now and frankly she had neither the time nor inclination to sit and take it.

She was unfazed as she heard the familiar sound of a fly being unzipped, instead fumbling around in the cardoor for anything she could use as a weapon. She found a can of anti-freeze; unexpected, considering the warm climate of the approaching summer, but it was appreciated nonetheless. She whacked him over the head several times, enough for him to withdraw momentarily; at which point she sprayed the substance into his face, leaping out of the car as he yelped in pain. She sprinted away and down the alley. Evelyn was furious at how her plan had been sabotaged by some sleaze, but there was still a chance of getting away before the blast. She just had to hitch a ride, find another car--

Bright white lights blinded her as she stepped out onto the main road. The blaring klaxon of a horn sounded. The unmistakable sound of brakes screeching against rubber squealed through the night. The weight of a moving vehicle collided with her body. There was a moment of shock as the world seemed to be pulled away from her; and then her skull hit the tarmac. All went dark.

Miles Bergeron

---

One night after the explosion

It was part miracle and dumb luck that Miles Bergeron stumbled to his apartment door. The hallway, thankfully empty, he allowed himself a breath--albeit painfully-- while finding his keys. Was this mask supposed to actually hinder his vision? Or were those tears? Miles shook his head, ripping the mask from his face and furiously pawed through his bag.

When he’d stowed it away, he’d dedicated at least one pocket to his wallet, keys and phone. His “Essentials” should all else go wrong.

The emergency seal he’d placed on his body, numbing his pain was wearing off. The seal was old, part of a stash from his Great grandmother’s Civil War medic nurse days. It’s magic was probably all leaked after this many years. But hell, it was the best he could get currently.

“Why are there so many pockets on this damn Swiss Gear backpack?” he hissed to himself, finally feeling a familiar electronic in a random pocket. Finally!

Click.

Miles’ face drooped, his bag dropping to the floor as the door unlocked and the seconds drawled on as it began to open. His mother stood before him, a stoic mixture of agonized worry, relief and biblical rage laced over her face.

’God, if you kill me now, I’ll agree to smiting duty for all eternity.’

He risked swallowing the anxious saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. A sign of weakness, and he was lost because of it.

“What.” His mother stated. It wasn’t actually a question. A question implied that the recipient had the option of not answer. This was not the case in Claire Bergeron’s presence, her arms folded. She rested slightly on one hip. Still in her scrubs, she gave off none of the warm cuddliness as the colorful cloud hippos would imply.

“I uh--” He tried lamely.

“Go ahead,” she challenged him. “Get ya lie together.”

“I only went on the roof of the Rivington Publishing tower and--” his body cut him off this time, seeing to revolt at the tale he tried to weave. The pain flared in his side, the seal worn down officially and down he began to go. A grunt finished the rest of his words as he fell to his side.

His mother’s maternal rage was overridden by the all powerful need to protect her young. She caught him, her yelp shrill in his ear though. It was painful in a way he didn’t expect. She pulled him close and cradled him for a brief moment.

“Miles!” her voice was stern, but filled with concern. She was checking to see if he was conscious, and squeezed him for a response while she carried him into the house. Though barely larger in frame than him, she was deceptively strong. “What did you do?”

He tried to answer, but everything hit him at once. The fatigue, pain, relief and fear--how close had he actually been to dying!? It all rushed Miles at once, bringing velvet black of unconsciousness in its tow.

---

When he opened his eyes, he could tell it was still dark. He was in his bed now, and felt his Hero clothes gone. A start to get up reminded him of his side and he panicked...until he realized it was no longer there.

“Oh, don’t act surprised,” a voice said beside him, “you knew I would.” His mother came into his room, a glass of water in hand. “I Scanned and found a cracked rib. A cracked rib! Miles, what the hell were you thinking?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably, that weird pain from before--when he’d heard her yelp--hit him again. “I…”

“Not to mention the general strain on your body.” She handed him the water before turning toward his bedroom window. “I know I raised your black ass to act better than this. To have more sense than this. We’ve had this talk, Miles.

He looked at the sheet he rested on, a familiar inscription seal woven into it. His mom’s handy Healing Mat. “Yes, you’re all healed up, though I debated keepin’ your as laid up. You have no idea how stupid that was of you, do you?” her voice was shrill again, though she tried to hide it.

His mom was still scared.

That pain hit Miles, but he still objected “I wasn’t being stupid!”

“Then what would you call it, Miles Alexander?” The panic in her voice was full blown now.

“I saved a man’s life tonight, ma. I did that,” Miles told her, smiling despite the moment. “You do it all the time.”

His mother’s figure softened, and her words held no anger when she spoke again. “Hun, you know it’s not the same…”

“Yeah I know, ma. It’s just…” Miles struggled to find his words. “That’s how you help the world and save people. And I just feel like…this is what I can do, at least for now.” He tried to say more but his mother’s embrace broke his train of thought.

“I was worried sick, Miles,” she whispered. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

He knew, and he felt terrible for making her worry. But what else could he do?

The life of a Hero on the Rise is never simple.

Evelyn Prince

---

New Hampshire General Hospital, Somerset
The day after the blast...

---

"How is she doing?" asked an older man in a white coat. He was peering over the shoulder of a young nurse, who seemed to be studying the red-headed patient that lay before them, scribbling jargon onto her clipboard. Evelyn Prince could see every word scrawled out in her mind, magnified with such extremity that she could inspect each wiggly deviation within the woman's rushed handwriting. She could hear every word that was said, loud and clear, as they bounced and reverberated around every nook and cranny of her aching skull. And yet, as hyper-aware as she was of the situation she'd found herself in, Evelyn Prince could not move a muscle.

At some point in the night, her mind had woken up. She could hear the mammoth blast from the nearby Lower East Side; she'd felt the tremble of the earth as the shock rumbled through the city. She'd seen the lights flicker off and the constant beeping and humming and machinery fade, then watched the flocks of doctors and nurses pour into the ward to make sure everyone was OK. Evelyn wanted to tell them she was fine, that they should let her go. And yet, her lips would not budge an inch. So Evelyn had laid here, reflecting over what had happened. It seems that the blast hadn't been all that bad... Aside from knocking out the power, nobody in her immediate vicinity seemed to be hurt. Perhaps she'd overreacted... And look where it had gotten her. Laid out cold on a hospital bed.

"It's difficult to tell," said the nurse, who glanced up at the dead equipment intended to monitor Evelyn's vitals. "She seems relatively unharmed. She's still breathing. Her scans showed some severe abnormalities; her brain seems far more active than is typical even in completely conscious people. But until we get the power back, we can't run any other tests."

The doctor nodded, and left the room.

The ward seemed largely silent now, except for the scribblings of the nurse's pen before she, too, turned to leave. Evelyn needed to do something - anything - to get her attention; to will the nurse to notice that she was here, that she needed help waking up. A shot, a shock... Anything. There was a moment of fear that washed through Eve's body as she considered the fact that, if she couldn't make herself known, she might never wake up. The pain that had persistently stabbed at Eve's brain - she presumed from the incident - was growing more and more severe as her stress levels sky rocketed. Her head felt like a pot of boiling water about to overflow, when suddenly...

Movement. Fast and unexpected, it took Eve a second to realise that her entire bed was rolling on its wheels with considerable speed, hurtling towards the nurse. With her back turned, and Eve unable to warn her, the inevitable happened: the collision sent the nurse tumbling to the polished floor as she screamed out in surprise. Two junior doctors rushed to her aid and helped to shaken woman to her feet, as she looked at the near-lifeless body of Eve with an accusatory eye filled with horror.

"Are you OK?" one of the men asked, his arm around her shoulder. "What happened?"

The nurse couldn't take her eyes off Evelyn. It was as if something was stirring behind those closed lids; as though the body was possessed by a force less-than-innocent. She'd heard the stories of the hospital being haunted but... No, she wouldn't let herself fall for such foolishness. After a moment of hesitation, the nurse finally tore her eyes away.

"Yes," she said. "Yes. I'm fine." her voice trembled with fear. "Something must have... Fallen loose, in the blast last night. Please, get everything back in order. I... Have business to attend to."

And with that, the nurse scurried out of the room.

'What the fuck just happened?', Eve asked herself as she was wheeled back against the wall, the wheels on her bed locked into place as they had been before. The doctors smoothed over her sheets and made sure everything was how it should be, before the younger-looking of the two headed off to a separate ward. The remaining man chuckled to himself, looking up at the security camera and smiling. He knew this part of the building had no power.

"Guess it's just you and me," he said, pulling back the sheets he had just tended to and letting his hand stroke along Eve's thigh. It was at this point that Eve realised the way things were going. 'Not again,' she said to herself, beginning to panic. 'Not now. I don't need this. Not today.' her mind reeled, her thoughts tripping over themselves as the man's fingers began to slide up inside her pale green gown. She wanted to scream. Every fibre of her being demanded she do so. She had to scream.

And she did.

Her body lunged forward, her brain flooding with lava as both hands grasped her skull. As her dry mouth let out a crackling, chilling scream, she felt the pain in her head release; rather than subsiding and ebbing away, it seemed to burst out from her body in a wave of unseen energy. The doctor was knocked flying, colliding with the wall at the opposite end of the ward. Beds toppled over, spilling their patients onto the floor. Piles of paperwork and notes flew into the air as though caught by a strong wind. Glasses of water fired themselves at the doctor, smashing around him as he cowered in the corner.

And then it stopped. Staff hurried into the room to inspect the commotion; the nurse from before was among them. Her eyes swept over the room, taking in the damage before they landed on Evelyn, sat upright in her bed, eyes wide open. The second their eyes met, the ward and everyone in it seemed to melt away, as Eve was presented with a vision in which the nurse tumbled from a skyscraper in a move that didn't seem entirely accidental. She heard every bone snap as the falling form collided with the concrete, felt the wet scarlet pooling around her, before the ward came back into the view.

"Lock the doors," the nurse said. "Nobody leaves until we figure this out." Her eyes were locked on Evelyn the entire time.

"Nobody leaves."

---

---

There's a nondescript building in the midst of Larissa, with nothing incredible permeating from its walls, no notable events. Just an 8 story building, taking up half a block, abandoned for half a decade. 30 years old, sturdily built, this building holds no remarkable history. It's open ground floor has been subjected to light graffiti and the occasional homeless person, but that is about it.

Across the street from this nondescript building sits a branch of Larissa City Bank. A tribute to old architecture, the bank has been the second largest location of Larissa City Banks for close to 20 years, at the end of the last century, it was infamous for being 'owned' by the local mafia. Where as most things designed and operated by the nouveau riche tend to be gaudy and boisterous, the Larissa City Bank mixed the old with the new tastefully. A touch of modern flair and attention mixed with the classic stoutness of old money. Gothic columns and white mrable pillars adorn the front. The building itself is an embodiment of the power once held in Larissa. Its grandeur taking away from all else around it. Such is the beauty of Larissa.

That kind of beauty can tend to attract untoward thoughts and malicious intent. Countless individuals have given into this greed and malcontent, trying to stage heist after heist on the financial monument. Such so that the security and insurance company "Loren & Salander" have personally seen to the safety of such a building against almost any and all attacks, from enemies lurking in the shadows.

But what do you do when your enemy strides to the front door?

---

---

Allen Ventus smirked, the glint of his meticulously whitened teeth still shining in the freshly settled night. He held an empty plastic case out which he promptly dropped, a show of his success. "All camera-feed loops have been set," he announced. "Next time, give me a task I can actually push myself on."

Ren Garrow game a sall huff of acknowledgement as he stepped forward, crushing the small case. Working with a partner already didn't suit him. And then making it a show-off speedster? He wondered if he'd get any compensation for just killing the partner. But, he wouldn't have to worry long, the job was just about finished. That thought on repeat helped him maintain a level mind. "Good, now we just wait for them to kick in. Client said ten minutes, correct?"

Ventus turned and faced the Larissa City Bank. "Yep. Too bad they don't move as fast as me."

Garrow failed to suppress a grimace. Ventus was too young, not just in years, but in spirit. He thought this was a game. "Just shut up and let me charge," he ordered, shoving the 21-year old away from him. At 26, he felt he knew this game, but something didn't feel right. This heist felt...well too straightforward.

The pair stood atop that nondescript building across from Larissa City Bank and waited while the last of the non-security personnel left the building. After this night, they'd be a pair of rich men.

-That move last time you did at the end? Patriotic. I saluted ;)

-lol, I guess

-Haha, y just I guess? Not an All-American gal?

-Baby, I'm as American as a fly shitting in your apple pie :D. But yeah... prolly bc I didnt think u were THAT good ;P

-Aha! What??
-Oh yeah? Is that a challenge?

-Can you handle one?

-I'll take that as a yes. How about a "re-match"?

-...
-Only if we can step it up a notch

-...?

-How many times have you had a girl like me under the stars? ;)

-baby, I dont think I have...what do you have in mind?

-...maybe a rooftop night with beer, bike talk and...other things...?

-I've always been a fan of those...other things.

-Oh good! Meet up at 10:30? I'll send you the address

-Sounds good babe, I hope ur ready

-I always am. It'll be a night for you to remember for sure ;P

*(Tones)*

Ringing 1 2 3 4 5 6

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system.--
Err..Hi yes, this is Andy Williams is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hange up or Press 1 for more options--

*(Beep)*

" Hello this message is for Andrew Williams. Hi Andy, it's Mackenzie Zales from Dr. Maddison's office. I hope everything has been fine with you, and you know we like seeing you at your best! We apologize at how sudden this is, but Dr. Maddison would like to invite you to a tech opening tonight--er I'm sorry, a pacemaker tech opening tonight.

Apparently it's a small unveiling and word from your insurance is that--because it's passed the experimental trial, it's covered by them! Dr. Maddison is friends with spearhead of the project Dr. Yokai and was able to get invited. If you're free tonight at 8, she would love to bring you with her so you can see the tech first hand and possibly decide to get on the waiting list.

If anything--don't tell her I said this--it's free food and alcohol, good music and you can totally probably score a to go!--but anyway...she hopes you'll join her. And should you not decline, there'll be a car waiting to pick you up at 8. She says you can call her on her cell for direct contact. Have a good one, Andy!"

*(Click)*



Mrs. Kasha Davis was not happy. Her original schedule had her home at least an hour ago at 9, but of course when dealing with those damn Italians, one had better just toss their plans to the wind. She shouldered her bag of red wine bottles and sighed. It couldn't be helped, they made the best wine in the city and her sangria simply did not tolerate that mass brand nonsense.

Mr. Davis had called her a number of times, though after hearing the thinly veiled rage in her voice, he'd kept his pestering to a minimum.

"Honestly," she mumbled to herself, heading out of the Little Italy part of town, "who has a computer that glitches for a full hour? Just turn it off and back on again....breeders". She shook her head furiously, checking off all the things she'd have to move around for tomorrow. The upcoming Sunday brunch could thankfully be saved, but the theme planning time was completely out of the window. "And God kill me if Beverly Lesley comments one more time on my Tuscan themes--I just can't do another Tuscan theme again, can I?" She tuttled on as she went, completely immersed in problems amounting to nothing. "..And God, he's probably going to bring that drunk Karen. She.....relieved herself in the longhorn skull last time. Can't have that again...But does that mean no sangria?"

Almost in response to her question--upon passing an alleyway-- Mrs. Kasha Davis felt a presence beside her and her step faltered. In that instant, a hand reached from the shadows of that alleyway and gripped Mrs. Davis' arm with brute force. The grip hurt and Mrs. Davis cried out in pain, her voice ringing out from years of stand up performances and stage acting. She was flung to the ground and a slender dark figure darted out ahead of her, her purse in his hands.

Well--more of a tote bag--as Mr. Davis alwasy put, poking fun at its almost comically large size. But designer was designer for Mrs. Kasha Davis, and she made sure she got proper mileage out of the piece of the storage. It was amazing the thief moved with such easy, for the bag was pretty heavy. It was currently filled with her personal effects and most preciously--

"MY WINE!" she bellowed, scrabbling to her feet. "My sangria! Oh God....MY BRUNCH!" rage met her as she took off one of her shoes and darted to the edge of the alley, poised to put her college shot put years and All-Girls State Finals aim to good use. But the perp was already fading into the distance. The further he got, the larger her frustration. Until just a few sparse seconds later...

"Which way did he go? Don't worry, I got 'im!"

Andrew

Andrew’s eyes would be greeted by a spacious interior, low lighting and an enticing fragrance--that scent-- that tickled his nose. The pre-poured glass of champagne with accompanying bottle and ice bucket might tickle his fancy. But alas, that damn scent would tickle his nose, causing him to breathe in more it’s aroma. Plush faux leather (Animal Rights and all that, amirite?) would invite an instant sense of relaxation giving poor Andrew no standing chance against the comfort. Tempted into sitting back and enjoying the ride and that damn scent, Andrew would breathe in more of the airborne sedative, eventually succumbing to its effects.

Frederick knew this as he pulled up to pick up the kid. Hell, it was his luxury car. He specialized in….procurement for “discrete” individuals. Where the kid thought he was going must have been an involved event, from his attire.

“Such a shame.” Frederick mumbled, as he drove to his destination. In his line of work, you got paid well. More than well, in fact. But, not to ask questions.

“I gotta find out where he got that shirt from.”

---

---

Ram

Her skin had glistened with an ethereal ebony shine, naturally smooth and soft. She’d smelled of cocoa and CoCo in complimenting parts, a blend of sweet and bodied. They’d connected briefly, but intensely, lovers for just an encounter. She was beginning to forget his voice and he didn’t know her name.

But nonetheless, she weakly let out a breathless “Have a... good night,” as he closed the door to her loft.

It was an ideal situation for him, and Arturo Ramon “Ram” Plateado left his mystery lovers loft with an irresistible smirk prominent on his face.

’Oh, it’s been a good night indeed.’

---

---

Miles

Miles tore off after the figure, a devilish grin underneath his cowl. ’Finally, some action!’ The figure was already turning down another alley by the time Miles began to keep pace, so he turned with it, delving into the waiting darkness with abandon.

He reached out with his hand and urged Fitz’s hand to extend from it, latching onto the second level of a fire escape. Pulling himself up in an arc, he extended his other arm and stretched Fitz’s right arm to grab a window sill. He made his way down the alley, closing the gap between the purse snatcher and himself.

---

---

Andrew

Andrew would likely awake from the jostle from his cuffs deactivating. Their time release expired, they quickly lose power, dropping him to the floor. His formal clothes replaced with a type of carbon reinforced fitted jacket and undershirt. His pant were made of the same material.

Looking around the empty and large area, he would find it to be the open first floor of a nondescript building. Only a table with two small, square objects that appeared to be phones, sat in the room.

---

---

Miles

The snatcher moved quickly, but the barriers in the alley worked to Miles’ favor as he Released Fitz’s arms and came down on top of the thief, curled and poised to deliver a kick to the criminals back.

’Stay tucked, wait until the last second---and NOW!’ He kicked out with his feet using all of his force. His feet connected with something hard and solid. He hardly stumbled while Miles landed on his back and butt, more confused than bruised.

”What the….?” He asked with a groan. What the hell was on this person?

The thief didn’t turn back to look at Miles, nor acknowledged him in any way, it simply began running again.

”Asshole!” Miles called after him as he began his chase anew. The criminal took a left, as did he. Then a right, while so did Miles. Coming out on a rather empty street, Miles noticed the figure a ways up, heading into a rather nondescript building. ”Oh yeah? Let’s do this,” Miles said to himself as he charged the rest of the way forward, determined to bring that purse back.

He burst through the room and saw a figure standing in the center of the room. His target! Tough or not, Miles was getting that purse back. He took a running start before diving forward onto his target.