[hider=TRIGGER WARNING] This post opens with a scene that touches upon sexual assault. The scene in question does not go into detail and is brief. It is important insight into Weston's characterization, however it can be skipped. If you wish to skip it, scroll past the three asterisks (* * *) six paragraphs down. [/hider] [hr] [center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1126464824675680277/1131403391491379230/Valiant.gif[/img] [sub]"[i]I know all about Your motives inside[/i]"[/sub][/center] Walking home in the late evening hours, a woman hummed softly to herself. Her date, the first of many, she hoped, had gone well. After a stressful week, it had been exactly what she had needed. The dark figure lurking in the alleyway tensed. He could hear the clicking of heels on pavement as his prey neared. After a stressful week, this would be exactly what he needed. The woman didn’t notice the man until he was already upon her. A hand muffled her panicked shrieks, and a metal object jammed into her ribs robbed her of any fight she may have had. His vile words left her paralyzed. Threats and promises flowed from his lips like raw sewage. The man grew excited by the woman’s tears. He pulled his hand from her mouth, lowered his pistol, and haltingly undid his belt. The man wanted to make this last. The man didn’t notice the pounding footfalls until it was too late. A heavy force drove into him from behind, knocking him away from the woman and causing his forehead to collide with the alley wall. He cursed, spun, and drew his pistol to waist level as the man faced down his assailant. The newcomer was slightly smaller and obscured in a hoodie. They had positioned themselves between the man and his prize. The snarl had barely crossed his lips before the man was pulling the trigger. The hooded individual took a step back as the bullet struck them in the gut. Then they took a step forward, and the man heard the dulled clink as the projectile tumbled harmlessly to the street. They advanced with surprising quickness, and before the man could get off another shot, his arm was being wrenched to the side. Now that they were closer, the man could see the shadowed visage from under the hood. Youthful features and violet eyes that radiated disgust. The last thing the man heard before his frightened screams took over the night was the sound of [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyfUR6K12RM]rhythmic percussion[/url]. [center] * * * [/center] Wes idly toyed his finger through the hole in the front pocket of his hoodie. A souvenir of that night five months ago and a constant reminder of the dangers lurking within every shadow. Shadows that the teenaged metahuman was now recognizing crept within the walls of Aegis. Weston's belief in the place as a beacon of justice and righteousness was fading as cracks began to show. The near-riot in the sports court had just been the first sign of things to come. The remnants of that assault still burned his eyes, and it took considerable willpower not to wipe away the tears that continued to well up. Wes sympathized for the girl in green who suffered the worst of the chemical violation and still wheezed with nearly every breath. The response from the facility guards had been unwarranted as far as he was concerned. The director’s scathing rebuttal had been reassuring, but Weston believed that such an incident wouldn’t remain isolated for long. The personnel escorting them through the complex had led them to a locked door, revealing other program attendees locked inside. [i]Inmates.[/i] Wes had to remind himself of that. They were inmates here at Aegis. A fact that, somehow, had eluded him until just moments ago. Unlike him, the others hadn’t volunteered. This was the second sign of the murkiness within. The last fracture of the Aegis fantasy, though, was the one that had Weston rigid as he worked to restrain himself. When the group entered the recreation room, there had been one individual who immediately stood out to him. A man who carried himself with lordly weight sat in the corner where the entire space could easily be looked over. Older than any of them, this man scanned the newcomers with practiced efficiency, his eyes drinking in every vulnerability. Weston had seen it before. That hunger. That belief that anything was ripe for the taking. He hadn’t liked it then, and he didn’t like it now. Billy Isaacs. That was the name offered to him by the small, pig-tailed girl who acted as their tour guide. Billy Isaacs. He wouldn’t forget it. Nor would he forget the rapacious grin that split Billy’s lips when the man laid eyes on the redheaded girl. Weston saw it all. The way Billy’s eyes scoured over her form, stopping briefly at chest level. The way his eyes shone with predatory hunger, similar to what Weston had witnessed in another mere months ago. Danger. That’s what Billy Isaacs was. Except this danger didn’t bother to hide in shadows. This danger was confident. Weston’s eyes remained on the man as he approached the girl who no longer wore the nice earphones. Weston remained composed despite his urge to intervene. He knew better than to act haphazardly. And, he told himself, this wasn’t Philadelphia. These people around him weren’t helpless would-be victims. Each of them had their own capabilities. For all he knew, the redhead could eviscerate the man and all his lustful desires with a thought. After all, looks were deceiving. Haven had shown him that much. His gaze flickered to the brunette as she wandered away from the group. She was faster than appearances would suggest. When that middle-aged boy had attacked her, the quickness Haven displayed in her retaliation had been remarkable even by Wes’ standards. With her facing away from him, Weston could see why. Underneath Haven’s tank top, her back rippled with muscle that was at odds with her slim frame. Her body had adapted to those wings, he noted, and it was evident that, while she may not bench half a ton, there was strength brimming inside. Wondering just what else she was capable of, Weston let his eyes fall further down her figure. Haven had a runner’s build, he realized. Like all the track athletes from his old high school, she carried a lot of power in her lower body. Now that he looked more closely, the black pants the young woman wore did little to conceal how strong her legs appeared to be. He respected that athleticism. When the chance inevitably arose to train their abilities, Weston knew he’d have to ask to get a workout in together. She seemed very capable. That was when he realized Haven was looking his way. She nodded as their eyes met, signaling him to take a seat at her table. Weston chose a spot that allowed him to keep watch on the redhead and her big, bad wolf. Just because he thought the girl likely could defend herself didn’t mean he trusted things to remain civilized. Still, he allowed himself to keep his focus on the brunette next to him. [color=BlueViolet]“Does it hurt?”[/color] Haven seemed to notice the position he took. Her eyes squinted a moment in response to his question as she pieced together the implications behind it. [color=Tan]“No. Not anymore,”[/color] she murmured. Haven stared at him. [color=Tan]“Your eyes? I’m surprised you got hit.”[/color] Weston’s right hand was almost brushing against the puffy, red skin around his eye before he caught himself. He offered a slight, reassuring smile to Haven in answer to her first question. Then added, [color=BlueViolet]“I didn’t. I ran into it after the guard was already spraying.”[/color] It surprised Haven how casual the words sounded. She blinked. [color=Tan]“It wasn’t the first time, either?”[/color] [color=BlueViolet]“First time with that stuff. Usually, it’s knives or guns. One time this guy had a taser he tried to use. Just things like that.”[/color] Weston failed to consider that, unlike him, Haven might not have had any experience as a vigilante. Neither did he notice the expression on Haven’s face change as he spoke, instead turning his attention to his hoodie. His nose still burned from the chemicals, and the mention of the pepper spray had made the boy realize traces of it probably remained in his clothing. He frowned a bit at that. Before departing for San Francisco, Wes and the community back home had scrounged up enough quarters to give his limited wardrobe a thorough wash. Now, they’d have to be cleaned again. As Haven started to respond, Weston rose from his seat. He didn’t want to continue breathing in the lingering chemicals, and he worried that he now smelled of whatever had been in the spray. The teenager stripped the damaged hoodie from his body, leaving him in a white, simple t-shirt underneath that looked almost one size too small on his frame. It had been difficult to find an intact shirt without stains or tears. Though it fit a little too snug for his comfort, especially across his chest, Wes was just grateful to have found something presentable. Sitting back down across from Haven, Weston realized he had something else to be grateful for. The teen had volunteered for this program for two reasons. First, to train his abilities and skills so that he could better put them to use helping others. That, he knew, would take time. The second was something he had hoped for, but wasn’t sure was achievable, let alone accomplishable so soon. A smile played across his features as he listened to the feathered girl speak, and the recognition within him grew. Weston had found a friend.