I woke up already tired.

  Just got back from New York but was called back due to the lack of personnel recently, especially after the altercation between ABB and E88, The PRT were preparing for an eventual war or at least an escalation from either gang. An escalation that was prevented by Dreamhack.

  His video is all over PHO, but my mind was on the Joint training with the New York Ward Program that was supposed to begin near the end of Summer. It was unfortunately rejected by Director Pigot, and just when I was about to mingle well with Legends' very own Protege, Prism and Cache, especially Prism. They were nice, but the thing was cut short.

  Too bad that ended prematurely-

  I was immensely tired, the kind tiredness that gave way to lethargy that sat behind my eyes and made every sound feel sharper than it needed to be. My phone was buzzing on the nightstand before my alarm even went off. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it was.

  Dad, the Mayor of this fine City of Brocton Bay.

  I answered it anyway. That was mistake number one.

  Roy Christner, father, was already mid-rant, voice tight and clipped, the way it got when he was trying very hard not to swear. Something about emergency council meetings. Something about permits being reinstated without his office signing off. Something about the docks.

  Again with the docks…

  Seems like a never-ending issue with one man trying to revitalise the Docks, but the city had no money, Dad was in a dire state to even keep his job for the coming elections. Pressure was coming from people he would be answerable voters were unhappy. Promises were broken, Constant bickering with the constituents and in all scenarios, he still needs to adhere to the state and federal laws or he could be subjected to an investigation or potential removal due to misconduct from his rivals.

  I stared at the ceiling while he talked, letting the words wash over me. The docks had been dead for years—rotting infrastructure, unemployment, crime. Political quicksand. Every mayor before him had promised to fix it and quietly failed. Dad had at least been honest about it being a nightmare.

  Now it was suddenly moving again.

  Ships are being cut apart, some of the cranes are being repaired. Workers were hired back en masse by someone; all of this wasl funded by a “private benefactor” who hadn’t shown his face, hadn’t asked for credit, hadn’t gone through the usual channels. Money just… appeared. Clean enough that even the accountants were grudgingly admitting they couldn’t find anything illegal according to the bank records.

  Dad hated that more than anything.

  “I look like an idiot, Rory,” he snapped over the line. “My office looks like it’s asleep at the wheel. The unions are celebrating of course but the council’smen are split, and the media’s already spinning it as a win against City Hall incompetence.”

  I rubbed my face with my free hand and sat up in bed, I really didnt wanna deal with this at 7 am in the morning.

  “That’s… good for the city, though,” I said, carefully, knowing dad, he can turn into a rage monster when the wrong things were said, although he’s used to his anger issue.

  “Don’t start,” he said. “Do you think the same too, Son? not you too... You think I don’t want the docks running? I want that more than anything in the world, but not if it doesn't benefit the city when it comes to taxable account. I can't tax it on donation funds! Where is the accountability in this case?! Some philanthropists took one look at the city and decided to do the right things without going through the proper channels! It makes me look bad! This isn’t charity, Rory! This is someone buying leverage, and I don’t know where it leads.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I knew that. But knowing it didn’t make the knot in my chest any smaller.

  Because part of me, the part that actually enjoys being a hero of the protectorate, the part I hated acknowledging, was thinking about the people who’d gotten their jobs back. The dockworkers I’d seen standing outside closed gates during patrols. The empty lunch pails. The quiet anger they must have felt being ignored so long…and the person who ignored it was my dad.

  How was I supposed to feel about that? Humiliation? Anger? Both? Dad kept talking, pacing on his end, probably staring out his office window at a city that refused to behave.

  “And now the PRT’s involved,” he added. “Which means optics. Which means you. I don’t need my son getting dragged into some cape-adjacent mess tied to an unregistered operator with military-grade hardware.”

  That got my attention.

  “Unregistered operator?” I asked.

  “You’ll hear about it soon enough,” Dad said. “Just-do me a favour. Follow protocol. Don’t try to go against it. I’ve got enough fires to put out, and come up now, I’ll meet you for breakfast”

  I promised him I would, I got up and have a light shower, eyes still bleary from the grogginess, kept myself clean and wore something comfortable fit for a civilian and a mayors son, dress smartly and respectable.

  I always did,

  but what dad said earlier kept swirling in my head about his initial warning. Did something happened to the docks? What does he mean about that? Military gear? Is this still the same conversation about the docks? Im confused, but I know enough not to prod dad when he’s cornered.

  That was the problem.

  Dad thought he had. I could hear him moving around his office, the muted scrape of a chair, still shuffling around with the cordless phone as he shuffles around paper, Then his voice came back, louder, sharper, stripped of the careful tone he used when he remembered I was his son and not another obstacle. “ That Danny Hebert’s been a pain in the ass after the last time we met two days ago…”

  As he closed the door to from his office and sat down at the dining table.

  Danny Hebert.

  I knew the name. Dockworkers’ Association hiring manager. Union type. Stubborn reputation. The kind of guy who’d rather take a hit than bend if he thought he was in the right. A call came in, and Dad face turned upside down, a visibly annoyed frown as he answers it “About time you called Danny- What were you thinking!”

  Dad didn’t bother easing into it. Danny’s voice came through faintly, tinny but steady. Calm. Polite. Unyielding. “No, Mayor Christner, I can’t disclose that.”

  His father scowled, “You listen to me, Danny Hebert. Did you really think this will work? When I found out where that illegal money comes from I’ll pull it so fast from the Docks that you wont be able to do this unsanctioned work without the mayor’s approval-”

  “You can't do that. The Unions aren't directly answerable to the local mayor. We are an independent labour organisation negotiating with port authorities, you dont get to dictate who we hire and what we do unless it is against state laws”

  Dad slammed his palms on the table, rattling the plates “ You listen to me-!”

  “No, you listen to me, Roy, the funds are legitimate. I don’t have authorisation to share the benefactor’s identity. No, the association isn’t violating city rules. We checked. Unless you have anything else, even as we speak, we are negotiating with some private company and investors to take joint ownership to take over the administration since public trust has fallen”

  Every refusal landed like a slap.

  Dad’s temper flared. I could practically see him pacing now, one hand clenched, the other gripping the phone hard enough to hurt. He talked about contracts. About workers who’d been unemployed for years. About safety inspections already underway. About permits that had mysteriously been approved faster than usual, all done as they bypassed City Hall and worked from outside the city’s limitations.

  “You don’t get to stonewall City Hall,” he snapped. “You operate in this city because I allow it.”

  “Fine, do what you have to do,” Danny said, still calm. “We’ll comply with every lawful request,” Danny replied

  “You think this will go easily for you Danny?”

  I flinched. That line again. The one that always came out when he felt cornered.

  Danny didn’t rise to it. That somehow made it worse.”Then you'd better hope you win the next election Next Year. Good day, Roy”

  “Fuck it, Danny! At least tell me the name of the company that’s taking over the Docks!!”

  “No.-” and the call disconnected.

  Dad demanded to know who was backing the operation, but Danny refused and disconnected the call. He did say that he’d been instructed not to disclose anything beyond what was legally required. I could hear my father breathing harder. As for the new organisation or company trying to bid for the docks? Its anybody’s guess.

  Dad swore again, long and ugly, and finally slammed the phone down hard enough that I heard the impact through the line. The call ended for real this time.

  I sat there, phone still against my ear, feeling something sour twist in my stomach.

  Pressure them to comply.

  That was the question, wasn’t it?

  Could he?

  Legally? Probably. Eventually. Cities had a thousand ways to slow things down without ever saying no. Red tape was its own kind of weapon.

  But should he?

  I thought about the docks. About the sudden activity reports I’d skimmed in passing. About people going back to work. About a city that, for once, looked like it might be healing instead of rotting. Whoever this benefactor was, he’d walked straight past City Hall and fixed something my father, and every mayor before him, had failed to touch.

  That didn’t make him right.

  But it didn’t make him wrong either until I saw the picture on Dad’s desk.

  I knew a mech when I saw one.

  The image was grainy, taken from too far away and zoomed in too much, but the silhouette was unmistakable. Perhaps to a layman, that dont mean anything, a forklift or a 4 meter tech, from afar it you can't make out what it is unless you've seen one before.

  I did, Kidwin had one in his lab, and he’s obsessed with refitting it.

  Hazard-yellow plating scuffed by constant use, it was standing knee-deep in the dockyard water as it belonged there, scraping and handling rusted steel, unloading it, and the workers cutting it while they the rusted steel and moved around it like ants around a construction crane but the picture was taken too far to make out what they were using.

  More photos followed. Different angles, Pictures seem new when I saw the envelope, with a stack of cash. Dad paid someone to snoop around the docks, but all the pictures were too far, taken from tall buildings around the docks, just a bunch of blurry pictures trying to bypass the wall surrounding the Docks now.

  Walls that didn't exist a few days ago are now completed.

  Steel walls are going up along the perimeter of the port. Not flimsy fencing. Not temporary barriers. Real fortifications. Clean welds. Straight lines. Built fast and built to last, cutting off sightlines and access points with brutal efficiency.

  T-those were Dreamhacks’ mechs, So it was him that was stonewalling City Hall.

  It didnt’ really click it back then,

  Until..later that day-

  I hate hospitals. Too many corners to cover while there are too many civilians mucking about and panicking in not the nicest way, the sick couldn’t move and the injured risked dying or getting worse from this incidident.

  There are too many places for things to go wrong.

  Until the incident at the Brockton Bay Hospital and we fumbled the ball, I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I was wrong.

  It was a huge oversight, either too confident or too surprised to get blindsided thinking that the Merchants, a two bit street dealer with some cape capabilities would send a giant armored bus fully upgraded like a tank came barreling towards the General Hospital crushing several vans and the Merchants own gang with unlicense firearm pinning our own people down,

  Dauntless too stunt to act in time and Velocity powers don’t exactly have enough firepower to fight an armoured bus. What was I supposed to do?

  I fought back, fired off my sonic-based abilities, but it wasn’t effective. Sound based attacks against metal bounced over, I may have dissorient some mooks, but they were too many, too well defended and they shot back, I was forced to take cover as they rescued their Leader Skidmark,

  Without his powers, Squealer took over, she didnt need to build to know how to drive and shoot, and she was very good at it, the one Parahuman that people deemed as “White Trash” on PHO was easily taking two of the best Brockton Bay could offer and pinning us down.

  “Velocity, status?” I barked, ducking behind an overturned gurney as something heavy slammed into the wall above my head. Plaster rained down. A nurse screamed somewhere behind us.

  “Bad,” Velocity snapped back, voice crackling in my earpiece. “Real bad. Bus is repositioning she’s herding us.”

  Squealer’s warbus loomed outside the lobby entrance like a steel god, as its systems strained from the three engines outfitted and protected by steel plates,. It definitely shouldn’t have been able to move like it was, but she’d torn out walls, smashed columns, and turned the ground floor into her personal kill zone with no effort. How did something like this build in secret away from PRT eyes?

  “Fucking PRT trying to pin us, hurry up and get the boss so we can bail!” one of the Merchants call out with a rifle, aimed at me as suppressing fire as I dodge to the next wall and hide behind the column as bullets peppered the pillar.

  Dauntless stepped forward, spear glowing brighter as he raised it. “Push left,” he ordered, calm as ever. “We take the wheels, we stop the bus.”

  Easy to say when you have a magic stick. My sonic attacks dont work much on that giant machine. I surged out from cover, letting my power roll through me, my voice booming as I charged. The soundwave hit a cluster of mooks and sent them flying like bowling pins.

  “Get a move on Skid! And whirly!! Hurry up will ya!” Squealer was already running towards the driver seat, getting read to ride away.

  “Get back!” I roared. “PRT! Drop your-!”A concussive blast cut me off mid-sentence.I slammed into a wall hard enough to rattle my teeth.

  “Son of a-ack!” I cough out air as the wind was knocked out from my chest.

  “Triumph!” Velocity skidded in next to me, grabbed my arm, and yanked me down just as a mounted cannon chewed through where my head had been. “How the hell? Was she ever this competent before? Every time we move, she counters.”

  Skidmark was cuffed and swearing as he got up to the bus platform, his power sputtering like a dying engine. Whirlygig was hurrying her ass as one of the mooks help her towards the bus. Two parahumans off the board now became live again and its all their fault.

  Because Squealer was the battlefield.

  The warbus lurched forward started to move as the exhaust burst out with the engines roar and Skid was using as much power he can must to bounce the giant warbus as a fulcrum to launch the bus.

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  “Fall back!” Dauntless shouted. “Clear the civilians!”

  “We keep falling back!” I shouted back, fury boiling over. “She’s walking all over us!”

  Another volley of gunfire forced us down. The bus shifted again, cutting off our line of approach with a collapsed ceiling.

  Velocity cursed. “She’s boxing us in. Using the building itself.”

  I could hear the grin in Squealer’s voice over the loudspeaker, warped and echoing through the atrium. “Run, run, heroes! Careful now! my baby’s got blind spots, but I don’t!” teasing us by showing off her assets and curves, taunting all three, Velocity was the only one turned away due to the profanity.

  I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. This was humiliating, losing to a bunch of drug-dealing sleazeballs.We have three Protectorate capes, fully bagged for us by Dreamhacks team's response. Power dampeners are active. Villains partially neutralised.

  And we were losing ground even when it was given to us!

  “Dauntless,” I said, low and furious, “give me an opening. Five seconds, Il send a concentrated blast towards Squaeler, if she crashes the bus, we can take back the advantage.”

  He hesitated. I could hear it.

  “Triumph..dont be stupid-”

  “I said five seconds.”

  The spear flared brighter. “Velocity,” Dauntless said, “mark her firing arcs.” Velocity vanished, reappearing in blurs, shouting rapid-fire callouts. “Left turret cycling, rear mount overheating now!”

  Dauntless hurled the spear. The explosion rocked the bus, metal screaming as armor peeled back, but no good. It was still standing. I surged forward, voice swelling with everything I had left, sound cracking the air, and then the floor cracked and misbalanced me, my powers fizzled out, and Velocity fell back after seeing me fall.

  Damn it- unlucky!

  I hit the ground on my knees, breath ragged, hands shaking. We’d done everything right. And it still wasn’t enough. I slammed my fist into the floor, anger burning hot and bitter in my chest.

  “Unbelievable,” I muttered. “We’re getting played by a junkie with a bus. S-sorry, I messed up”

  Dauntless was visibly frustrated and simply look on towards the bus thats gotten away from them, No use chasing, Velocity was visibly tired as well, getting us away from danger in the nick of time and saving as many PRT agents on the scene, Dauntless could send Velocity but they would have gun him down the minute they had him locked on. And I was the useless one that fumbled the job here. I had one chance to make it right and I fumbled it.

  And somewhere in the back of my mind, uninvited and unwelcome, another thought twisted deeper. Dreamhack would’ve ended this already, and suddenly, all the frustration from earlier snapped into place. Part of me didn't want to believe it, think he subdued them due to luck when they weren’t aware of being within hospital grounds peacefully.

  It was him.

  Why is it him?

  Dauntless just sigh “Alert Dreamhack, he has a right to know about this, Go Velocity” And even when he’s tired Velocity didnt questioned back and just went to alert him.

  Dauntless kept looking at me and asked “It’s not your fault dont worry about. I’m the team leader on this operation; the fault lies with me”

  But things got worser.

  Dauntless stood squarely in Dreamhacks path, lance grounded, shield angled just enough to be polite about it. While I flanked him, arms crossed, expression tight like I always practised. We all understood it, Dreamhack mustn’t be allowed to leave, we have to swing the ball back to the PRT or else it will be a PR disaster.

  We tried-

  He wasn’t happy. Too disappointed with us after much he did, but we still need him to stay put and let the others like Miss Militia, Assault and Dragon…yeah they have Dragon at base HQ. She could do it.

  "You mean the same PRT that just lost two high-profile detainees from a hospital parking lot?" He asked. "That PRT?" he was looking down on us, looking down on me, I could tell from the tone and …it just came out.

  "Watch it." I hissed, I was visibly angry, He didnt fought a giant bus, what would he know? He just apprehended them when they were seeking medical attention, Panacea probably healed them, there’s no way they were able to exert that much force even if what he claims were cuffs that dampened powers. We should have just foam them according to protocol.

  Why didnt we?

  We argued back and forth, I was visibly upset of course. It always started with him isn’t it? Until-

  "Fine," I said. "You want me here? You've got me. Monica, send in the Viking"

  A deep, descending roar rolled over the hospital like thunder dragged low across concrete. Windows rattled. Loose debris skittered across the pavement. People screamed as shadows swept over the entrance. A transformative jet just zoomed past the hospital and made a circle around us as Velocity bristled and was taken aback looking up. "What the hell is that?"

  And up came a giant mech that dropped down from low attitude in a heartbeat after that loud sound, wings folded inward and panels jutting out with two giant metal legs and arms looking like gatling guns.

  “A fucking mech?!” I swore, How the fuck is this guy keep producing mechs after mechs?!

  Containment foam cannons whined to life. "PRT, stand down!" Dauntless shouted. "You are escalating! It doesn't have to be this way-"

  But we were too late again-

  That beautiful cape beside Dreamhacked smiled, It was a pretty smile…prettier than Prism back from New York, I was…visibly distracted. I think it bothered me a little that such a pretty person was beside him.

  she deployed the psi dampers to maximum capacity, and the flaring equipment rods within the sidearm burst into electricity, creating an EMP blast, but the rod broke, rendering the equipment null and busted.

  She scoffs at the equipment she made, dissatisfied at how it burst into scrap "Still needs calibration. A revamped version will need to be far more durable in the next iteration" she said, but my mind was blanking out, pain entered my whole body, and my brain felt like it was fried.

  I couldn’t move, couldn’t even think properly.

  So I lashed out-"W-What have you done!"

  "PSI dampeners," she said calmly towards everyone with that smile upturned..I can’t focus on anything else only that condescending smile. "Full perimeter pulse. Temporary. Broad-spectrum. Let's go, Commander. We have a city to save."

  And they were off…

  Just like that…

  All I could think off was that smile but..

  Once I could move my body again after a few minutes. Director Piggot’s voice hit my earpiece like a hammer. It was on everyone's earpiece as we were still struggling to sit right after getting disabled like that.

  “What in God’s name is going on down there?”

  The channel went dead silent. Even the chattering around felt quieter. Dauntless straightened immediately. Velocity stopped pacing when all of us heard Pigot was on the line, I clenched my jaw and waited, because I knew who she was aiming at even if she wasn’t saying my name yet.

  Piggot continued, clipped and furious. “Explain to me why I’m receiving alerts that Dreamhack’s team has mobilised and is requesting authorisation to intervene from a PRT agent and not you three?”

  Dauntless answered first, calm but strained.

  “Director, We were..taken out by him. The situation escalated rapidly. Squealer retained operational control—”

  “That is not an answer I wanted. Why was he agitated? What prompted the escalation?” Piggot snapped. “That is an excuse.”

  Velocity cut in, careful. “Ma’am, we had partial success. The bus itself-”

  “I don’t care if it’s a bus, a boat, or a flying circus elephant,” Piggot said coldly. “You had three Protectorate assets on-site, and you lost control of the engagement after an independent parahuman gave autonomy back to the PRT! This was a gross negligence in protocol. I heard my men that none of you three ever instructed the agents to contain three dangerous parahumans after an attack on the Hospital! What do you have to say for yourself!”

  Then her tone shifted. “And now Dreamhack thinks he gets to play cavalry.”

  My stomach twisted.Piggot continued, “I have explicitly ordered that Dreamhack is to be stalled. Delayed. Kept out of this operation.”

  Dauntless frowned. “Director, with respect he had a jet”

  “No, I dont care any for your excuse, Shoot it down then, I dont care how you do it, just you do it. ” Piggot cut him off. “Respect is earned, and right now you’re burning it.”

  She inhaled, audibly steadying herself.

  “And Triumph,” she said.

  There it was…My name, heavy as a verdict.“Yes, ma’am,” I replied immediately.

  “You are a Ward,” Piggot said. “A probationary one. You do not freelance. You do not escalate. And you do not create political disasters that I then have to clean up.”

  My face burned. “Ma’am, I followed protocol…”

  “You followed your temper,” Piggot shot back. “And I warned you about that, Rory.”

  Hearing my first name over an open channel felt like being slapped.

  She went on, relentless. “You are not a full Protectorate member yet. You are not a decision-maker. ”

  Dauntless tried to intervene. “Director, Triumph performed admirably under pressure”

  “Then perhaps,” Piggot said icily, “you should have done a better job supervising him.” Velocity exhaled sharply but said nothing since he’s done the best he can unlike me.

  Piggot wasn’t finished.

  “Dreamhack is not to be allowed to intervene. I don’t care how shiny his toys are or how effective he looks on camera. This is a PRT jurisdiction, and I will not have a rogue paramilitary force rewriting the rules because we look bad.”

  “Yes, Director,” Dauntless said stiffly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Velocity echoed.

  I forced the words out. “Understood, Director.”

  “Get this situation under control,” she said. The channel cut.

  DreamHack wasn’t just operating in my city. He was doing the one thing Dad couldn’t.

  Fixing it.

  The same cape that embarrassed the PRT. The same one who ignored protocol, acted without permission, and somehow made the Merchants look incompetent by accident. The same one everyone kept talking about in low voices, half-awed, half-wary.

  The realization made my hands curl into fists before I even noticed. Anger flared up fast and hot, irrational and sharp, and I hated that I couldn’t shut it down. I knew it wasn’t logical. I knew it wasn’t fair.

  But I was the mayor’s son.

  I’d grown up watching my father drown in bureaucracy, compromise, and political debt, trying to keep Brockton Bay from collapsing under its own weight. I’d watched him get blamed for problems that were older than his office, older than his career.

  And now some cape with a mech and a stupid name just bulldozed past all of it.That was the worst part. If Dreamhack had been sloppy, corrupt, or cruel, it would’ve been easy. I could’ve hated him cleanly. I could’ve pointed at the damage and said, see, this is why we have rules.

  But the docks were working again. People had jobs again after a very long time. Steel was going up where rust and rot used to be. And somehow, he made everyone else, including my father, look small.

  And he did catch them, all of them. The ones that mattered anyway. None of the gang members were to be seen.

  I could still see it in my head: him standing there, calm as anything, while the rest of us scrambled to reassert control of a situation that should never have slipped in the first place. He broke rules I’d memorised, drilled into muscle memory, rules I’d lived by since I signed on. And somehow, he walked away looking like the adult in the room.

  That burned.

  I’m Triumph. I’m supposed to be one of the faces of the Protectorate. Clean-cut. Reliable. The guy who does it right. And here comes Dreamhack, rolling in with experimental tech and an attitude that said he didn’t need us and did it himself with equally competent team like that girl.

  I told myself it wasn’t jealousy.

  But the thought kept creeping in anyway.

  If Dreamhack could waltz in and dismantle them without a badge or a briefing, then we could do it by the book and prove it still mattered.

  That restraint mattered. That was the difference.

  And we won.

  Clean arrests. Minimal injuries. No collateral damage worth writing home about.

  As the last of them were zip-tied and loaded into vans and then foamed for added measure, I stood there breathing hard, adrenaline still buzzing through me. This this was how it was supposed to be done. Not one guy with a mech and a god complex, but a team doing its job.

  But the truth was far more bitter.

  This is a guy with a Hero Complex to a T lectured us about being a hero and blast off into the sunset, leaving the…girl Monica to handle the aftermath, and after everything, after all that ended, I was supposed to escort her back to the base. Hate is an understatement for what I feel for him. How could he just dump all that responsibility to her?!

  N-never mind, I almost forgot that she was the Tinker that disabled all of our powers back at the hospital. Does he not care he left her all alone to fend for herself? Unless she has another type of weapon. She seemed confident and demure.

  So- unlike that cocky bastard Dreamhack.

  Dauntless was too weary to make any puns and just said, “ Escort her back to the base for debrief” All that sounded fair, until she made a request of me once I escorted her to my vehicle.

  She saw the Bike, a Superbike and was visibly interested in it.

  “I would like to drive this if you would allow me” she asked with that smile of hers.…and I didn't say no. Why didn't I say no? Getting driven by a pretty girl? It’s not every day a guy gets to be driven around. Riding pillion was not something I was used to.

  Especially not with me behind her.

  The motorcycle moved like it was alive, balanced and precise, responding to Monica’s inputs with a smoothness that felt engineered down to the molecule. Was she an avid rider? I could feel it through the frame, through my boots, through the way the acceleration never jerked and just moved right, it was nice..

  My attention drifted forward despite myself.

  Monica’s helmet visor was down, reflective, hiding most of her face, but not all of it. Enough angles were visible that my brain filled in the rest. Asian features, sharp but soft at the same time. High cheekbones. A jawline that suggested she’s a natural beauty in civilian life and would often turn heads. Strands of black hair slipped free at the back of the helmet, catching the wind, glossy even in the city’s bad light.

  Her armour… I tried not to stare, and failed.

  No unnecessary plates, no visual intimidation. It fit her form closely, not in a cheap way, but in a designed way, like someone had decided aesthetics and efficiency didn’t have to be enemies. The lines curved naturally with her body, seamless transitions between rigid segments and flexible material. It looked more like a second skin than a suit, every contour purposeful.

  Something was unsettling about it.

  Too perfect.

  I’d fought capes my whole career who postured, who overcompensated with bravado or fear. Monica did neither. Even riding through Brockton Bay’s broken streets, with sirens echoing somewhere behind us, she radiated calm.

  And then the bike surged forward again, and I tightened my grip around her. I was expecting a jolt, but she didn't react. We didn't talk much. What is there to talk about? That she’s a good rider? That I wanted to ask what’s her relationship with Dreamhack? What sort of powers she have? Why is she working with Dreamhack? Why doesnt she join the PRT?

  Why would she want to join the PRT….

  Fuck.

  Not after today, she won't. We- no, I really fucked up. I thought I grew away from my petulant days when I was still playing baseball, seems like that’s not the case. 2 years in, and I still act like an idiot.

  The bike slowed, smooth as everything else about her, and rolled to a stop in front of PRTHQ and she dismounted beautifully.

  It’s my bike..but, she does it way better. I swung my leg off and adjusted my helmet, then realized she was already standing there, visor lifting with a soft hiss.

  I caught myself looking again as we passed through the security checkpoint, and this time I didn’t bother pretending it was about threat assessment.

  Monica moved with a kind of deliberate grace, every step economical, balanced, like her body and armour had been designed together instead of one being forced over the other. Even under PRT lighting, which had a way of making everyone look tired or washed out, she stood out. Not flashy. Not loud. Just… precise.

  It reminded me of Prism.

  That thought surprised me.

  Prism had been beautiful in a very public way.

  light refracting off her costume, colors bending around her like the world wanted to show her off. Cameras loved her. Crowds loved her. Legend loved her, in that distant mentor way that still carried weight. She looked like hope was supposed to look: bright, impossible to ignore, larger than life.

  Monica was the opposite.

  If Prism was a spotlight, Monica was a blade kept sheathed until needed. Her beauty wasn’t something she presented well; it was something you noticed only after spending time near her, after your brain stopped trying to categorise her as a threat.

  And yet I have to wonder, why does she go by Monica as her cape name? Or was it her real name? What kind of Cape name is Monica?

  There’s a classic Oriental beauty to it. Dark hair falling naturally instead of being styled for effect. Features that felt… real. Grounded. Like she belonged in the world instead of hovering above it, instead of fairies…Somehow, it’s similar to fairies.

  I wondered, briefly, if that was why Dragon noticed her so quickly. Did they have a history together? She called Dragon her friend, and they seemed to have a fight befor,e and Monica won.

  I wondered longer than I should have.

  Prism had always felt untouchable. A symbol. Someone destined for press releases and inspirational posters. Standing next to Monica, I got the strange sense that if she wanted to disappear into a crowd, she could too, and if she wanted to dismantle the room quietly, she’d do that too. The way she was calm, cold and calculated shows her Femme Fatale charm.

  And that made my chest tighten in a way I felt when I saw Prism for the first time. Sam..and Monica. Why was I even comparing them?

  I told myself it was stress. Long day. Too much adrenaline.

  I think I’m under the weather. I didn’t realize I’d been caught until she stopped walking.

  “Are you planning to keep staring,” Monica said lightly, “or should I start charging rent?”

  I nearly tripped over my own feet. “I-what? I wasn’t…ah fuck-”

  She turned just enough that I could see the curve of a smile under the visor, not smug, just amused. “Relax. You’re not subtle, but you’re also not offensive. That puts you ahead of most people in this building.”

  “That’s… reassuring?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Sorry. Long day.” and no it wasn’t reassuring that she deemed the PRT aren’t a force of good if she view us that way.

  “Mmm,” she hummed, resuming her pace. “That’s what they all say. Heightened BPM and elevated pulse.What troubles you?”

  I matched her stride, trying very hard to look anywhere but at her. “For the record, I was thinking. Not… staring. And no…I guess I came off as obstinate with your crew. Sorry about that, just got alot on my mind that’s all.”

  “So you’re thinking hmm…,” she echoed me, but still gave a mischievous smile .” You dont seem the type”

  “Hey, I’m allowed to think.” What does she mean that I dont seem the type?

  “I didn’t say you weren’t,” she replied.

  I shot her a look. “You always like messing with people?”

  “Only when they’re already flustered,” she said pleasantly. “It is fun.”

  “ Dont get used to it, I’m not your entertainment.”

  She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “You’re right. I’ll stop.” she took afew steps beforeshe stopped again and she added, “After this hallway.”

  I groaned. “Do you always do this? Even with …Dreamhack?”I had to fish some anwer.

  “Correct,” Monica said. “But if it helps-” she glanced back at me again, voice dropping just a notch, “You’re doing far better than my big brother. Chin up...stop staring at my butt too much. I do have a nice posterior, but you’re making it too obvious”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure what to say .Huh? Her brother?! W-whaa? Are they related? T-they look nothing alike! I wasn’t staring at her butt!! She’s lying..was I staring?

  I turned an- NO!!!

  Dont look, damn it!

  She faced forward, tone returning to casual. “Come on, Triumph. I believe the Briefing room is through that lift? Guide me, please.”

  I followed, heart pounding harder than any fight I’d been in that day, and wondered when exactly riding a motorcycle into a crisis had become the easy part. W-what’s going on? Am I being hit on?

  **********************