Cricket stared up at the ceiling in the dark for a long moment. The alarm had been set to get him up more than it had been set to wake him. Deep breath… Cricket leapt to his feet and snatched his gym bag from the ground beside him. He had prepared it the night before so he would not have to think too hard in the morning. With a yawn, Cricket tossed the bag over his bare shoulder and stepped into the only other room of his apartment.

In the dim twilight, most of the details in the room faded away. It was a kitchen and living room combined. Cricket clicked on a small lamp as he moved by the kitchen counter. He plunked the bag down by the front door, then went back to dig in his fridge.

Pre-Workout. Check. Post-Workout. Check. Morning Protein Shake. Check.

Cricket briefly pondered the fact that he should buy more actual food. There was very little in the fridge that was not related to his workout. He pulled out his drinks and tossed the Pre and Post workout into a lunchbox to keep them cool. The protein shake was enough to keep Cricket awake as he dragged himself back to his bedroom to get dressed.

A sweater to counter the morning chill. Comfortable pants that would be easy to move in. Today was leg day, after all.

Cricket tossed his protein shake into the sink. It clattered around with several other shakers. He told himself that he would be back before he went to the station later, so he had plenty of time to clean the shakers then. Cricket pretended to believe himself as he moved to the staircase of his building. Always good to start the morning off with movement!





Cricket struggled for breath. He had long since tied his sweater around his waist, but sweat stained the front and back of the gray long sleeve he wore underneath. Cricket dreamed of a day when running became easier for him. He had been making this run for over a year now and had only just recently managed to make it all the way around the park without stopping.

Can’t stop yet, though. Workout ends at 7. Move, you weak ass bitch.

Cricket shook his head and patted his cheeks. Who cares about weak lungs!? There’s only one way to improve endurance and it is not to give up! Thirty more minutes. Cricket pushed himself to keep going, despite his inability to breathe. If he did not have to move, the breathing would be a problem. But that would defeat the point of the workout.

When he finished, Cricket collapsed behind a large pile of rocks. He laid in the dirt and closed his eyes. Little buggy bodies crawled up onto him, drinking his sweat and soothing his exhaustion. They were cute, if not a bit itchy. Cricket cracked open an eye so that, when he lifted a beetle into his vision, he could look into its tiny face.

Lovely.





Cricket, carrying the little, black beetle on his shoulder, strode through the city. He was later than he would have liked. Sure, he had no idea if they would have work for him at the station, but it still felt wrong to not get there at 7 on the dot. It was entirely his fault for working out up until 7. He had meant to run to the station after his run around the park but he had gotten too caught up in the cool morning air.

He was about halfway to the fire station by 7:15. Cricket wanted to push his burning legs faster but he knew better than to push himself to collapse again. What if he was needed on the spot? Cricket simply could not afford to pass out.

A crash from down the street caught Cricket’s attention. Followed by a howling scream. Shit… Why did he have to jinx it? Cricket glanced around before he found a suitable alleyway. He slipped behind a dumpster and tossed his gym bag, sweatshirt, and post-workout against the wall. With any luck, nobody would find those. If they did… he hoped it would at least be someone who needed it.

Cricket gritted his teeth as bugs from the alley swarmed around him. Roaches and flies were not exactly his favorite Infestation companions, but their energy gave him what he needed. A dull, throbbing pain shot through Cricket as his body grew and morphed. Carapace slid down his limbs in armored plates. His shell sprouted out around his shoulders. Chitinous shell weighed down Cricket’s head, though the horn did little to help the overbearing weight of it. Cricket let out a shuddering breath.



Cricket whipped around the corner and ran as fast as his weighted body could manage. The crowd parted for him, well aware of his role as a hero. He did not mind their caution. It meant he did not accidentally body slam someone to the ground. With a burst of energy fueled by the bugs that crawled in and under his chitin, both metaphorically and literally, Cricket leapt around the corner and into the street where the action was happening.

Maybe he should’ve waited just a bit longer. Maybe at night. Maybe earlier in the morning tomorrow. There were too many people on the streets, and those old seeds deep under the pavement grew wilder than he’d anticipated— they responded… too well to the radioactive pulse. Vines, roots, gnarly bark— it shot through that predatory company headquarters like it was merely sand. All the concrete crumbled, steel beams creaked and broke and flung through streets, still red from the sheer radioactive energy the infamous Gamma-Burn lets loose.

Smoke clouded his vision, and only a green eye glowed through the fallout at dawn.

The forest kept spreading. Through streets, parking lots, basements, office buildings— a concrete jungle was far better than the disgusting smog each factory and car greedily bellowed into the atmosphere. Maybe he was too hasty. Maybe he let out too much energy. Maybe his hands burning in pain should’ve been a sign to stop channeling more and more radioactive heat through the roots. Just a bit more. Just a little thicker, a little harder to uproot. Just… enough to stump the idiot at the top floor, *permanently.*

Sorrel saw the way people ran, screaming and turning away from the plants and the rubble. They could run— they weren’t his targets. Hopefully they were okay… maybe they’d get some kind of light burn from the dust? No matter. He needed to keep going. He couldn’t back out.

Pain shot up his arms as he pushed into the ground again. Pigeons started to faint from being cooked alive. Raccoons fell from their trash cans as vines tangled and burned them. Rats bled from their mouths as the dust settled on them— Sorrel couldn’t think of that. He was Gamma-Burn. He was the harbinger of death to the corrupt, and the giver of life to the new. These few animals… it was okay if they died tragically, there will be more who can make a home in this reclaimed land. The people who ran, it was okay— they’ll learn that what he was doing was the right way… the only way to deal with the rot on the earth.

A silhouette came into view among the growing weeds. “Turn back!” Sorrel warned, his voice muffled by the thick gas mask he wore. The area was already hotter with the unstable particles buzzing in the air— Sorrel knew this would be a lethal dose for most normal people. So… this wasn’t a normal person.

He forced himself up from the ground as he glared and squinted his eyes. A green carapace.

“Oh, you fucking maggot!” Sorrel cursed, flinging his hands up in the air and then to his sides where his trusty blades were. He couldn’t hold up in a fight right now. His body creaked and begged him to just have a normal morning— have some food, some coffee, some time alone in a comfy bed, but he had something important to do, for the sake of the new world.

Cricket glanced up at the dancing roots and darting branches. A scowl spread across his lips. At least this answered his questions quickly… Cricket stepped over shattered pavement. He knew by now that the people in that building were already fucked. The radiation dust was already doing a number on the wildlife, not to mention whatever rare straggler did not make it out fast enough. He briefly debated going to the top of that building and saving whoever he could… but that would be a waste of time.

With each step, a new wave of beetles joined him at his feet. They took to the dying rats and pigeons with an eagerness only found in animals. Cricket gritted his teeth. His advisor at the DNCC made it clear that the Infestation having a snack, even on non-human beings, was questionable at best for his reputation. Cricket was thankful no one was around to see them. No one living at least…

It was crazed scum like this that kill the innocent. He doubted his foe had thought much about the people inside that building. It made Cricket sick to think about. When the figure of his enemy appeared through the dust, Cricket’s lip curled back in disgust.

“Gamma-Burn,” Cricket spat. “I’ll give you one chance to turn yourself in right now. I don’t want to have to apprehend you by force.”

Cricket’s eyes trained on that blade. He already dropped into a defensive stance, not waiting on Gamma-Burn’s answer. He knew what it would be without hearing it. His wings spread, making the already large man look even larger. In the cloud of dust, it was difficult to make out more than the iridescent glow of his carapace and the shadow of his figure.

The air was hot. Too hot for the baggy sweater Li was wearing. That was for sure. He refused to take it off though. Not just because it hid certain parts of him he didn't like to share, but also because that would mean having to put down his camera and take off his backpack, and that was a waste of precious time. Battles were quick, despite how the media tried to present them. They were here and gone in a flash, but it was a flash easily caught on camera by a good photographer. Lilian wasn't one to brag, but he considered himself pretty good at his job.

Climbing up on the wall around the top of the building, he swung out one leg and then the other, sitting precariously on the edge with his feet dangling high above the street so far, far below him. It was a good thing he wasn't afraid of heights, honestly. Looking through the dust and debris swirling below, Li was grateful that he was so high up. He was well out of reach of the airborne hazard, not that things like that every bothered him that much as it was. Even when assholes lit up a smoke next to him while he was waiting for the bus, he never coughed. It was just the damn smell that got to him. Smoke, dust, pollen, it was all nothing to him. He had even survived a carbon monoxide leak once back in his college days, but rescue teams accounted it to him having his window open.

As the cloudy mass below him began to settle and clear, Lilian readied his camera and zoomed in on the two figures below. His camera was built for taking pictures of the moon, so the image was crisp and clean as he focused on two figures he was more than happy to see. A fight between Gamma-Burn and King Stag? That just made this whole mess all the more worth it! Any other hero and villain and he'd have cared less about how the pictures came out and what story he was going to write. Getting to write about these two always brightened his day. After all, they were the biggest names in Wilacrik, top five in Washtenaw County, and top ten in all of Michigan. Of course, they were an exciting pair to cover! It was safe to say that Li had a bit of an obsession with he pair.

On the one hand, King Stag. The idyllic hero. He was strong, brave, and true. As he should be. As any hero should be. His broad form and shining green armor of carapace could catch any eye. The way the morning sun reflected off his iridescent shell added a brilliant element to the pictures Li caught of the valiant hero facing off against his nemesis. Lilian had followed King Stag's rise to fame since his first appearance on the news. His only regret was that he wasn't among the reporters covering the story. Oh, he still wrote an article about the event. Of course, he wrote an article. He had just had to rely on publicly available pictures, and that was...less than desirable. Nevertheless, Lilian had focused his attention hard on the hero. King Stag just had a certain quality to him. In a way, it reminded Li of his childhood hero, Trueheart. Yet another idyllic hero of history. Sadly, Trueheart had been corrupted by an unknown force some time into Lilian's childhood, and had become one of the most fearsome villains Montreal had ever seen. The similarity often bothered Li, as he worried that King Stag might fall to the same fate. He held hope, though, that such would never happen, and that the coleopteran hero would stay true until the end.

Gamma-Burn, on the other hand. He was the villain every villain wished they could be. Standing for a cause many could agree with, he was like the leader of a rebellion. Commanding, empowering, and most of all, moving. His cult following spread his ideals far and wide, and his internet presence cast his reign of terror onto the world. There was no villain as socially powerful as Gamma-Burn, and his origin story was not one of corruption on his part, but rather, one that revealed the corruption of corporate leaders and politicians. With his powerful voice and striking visage, Gamma-Burn was more than a villain, he was an icon. His bulky gas mask and goggles hid his face, speaking on the anonymity of him and his following. His billowing silhouette not only contrasted against the rugged form of his rival but, too, stood for the natural elements of the world, filled with natural curves, flowing with the wind instead of standing against it. He always added an eerily intimidating factor to the images, a ghost of a world that once was, the spirit of Mother Nature herself rising to reclaim the Earth.

The ideals that Gamma-Burn stood for. His overpowering aura. His compelling energy. It was what made these battles as exciting as they were. Li, and many like him, were left in the middle of it all, cheering for the hero, because that's just what you do, but all the same, cheering for the villain, because the words he speaks ring truth, and maybe, just maybe, he could be the hero of someone else's story.

Gods, Sorrel wanted to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. The most cookie-cutter hero, with a hint of squirmy ick and a chitin shell pulling him aside from the others who just focused on fucking fame and power and money instead of doing the right thing.

That self-absorbed beetle wasn’t a target, rather a burr clinging to his leg and causing some inconvenience with honeyed and valiant words meant for the public. This was the championed hero? This man, this selfish worm is the paragon of greatness? He already knew the world was upside down, and that he was here to right it. Though… it still made him a bit more bitter. He’s the villain for making the world a better place? He should be apprehended? Not the disgusting chairmen that fell with the building?

With a flick of his wrists, he… stumbled. He wanted to hold his daggers in a better way, but… his body hurt. A dagger dropped to the ground next to his sturdy boots as he supported himself against a mantle of tree bark. His throat… felt dry, and prickly. And then, he tasted iron at the tip of his tongue as he coughed.

Fuck. He was out of time. People couldn’t figure out Gamma-Burn was sick, as sick as he was. That’d make him weak. That’d be the talk of the town instead of his goals. It’d… get in the way. His body always got in the way of this monumental task on his shoulders.

“Ahaha…” Two more coughs. He… he just felt so sick. Sorrel needed to go home, take some medicine, tell the doctor his symptoms are still getting in the way. His fist that still held a blade tightened, and the metal heated up with a menacing, nuclear glow. It hurt so much.

He bit back the cry of pain, and he shouted hoarsely to the King Stag. “Catch me, beetle bitch!”

Gamma-Burn, with the signature green glowing eye forming a streak across the apocalyptic scene, sprinted towards the great hero. That beetle was pitifully slow compared to him, with all that chitin… he jumped, his feet landing squarely on the elytra of King Stag’s back, his hand burning a radioactive imprint on the shiny carapace. A split second later, he jumped.

Gamma-Burn used the great hero King Stag as a fucking vault. His dagger didn’t hit any skin, he didn’t use it to kill— it instead dug into the giant, fleshy vine hanging over a steel support beam. Sorrel grabbed that vine with his other hand, quickly put his remaining blade away, and jumped to the nearest branch— he had to get to safety, and quick.

Cricket’s gaze followed the fallen blade. Odd… Maybe it had been a distraction? Gamma-Burn had never done something like that before. Cricket could almost swear he heard coughing. Wheezing. But it must have been the gas mask muffling words. Gamma-Burn was impenetrable. It’s not like someone like that would come to do crime while… what? Having a cold?.

Cricket braced himself to handle his foe the moment he saw Gamma-Burn’s charge. He had not expected Gamma-Burn to be so direct. Usually, Cricket had to chase down this atomic pain in the ass. Not that chasing Gamma-Burn went well typically. Multiple failed chases were a PR nightmare in the past. Luckily, most of the time, there weren’t many people around to see that failure.



When Gamma-Burn got close, Cricket lunged forward. He swung his horn, anticipating being met with a blade. Instead, he met air. Cricket stumbled several steps. There was weight on his elytra. Then heat, scorched straight into his carapace. He was lucky it only marred his carapace. Cricket tried to grab at his foe but his reaction time was far too slow. The weight disappeared in an instant.

”Damn it! Hold still!”

Cricket spun around and spread his wings. His body groaned with the reminder of his intense workout. He pushed it regardless, leaping to the air. He was far slower than his prey but that did not stop him. Cricket’s gaze darted around before it landed on the base of the branch Gamma-Burn was about to land on. With a wave of his hand, he sent a swathe of bugs up the tree. Cockroaches and termites swarmed, gnawing at the branch en mass. If the falling limb did not stop Gamma-Burn, Cricket hoped it would slow him. A long enough distraction was all Cricket needed.

”You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be!”

“OH what the FUCK?!”

Sorrel adjusted at the longer fall, his reaction time fast enough to twist his body and roll on the now mossy ground. He’ll… just have to run some other way. If he tried to go vertically, that lumbering buffoon with an exoskeleton definitely would catch up. That left… trying to go under. This stupid beetle-man abomination was huge, and he was rather slim and flexible— he might be able to run with the undergrowth.

It worked, for a time— he disappeared under the cracks and crevices of dense trees and metal and concrete, like a rat scurrying through its little tunnel. Eventually, the great Gamma-Burn popped into a nearby bit of what used to be parking space, a clearing with a particularly large piece of painted concrete and steel that somehow managed not to be broken to shreds by all the plants rapidly growing.

Sorrel quickly looked around— it was just trees, green and growing and fresh. His ears rang too loudly to hear any buzzing or calling out, and while he still felt the disgusting shiver down his spine of beetles and worms tracking his ass down, he… he just couldn’t take it much longer.

Gamma-Burn, the invincible specter of the earth, broke out into a coughing fit to the point his signature gas mask dripped down blood onto the concrete slab he was pitifully hunched on. He had to take the mask off— he had to breathe, just a bit, just a little longer to get somewhere safe.

His entire torso burned. His core felt like some withered stick forced to carry a mountain, his chest was heavy and his heart figuratively beat out of his chest. He took the mask off as he keeled over and kept coughing up blood. Sorrel’s face, of course, was covered by the large hoodie, but… it still was the most vulnerable thing he’s done on the job. It’s not like he had a choice— his body just betrayed him at that moment, his chronic issues flaring up at the worst possible time.

He can’t go down like this. He could only let himself have a few seconds. He had to get somewhere, anywhere else but where he currently was— maybe to a sewer, to find a root-path back to Ground Zero. He already finished what he needed to do! Mission complete, a step closer to the world the people deserve, but if Gamma-Burn gets caught… well, that’s far too early for each wave Sorrel made to have lasting effects.

He had to keep going. He just… kept stumbling to the ground, and he started to panic to the point of letting out gigantic and reckless bursts of pure, hot, nuclear reaction style radiation from his own core.

Li caught every shot in the short altercation, from Gamma-Burn dropping his blade, to the limb collapsing with the villain's weight as the insects made quick work of the wood. Like hot tea running over sugar cubes. It was a terrifying sight, really, to see the power those tiny critters had in larger numbers. It almost made Lilian think he should probably keep his apartment a little more clean if he didn't want to end up a snack. Almost. Securing the safety of his home would have to wait until he wasn't working his ass off every day just to make rent.

As Gamma-Burn took off into the undergrowth, Li could tell that this battle was becoming mobile, and quickly rolled back, throwing himself back to the secure safety of the rooftop and jumping to his feet. He took off running, but not towards the fire escape to go back down to the street. Rather, he took off full speed towards the edge of the building, lining himself up with the building next door. Jumping up onto some sort of electrical box or something, he popped off, landing first on the barrier wall around the rooftop and immediately pushing off again to fling himself over the gap. He repeated this process similarly to move from one building to the next, grabbing on to ledges where it was needed and climbing up where buildings got taller.

He kept a keen eye on the spreading undergrowth, wondering just how far Gamma-Burn's power had spread. Had it reached his building? I can only imagine how Hal and Dean would react to that, he thought, almost smiling. Despite the disadvantage of his unconventional means of travel, Lilian kept up with the supervillain pretty damn well, and was standing atop a nearby building only moments after the...not so intimidating figure came to a stop. Watching Gamma-Burn through his camera, Lilian caught the action of the acclaimed fiend pulling off his mask. He grimaced at the blood that spilled out of his mouth, lowering his camera as he looked at the scene with his own eyes. Gamma-Burn looked so tiny in that moment. It was...kinda pathetic... Was this really Gamma-Burn? Maybe it's one of his followers posing as him? he thought, finding it hard to believe that the infamous villain could be...in such a poor state. Surely, surely, it wasn't the real Gamma-Burn. Gamma-Burn was probably in another part of the city, building up to something huge to ring in the 'holiday' that was Earth Day. This guy...well, he was probably just here to distract Stag King? That...made sense...right? Right??

As the figure that looked like Gamma-Burn took off again, Lilian kept up still, finding a bit of ease in the matter as the guy kept stumbling. Something definitely wasn't right, but before Li could think much further on the strange behavior, he noticed something. With the rising heat, and the pure deterioration from the radiation coming off of this guy, city structures were losing their stability. One in particular, a streetlight, seemed to be leaning a bit too far. In moments, the streetlight was taking a creaking dive right toward the man and without another thought, Li called out, "HEY!" he shouted down across the street, but it seemed to have no effect. The streetlight got caught in some thick vines, but it definitely wasn't stopping, the vines stretching and snapping under the weight of the metal structure. With a quick look around, Lilian found a chunk of concrete that had chipped off of some part of the building he was standing on. Probably some debris from a lightning hit or something. He quickly grabbed it, then, stepping up to the very edge of the top of the building and putting all his strength into the movement, he chucked the concrete shard as hard and as far as he could.

Surprisingly, it hit a structure just a ways in the direction of the falling streetlight, making a resounding CLONG that filled the area. Unfortunately, the force of his movement also threw Lilian himself forward, and just like that, he was free-falling.

Well... he thought, If there was one way to die, I guess this would be it...

Damn that slippery bastard!

Cricket did his best to fly in that awkward space between treetops and the fresh undergrowth, but he was hardly precise enough of a flier to do so successfully. Instead, he crashed into the undergrowth and stumbled to his feet. The plant cover lessened his embarrassment.

Branches and vines clawed at Cricket’s carapace as he ran. He was thankful for its protection. His face twisted into a grimace at the familiar burn of running stung his legs. This was the worst part about fighting crime early in the morning. It was honestly a big part of why he did his workout so early. Most villains had the courtesy to wait until a more reasonable time.

Gamma-Burn was not one of those villains.

Cricket caught a glimpse of his enemy taking a pause… but the tree cover made it impossible to see why. He willed his burning limbs to go faster. Then a wave of radioactive heat crashed into him. Cricket stumbled and leaned heavily on a tree. His face twisted into a grimace. Gamma-Burn was close but there was little Cricket could do about it with that heat between them.

The figure of Gamma-Burn disappeared a minute later and it took much of the heat with it. Cricket pushed forward, though sweat bubbled up under his carapace. When he came into the clearing, he stopped at the splatter of blood on the ground. Odd. There should not have been anyone out here to lose this blood. It was not as if Cricket had harmed Gamma-Burn. His gaze darted about, looking for signs of the victim… but whoever it was must have been vaporized or otherwise disposed of by the heat. Heat that Cricket decidedly did not want to stay around–



Cricket jumped and looked towards the source of the noise. ”What the fuck?!”

Cricket’s gaze trailed around the rooftops. Maybe Gamma-Burn had ended up on one of those and had thrown something as a distraction? That seemed a bit odd for him though. Not to mention, Cricket was unsure if Gamma-Burn was strong enough for that. Then he spotted the man who had thrown it.



Time moved in slow motion as Cricket’s wings unfolded. He leapt into the air and drove forward with reckless abandon. He knew damn well it would be hard to slow himself down but he did not have the time to worry about it. Cricket’s eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back into a frustrated scowl. Whoever the hell was here was a real dumbass. It was a miracle that whoever it was had not melted from the radiation heat, nor collapsed from the radiation itself.

Cricket met the goat-eared man halfway down the slowly melting building. He wrapped his arms around the stranger to protect him as much as possible from the impact. Cricket only had seconds to turn himself midair as he smashed into the building. Luckily, he had mostly hit a window, but stone joined the shards of glass that sprayed into the floor inside. Cricket ate most of the impact with his shoulder and back, protecting the little reporter.

There was no time to stop. He could feel the building warping around them both.

”Hold on tight!”

Cricket dashed forward, smashing through or leaping over desks and office equipment. His gaze darted to the poor fools who had not been able to make it out of the building before being thoroughly radiation cooked. The building started to bend, making his dash all the more slippery. With one mighty leap, Cricket drove his shoulder through the opposite window. Glass sprayed outwards as he flew into the air. He hoped and prayed that his body had protected the small goat man from harm.

Sorrel knew how pathetic he looked as he wiped the blood onto his poncho and adjusted the mask on his face again. He needed to move, Stag King was surely nearby, all that stumbling and coughing and pain was just slowing sorrel down. That little nuclear stunt he pulled— it just made his body hurt more and more and it made him feel like he was dragging maybe half a ton of lead on his back.

The area cooled as Sorrel tried desperately to calm himself, but he flinched at this big CLANG! sound right behind him.

A half-melted streetlight. A chunk of concrete slammed into it. The streetlight bent away.

Gamma-Burn braced himself with his single blade— what was that? Some petty attack? Did he— fuck! He couldn’t control himself enough, huh? There were definitely innocent people caught between him and his escape. Maybe that throw was from some miracle survivor… he could understand why. That person probably wanted him dead for being so careless. That person was probably going to die in the next, what..? Hour? Day?

He had to go. He really, really had to book it, before he caused more damage, before he collapsed from his own issues.

Another crashing sound— that stupid giant bug. What was he doing? Sorrel squinted, but he just saw the green blob continue to crash through a nearby building. That was his chance for an escape. He just—

Bingo. A manhole cover. It was hot, warping, but it told Sorrel where the city sewers were. That was his key to getting back to Ground Zero. He’d be able to run to his home and go into a rootpath and he’d be safe, and he’d be able to do this again another time, when the world needed his extreme services.

He grit his teeth as he pulled out the manhole cover. Why was it so heavy? Why did it have to be so hot to the touch? Sorrel’s body didn’t burn, but… it still hurt. He bit down on his lip so hard, trying desperately to hold in noise, that he cut part of it with his sharp teeth. Sorrel jumped in the second there was a space big enough for his small body. Gamma-Burn made a clean escape. Another fun thing for the papers to talk about, he guessed— but despite his pain, he couldn’t help but smile, knowing he rid the world of another tumor. He leaned on the walls— fucking hell. He needed to rest.

Slowly, supporting himself with the wall of the sewer, he hobbled through the winding tunnels and disappeared into some leafy overgrowth in there.

Glass was a pain to pick out of the crevices of Cricket’s carapace. The thought crossed his mind as if it were the most casual in the world. For a moment, Cricket considered that it must be weird to think so casually about life threatening work. Then the exhaustion of his wings reminded him that there was no reason to keep flying. He let out a long sigh and did his best to hover steadily to the ground. Steadily was the more difficult part, but hey! He did not crash. Cricket’s feet hit the ground with a distinctive thud. He pulled the man away from his body, finally inspecting the short fellow…

The first thing that caught his gaze were those ears. It was hard for Cricket to look away. He was a sucker for ears, not that he would admit it. Then he trailed his eyes along the rest of the poor reporter’s body. At least, he assumed this man was a reporter. It would explain the daring stupidity and the camera. Emphasis on stupidity. At least the mystery reporter was cute– No, Cricket. That’s not how a Super Hero thinks. He paused on the reporter’s face, drinking in those features. Then he shook himself from his thoughts.

Cricket, with as much gentleness as his larger form (unpracticed as it was at being gentle) could handle, lifted the small fellow’s arms and inspected them. Then his legs. There, a gash had formed, likely from rebar or glass. A frown crossed his face.”Apologies, citizen,” Cricket spoke in his slightly over dramatic hero voice, ”It seems I could not protect you entirely from the glass. Allow me to help patch you up.”

It took more energy than Cricket would have liked to attract Spider Beetles while he walked. Especially since he was mostly looking for larvae. Luckily, they arrived just as Cricket set the reporter on a bench. With practiced precision, Cricket coaxed the larvae to make silk. It only took some pheromones to convince them he was prey for them to wrap silk around. Sure, they crawled under his carapace to drill into his skin, but what bugs didn’t at this point?

Using the silk, Cricket crafted a makeshift bandage to handle a bleeding slice on the reporter’s leg. There did not appear to be glass in it, but just to be sure, Cricket said, ”Be sure to visit a hospital if you can. These are good at keeping out infection but if the glass got caught in you at all, there is little I can do.”

With that, Cricket stood and stretched. He really wanted a smoke, but he had to go ensure there were no survivors left… Plus, Gramma-Burn had left something behind. If nothing else, a dramatic hand off back to Gamma-Burn would make good media. At best, the DNCC might get some use out of it.

[indent]By the time they hovered to a landing, Li had come to his senses, realizing that he was, in fact, still alive, and more importantly, had, in fact, been saved by none other than King Stag. Well alright then... he thought, still in shock from it all as the hero looked him over. Normally he'd complain about someone moving him around and picking him up the way the beetle man was. At least, depending on the person and situation. Injury wasn't something he felt the need to worry about since it had never hindered him before and he usually despised when people fussed over him like he was something fragile. He was no porcelain doll, far from it. He was a crash test dummy that broke all logic.

Yet...

Something about the way King Stag looked him over and tended to his insignificant cut made him feel...different. He accepted it. If only to have the moment last a bit longer. It...was admittedly a bit...weird...to say the least, to have the silk from a bunch of...whatever kind of bug those were. He may have admired King Stag, but bugs were definitely not something Lilian had much knowledge in. The most he knew was that most bugs that were seen were likely female. He also knew that the common belief that people swallowed eight spiders a year in their sleep was, in fact, false, but that didn't do him much good at the moment.

As King Stag finished wrapping his wound, Li cleared his throat a bit, then gave a monotone, "Thanks for that," before clarifying, "Saving me, I mean, and...this," he shifted his leg to motion the bandaging, "Sorry for...uh...costing you Gamma-Burn, I guess? I don't know. Whatever I did, 'cause I surely did something. Sorry for that."

For a moment, he was awkwardly silently, drumming his fingers on his leg and making a few quick popping sounds before he suddenly lifted his camera and motioned it, "Would you mind a quick close-up?" he asked, "I usually only get action shots. It might be helpful in my reporting of this event to include a more personal picture. Maybe...something something good press?"

This was weird. Li knew this was weird. He was being weird, but he couldn't stop. This was the closest he'd been to the hero. The most personal he'd gotten to a hero he actually gave a damn about. Sure there were others. Vortex and Commeround. Though...to be fair they were classified as vigilantes due to their refusal to align with the DNCC... Freebird was an official hero, as was Miss Tori, he'd had direct interviews with both of them, but...he didn't care about those heroes. They were just...blah. Freebird with is 'all-American hero' get-up, and Miss Tori with her...whatever her whole character was supposed to be, that was kinda the point of being, 'mystery'-- man that interview especially had been a drag. Freebird's was no better.

"Actually..." Li thought aloud, lowering his camera a bit as he looked up at King Stag, literally having to crane his neck a bit to try and meet the armored man's gaze, "What would you say to an interview?"

Cricket was so lost in thought that he had hardly heard the little reporter at first. Then it registered that the poor fellow was apologizing. Cricket took it in stride. It meant that the reporter would likely blame himself for losing Gamma-Burn, which meant Cricket got away from that guilt scot-free. Plus there would be some good publicity involved with a close up or two. He might have the time for that. Cricket highly doubted there was anyone still alive in that rubble.

Then there was an offer for an interview. Shit. Cricket had never had a full interview before. Especially not by himself or without his agent’s help. Cricket looked away, back towards the rubble. There had to be a way to get out of this. Right?!

”Have your close ups, if you want them. I don’t have long though. There might be survivors and the longer I wait, the less likely they are to survive. If you really want to ask questions, be my guest. But you’ll have to follow me back through dangerous, irradiated wasteland.”

Cricket paused. He could not quite explain why he did not want to brush this reporter off. Normally, he did it with ease. Cricket let out a breath through his nose, ”Or, if you would rather be safer, I can have my agent contact you about a meeting time… uh. What’s your name?”

Lilian watched the hero, head tilting as he observed the man's body language. He could tell that King Stag was weighing his options, but more than that, he could see that the bug man was uncomfortable. Did he do that? No way, he thought, this guy is a fucking superhero, there's no way I got to him by just running my mouth! He shook his head then forced a natural enough smile and responded to the question naturally, with unrivaled confidence, "Lilian Amie," he said, removing one hand from his camera and holding it out for a shake, "I go by 'lee'," he added as an aside, then went on, "I work with the Word of the Willow down the street from here. The office is on the fifth floor, suite D. You can find my supervisor's contact information on the website, Hal Roberts, he's in charge of the numan activity division."

Okay, that's enough, Lilian, Li thought, feeling the pressure of panic as he realized he was talking way too damn much. He didn't show his panic though, not really. His face remained friendly and inviting, his body calm. It was just a slight twitch in his eyes, a small widening pulling his eyes just a bit more open. A few blinks were all it took to push it away and he just tugged harder at his smile as he waited for King Stag's response, but then he was talking again as he explained, "I figure it would be better to go with the latter option since you'll probably be pretty busy looking for people, and you'll most likely be flying and shit, and I may be good at getting around places, but I'm no hero like you. I'd only slow you down or get left behind if we tried to do the interview right now, so it's definitely better to do it later."

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up! he screamed internally, but he kept talking, "Besides all that, I should really get to work now anyways because my boss is gonna be pissed. He's pretty old-fashioned and doesn't count getting caught in crossfire as a viable reason to be late or absent. Which really sucks for me because I constantly get caught like this, but hey! It gives me good enough stories that I still have a job!"

Cricket laughed a dramatic sort of laugh. The kind of laugh he put on for the camera to play into his super role. He hated to cut the poor man off, namely because it was nice to hear him talk. ”You best be running then. I’ll see about an interview when I’m done here.”

It was a shame to tear himself away from the rambling fellow, but Cricket had work to do. He turned and started walking back towards the rubble. ”Be safe!”

Cricket leapt into the air and headed back towards the melted area. Just as he suspected, there were no survivors. The ruins were almost painfully empty. Cricket caught sight of multiple corpses, both human and otherwise. It made him sick to his stomach. He was glad it wasn’t his job to clean up the site.

Eventually, he found himself back in front of that blade. It was a pretty thing. Shame that such a villain dropped it. Cricket never really understood the Gray scale. When he picked up the blade and paused to take a look around, he found his nose wrinkling in disgust. How could a good person cause all of this?

It seemed that Sorrel decided to spend a little more time in the city… of course, as Sorrel— not Gamma-Burn. Instead of a haunting specter with a gas mask, he had a simple knit sweater with a patterned yoke in Icelandic styling. He had his dreadlocks half-up in a bun, and his feathers framing his hairline puffed out. The sweater absorbed his thin form, bunching over his hips and leaning to one side and covering his slim hands almost entirely. Those baggy jeans he chose to change into didn’t do him too many favors, either— each movement still showed just how much of a stick he was, and it made him want to peel his skin off. At least… the height was right..? The jeans didn’t sag onto the ground, instead stopping right before the heel of Sorrel’s trusty steel-toed boots.

He still felt like absolute shit. While he got his core back in control with a quick visit to the meta-doctor stationed at Ground Zero, a few minutes of little intra-venous drips and painkillers, he… was supposed to be fine. He wasn’t dying— that counted as fine, but Sorrel struggled to stand up or swallow food. Why did he decided that today was the day he had to air out a bit, to be in the city and be… among other people? Ground Zero is a wonderful settlement, a great community built upon the work of the people and ran by those same people. Everyone also knew exactly who Sorrel was, there. He was alone, in his double shipping-container house overgrown with vines and trees. He was alone, in the repurposed guts of the power-plant that became a perfect lab for him. He was alone, as he double-checked the tasks of the day and talked about nothing in particular with people who… tried to treat him like a god, for some reason. Long story short— he was alone, sitting in this stupid Mexican-American restaurant, but… sitting with strangers who just saw him as some dude with feathers and green hair was much calmer, for some reason.

His taco bowl started getting cold. Why did he come here anyways? He could cook! He was a great cook, he had fresh garden ingredients and fresh meats and a mighty set of recipes stored in his head, but… he frankly didn’t have the energy. That, and… Sorrel just wanted to feel normal for maybe two seconds.

Of course, he wasn’t normal. He wasn’t ever normal. He knew that, as he stared down at the stupid taco bowl as he sat at the very corner of this stupid restaurant in the center of town. He still felt like his insides were two steps away from becoming outsides. He still felt like his lips were stained red.

Sorrel coughed into a napkin, still staring at that stupid, overpriced, probably-full-of-GMOs-and-preservatives taco bowl. He finally moved his mismatched eyes to the brown napkin crumpled in his hand. Blood. Of course. Nine Hells, this day was the worst day his body could’ve chosen to just fuck him over so severely. For some reason, he still felt cold, despite that thick sweater and despite that pulsing core radiating an eerie heat from his solar plexus.

Eventually, Sorrel fought against his nausea and fatigue to take a spoonful from that taco bowl. It was… okay. The shrimp was obviously frozen, the cheese was from a bag instead of freshly grated, the tomatoes were maybe a week old instead of freshly-picked, the sauce was obviously from a mass-produced can— Jesus. He could say it was okay, but it cost him 12 dollars, and he could cook better at home for basically free. What the fuck?

He crinkled his green and blonde brows together as he glared down at his meal. Well… this was his fault, for wanting to try a new place. No matter. Wasting food is just plain bad. As he took a second bite, he looked up to the sound of the front door’s jingling bell. A short man with pink hair and horns entered, with large and pointed ears. Where did Sorrel see this man before? He could’ve sworn he knew those features from somewhere else. It seemed his two seconds of being normal had ended, because Sorrel literally just stared blankly at that familiar stranger, half hunched over his mediocre food.

The rest of Cricket’s morning was frustratingly eventful. Given his relative immunity to radiation and physical bulk, he was called to help handle some of the more dangerous areas of clean up. Not to mention the damn reporters. He managed to dodge direct interviews but some persistent reporters pushed their way up enough to get a few questions in. Cricket put on his super hero face for them but, in reality, he just wanted to go take a nap at the station.

Ironically, Cricket did end up seeing his firefighter colleagues while he was helping out. Not that he had the chance to help them directly. The places he was going were usually too dangerous for any sort of civilian. Still, it was nice to see them, even if they did not recognize him.

By noon, things had mostly calmed down. There was, of course, still a little clean up left. Most of it could be handled by professionals. That left Cricket with little more to do than check in with his manager (and agent), Jenna Falcone. He hardly listened to her usual debriefing spiel. Cricket’s mind was far too full of the events that had transpired that morning. All of it felt off in a way he could not quite describe–

Which reminded Cricket to ask about an interview with that cute– that reporter. With a little bit of persistence, Falcone was convinced to let him go. Cricket guessed she was just happy to see him excited about interacting with the public. He pretended that was his reasoning too. It made it easier than whatever the fuck his brain wanted to do.

With the bureaucratic bullshit out of the way, Cricket’s stomach rumbled. It was almost one in the afternoon and all Cricket had consumed was protein shakes. Once he was finished with his chat with Falcone, he transformed back and scuttled off to grab his bag, the one he had set down before his initial transformation. Another stomach rumble. Fine, fine. He’d go get lunch. One day, he swore to himself, I will be one of those people that does food prep every week. Cricket was very good at lying to himself.

Chekos Tacos was a decent enough restaurant… and admittedly a guilty pleasure of Cricket’s. The food was not great but it was enough to fill him. When he first started to make a livable wage with the DNCC, he pigged out on burritos there several times. Now he had the self control to at least get something he could pretend was healthy.

Cricket ran through his order in his head several times before even entering the restaurant. In and out. Order, get food, go to the station, maybe sneak a nap in on MacCloud’s couch. That old fart was a sucker for Cricket’s company. Cricket pushed through the door with a hard look on his face. He was entirely focused on this order, to the point that he almost had not noticed that same reporter standing in line.

Well. Fuck.

The order was immediately dashed from Cricket’s mind. He did his best to play normal. This man had no idea who Cricket was. There was no way he could guess who Cricket was… But some part of Cricket wanted to spark conversation.

No, Cricket. Be normal for once in your fucking life. Just get your food and move on.