The tendrils of consciousness that tied Blackout to reality were coming unstuck. It felt vaguely like trying to stay awake in calculus. Just like the ringing of a class bell, a particularly shrill scream cut through Blackout’s torpor. A few shakes of the head, and he had cleared all the fuzz from his vision. The pain from his side was perpetual, but it was a known evil.

Standing was a challenge. Blackout’s hands searched for a steady rest to use as leverage. He found the cabinet he’d hidden behind while the truck was in motion. All of a sudden, his slight build was almost too heavy to manage. Every new twist of his body brought with it a sharp reprisal from his wounded side. Nevertheless, he powered through it. He was about as steady as a newborn horse, but he was upright.

Just as he was about to test his first step, an idea occurred to Blackout. He took out his phone. It was still jammed. Nevertheless, he opened his camera and started recording a video. The feed was so distorted, it was impossible to make anything out. He waved the phone around, wincing when he moved fast enough to exacerbate his pain. Sure enough, the distortion became more intense the closer the phone got to the Isakovs’ body. Stumbling towards them, the difference in the video quality was granular, but perceptible. Blackout used the phone as a dowsing rod, letting it guide him to Ilya’s vest pocket. Inside was a small, deceptively heavy gadget. It wasn’t sleek by any means, a tangle of wires and crudely assembled metal parts. The only interface was a dial mechanism and a tiny green light. Blackout switched the dial to the opposite position, and the light went off.

Instantly, the video feed on Blackout’s phone snapped back to normal. The signal icon showed full bars. Blackout pulled up his emergency alert app. He’d never actually sent up an alert before, though he’d been taught how to operate it in his yearly safety course. The majority of the time allotted to the subject had been warnings about how you should never, ever, in a million years, even think about touching the alert unless you were absolutely a million percent sure you needed to. A false alarm, if proved negligent, would spell immediate dismissal from the Guild. Using it as a deliberate prank would mean imprisonment. It was nonsensical, but after having the same warnings drilled into him year after year, gave him pause. Even harboring a bullet wound, standing over some of the most infamous villains ever in operation, with the life of Flash Bang hanging in the balance, it took Blackout a moment to convince himself that this was, in fact, an alert worthy situation. He spent a few seconds thinking of how to word his alert, as there was a limited number of characters.

FLASH BANG IN ISAKOV DEVICE. DEVICE ACTIVE. ISAKOVS DEAD.

After reading through the message twice, Blackout pressed send. His anxiety forced a panic that he’d written a critically insufficient message. When he couldn’t immediately think of a problem with the message, he waved off the concern as frivolous. Anxiety was a luxury while he was losing blood. The alert would ring out through the highest levels of the Guild, packaged along with his location and basic information from his hero bio. The rescue team would be there at superhuman speed. That might not be soon enough, judging by the screams coming from outside. As much as he’d love to give into the pain and lethargy, the part of him that put him there in the first place pushed him forward.

A flare of Flash Bang’s light that could have easily killed Blackout, just as one had killed Pavel, glanced by his head. There was no energy within him to dodge. Dumb luck was the only reason he survived. He threw up his shroud, but found it difficult to maintain. Every time he was hit with a ray, he strained, as he could feel it push against the shroud. Fortunately, it held.

Blackout followed the screams to the door of the container. Here, the light was much more intense. Flash Bang’s features were no longer visible. All that indicated that there was a human in the pod was a glowing silhouette in Flash Bang’s approximate shape.

Outside was chaos. The afternoon sun held true in the sky. People ran through the spaces between abandoned cars. They were on a bridge, apparently. It took a few moments for Blackout to register his surroundings, but he quickly realized he was on the Whitestone Bridge. His head was flooded with questions he had no bandwidth left to ponder answers for. Why were they headed to Long Island? If they were going to Long Island, why on earth would they choose a hideout in the Heights? How did villains choose their hideouts anyway? There must’ve been some logic to it, but it eluded Blackout.

Light beams shot from the pod at random. Everything they hit burned. Cars immediately in front of the door were unrecognizable, twisted, steaming hunks of metal. The air was saturated with the thick scent of burning rubber. Several people remained as the crowd fled. One was a wannabe paparazzi, recording the event on his phone. A woman had her hand in the busted window of a car, frantically cajoling something inside. Then there was a man. At least it looked like a man, but it was wrong.

The man stood watching, nonchalantly. Blackout couldn’t peg down exactly what was so strange about this guy. He couldn’t explain why, but his mind called a comparison to a porcelain doll. Everything was approximately correct about this porcelain man, but the little intangibles were off. His posture was too straight. The facial features were too exact. The expression sat too cleanly upon his cheeks. The body language was an imitation. The complete package brought a peculiar chill to Blackout’s body. Beyond that, there was a curious familiarity that Blackout could not make sense of.

Blackout did not waste time assessing the individuals further. He hopped down from the truck, and landed precariously, but upright. The lallygagging videographer pointed his camera at Blackout. It was no secret that there was money to be made selling footage super fights and disasters to the news. There was a thriving paparazzi business, the bottom feeders of the hero world. Blackout had never encountered one, as he never warranted such attention. Nevertheless, he could tell this guy wasn’t a pro, just a bystander who was dumb enough to risk his life for some footage.

“What are you doing?!” Blackout shouted. “Get out of here!"

“Hey, hero! What’s your name?” The videographer asked, undaunted.

“You’re in danger!”

“Was that the Isakov Abomination before??”

“Stop asking questions!! Run!”

Blackout was getting frustrated. He was wasting adrenaline arguing with this guy. The feeling of fading was creeping into his core, making his limbs heavier and more sluggish. A light ray cut a trail through the road. Reacting quicker than his thoughts, Blackout grabbed the videographer, hugged him close, and blanketed both with his shroud. Holding off the light would have been difficult under normal circumstances, but with his sabotaging injury, it was life testing. The heat hit between his shoulder. Despite the protection of the shroud, he felt his skin baking. The searing of his flash became just as unbearable as his gunshot wound. The two agonies were in a tug of war threatening to pull Blackout apart. The full depth of his pain erupted from him in a primal scream. Still, he persisted.

The assault on the shroud dissipated. The pain did not. Blackout could no longer keep the shroud up. It took everything inside of him just to stay conscious. He released the videographer, who was now thoroughly shaken.

“Are you ok?” Blackout’s voice came out much weaker than he’d expected.

“Uh-yeah.”

A loud bang came from the pod. Blackout turned to see the cab of the truck had been struck by a ray of light, cutting clean through it, causing a small explosion.

“Watch out!” Blackout shouted.

Blackout threw his arms up to shield the civilian as shrapnel from the shipping container pelted the area. Several impacts stung over the length of Blackout’s body. His leg buckled. He felt something digging deep into his flesh. It was just another thing to ignore. Similar sensations were calling out from his back, elbow, and shoulder, though his leg was by far the worst.

The porcelain man was standing straight as bits of debris whizzed by his head. The man paid them no mind, choosing instead to stare unwaveringly at Blackout. Blackout waved at him to run away.

“Hey! Get out of here!!” Blackout pleaded.

The porcelain man didn’t move. Blackout continued his waving gesture, with decreasing precision as his exasperation mounted.

“Dude…” The videographer said from behind, still filming. “The back of your costume…”

“What?” Blackout flung his hand haphazardly behind him to feel his back.

“It’s gone…”

“Oh no-” Blackout’s speech was becoming slurred. “Can you see my butt?”

If Blackout had any blood left, it would have been storming his cheeks.

“No man, you’re good. I meant like the top of your back…”

“Oh. Ok. Good. Can you please go…get to…safety…”

Just moving his lips to make more words was an insurmountable challenge. Blackout felt himself deteriorating fast. His entire body was devoid of all warmth. There was nothing left inside to give. His knees hit the pavement. There was no holding on. The world was getting farther and farther away. As his vision slipped off, he saw the videographer’s legs as they ran away.

“Need a hand, brother?” The voice was as clear as the class bell.

Blackout was barely even aware of his hand being grasped by another. As soon as it did, however, he was jolted back to full rejuvenation. The warmth didn’t return, but it was as if his body no longer needed it. He looked up to see the porcelain man standing above him. The man pulled Blackout up, effortlessly.

“A bit of a spot you’re in, eh, brother?” The man’s mouth was moving, but it didn’t seem to be where his voice was emanating from. It was like a doll that could recite phrases through a speaker in its head. Blackout could not afford to ruminate on the mysteries of this figure. No matter who he was, he was in the middle of a disaster zone.

“You have to get out of here,” Blackout said in a steady voice.

“Sure thing, Brother. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

The Porcelain Man walked off, just as casually as he withstood the truck explosion. His gait, like everything else about him, just wasn’t right. It was like a marionette walking off the stage of a puppet show. The puppeteer moved the puppet, the motion of the legs was just to sell the illusion.

Now on his feet, Blackout felt even stronger than before. The pain was just as present, but he now felt big enough to face it down. The woman was still wrestling with whatever was in the car. Blackout rushed over, limping all the way.

“Get to safety!” Blackout yelled.

“Help! Please!!”

The woman’s eyes were wild and desperate. Blackout gazed into the car’s busted window. A boy, no older than five, was slumped over in his seat. At first glance, Blackout was terrified he’d be pulling a dead kid out of a car. Then, he noticed the labored rise and fall of the boy’s chest, and basked in a wave of relief. The woman was holding onto the boy’s seatbelt, violently trying to wrench it loose, but to no avail. Blackout took the seatbelt from her hand, and let it recoil into its feeder. Instead, he opted to tip into the car, but felt prohibitive anguish the instant his bullet wound pressed against the car door. He felt around the door for the lock, but couldn’t get it open.

“The lock is stuck,” Blackout said.

“The seatbelt is stuck!” The woman yelled back.

“I need to get the door open. Why won’t it open?”

“Child locks!”

“Do you have the key?”

“It’s not my car!”

The statement confused Blackout.

“Why is your son in someone else’s car?”

“He’s not my son! I don’t know him! I was just passing by!”

A small tingle of respect kindled within Blackout’s otherwise distracted mind. Whoever was driving this car ditched this kid. This woman was risking her life. It was not a feel good story yet. Those required a happy ending. Blackout gritted his teeth and tilted his body through the window, eating the pain, sending it back out in short, quick breaths. The seatbelt was indeed stuck. A light ray had apparently penetrated the car, slicing a line through the backseat, and melting the buckle shut. The boy had a nasty burn where the metal met his skin. Blackout tried the buckle once for good measure, but it was fused into one solid piece. He heard the woman scream from outside the window. A flare was climbing over the cars in their direction.

Without thinking, Blackout summoned a shroud. Unlike his other shrouds, this one manifested as a wall. The darkness was different than any he’d seen. It was a swirling shade of absolute darkness that swallowed any light that dared tread upon it. That’s exactly what happened to Flash Bang’s light beam. The shroud gobbled it up without a flinch. The most peculiar thing Blackout noticed was that he was still actively yanking at the seatbelt.

For as long as Blackout had been Blackout, his powers had a major flaw. He couldn’t multitask. Any shroud that he cast would disappear if he tried to split his concentration to do something else while it was up. Even so much as picking up a penny off the floor would dissipate the shroud. Pretty much the only thing he was able to do while shrouded was walk. If he’d just been able to fight while under a shroud, it would have been a major advantage. Any opponent would be effectively blind under a shroud, while Blackout would be able to see clear as day. The shroud also had the non trivial benefit of sealing all noise within it, so a fight wouldn’t alert anyone nearby. If he could have only learned to harness his power and fight, it would have put him in a whole other class of career potential. He’d have been a stealth prodigy. If. For years, Blackout attempted to train to do both simultaneously. He’d attacked it as both a physical and mental obstacle. Unfortunately, nothing he’d tried had ever worked. Eventually, he just gave up and accepted it as an impossibility.

Now, Blackout could feel himself keeping the shroud up, catching the light beam. At the same time, he wrapped the seatbelt around his hand and tugged. The shroud stayed up. It was not an uncommon phenomenon that superpowers were commonly unlocked in events of extreme crisis. However, that was a regular human activating their powers. Blackout’s powers were already active. He’d never heard of an instance when new or enhanced abilities were discovered like this.

The light beam gave out. Instead of disappearing, the shroud stayed strong. The issue remained; unless Blackout could find some sort of sharp object to cut through the seat belt, there would be no way to free this kid. No sooner did Blackout make the observation, than the shroud came to life. It wrapped around Blackout’s free arm, forming a sort of sleeve. The end jutted out of his wrist, a sharp, oily black blade, as corporeal as obsidian. Though shocked, Blackout didn’t dare waste such a boon by questioning it. He simply took the blade and hacked through the seatbelt. The belt did not resist, splitting instantly. With great stress, Blackout heaved the boy out of the car.

“Can you carry him?” Blackout asked.

The woman nodded. Blackout passed the child into the arms of the woman, who fortified her grip. When she felt her bundle was secure, she swiftly turned and hurried off. The pain was beginning to creep back into significance. With no more bystanders to chase off, Blackout took a moment to clutch his side, as if that would help anything in any way. It did not. The pause did nothing to alleviate his aches, so Blackout put himself back into action.

After the explosion, the pod had apparently been flung out onto the street. The power source was nowhere to be seen, presumably rented to smithereens. This absence did not seem to diminish the processes of the device, as Flash Bang was still as active in the pod as ever. It had so bright that the pod couldn’t be looked at directly. Blackout put his hand up to block out the glare, but it was so intense that it shined right through, highlighting all the veins and muscles within.

Nevertheless, Blackout took a step forward without a plan. His shroud had proven ineffective in extinguishing Flash Bang’s light, but it did offer Blackout some personal protection. Perhaps he could get close enough to extricate Flash Bang from the pod. Judging by the burn on his back that pulsed agony through his shoulder blades, being that close would almost certainly incinerate him, shroud or no. In his battered and bloody state, this was not a factor that was worth taking into consideration.

Before Blackout could attempt a second step, a strong hand clamped down gently on his shoulder, stopping him. Blackout turned to look at the owner of the metallic hand. It was Armory. As a testament to his dire condition, being in the presence of a true superstar hero barely affected Blackout. A few feet away was another famous face. Deathknell was one of the world’s most prominent villainesses, until she switched sides. Two figures flew overhead, just on the edge of Blackout’s periphery, escaping recognition.

“Great job, kid,” Armory said in a reassuring, avuncular tone. “We’ll take it from here.”

“That’s Flash Bang over there?” Deathknell gestured in the direction of the pod, with a turned head, unable to withstand the glare.

Blackout nodded.

“Ok team, here’s the play,” Armory spoke into an unseen comm, of which Blackout heard the muffled product coming from an earpiece in Deathknell’s ear. “I’ll disable the trap. Once it’s down, DK cuts Flash Bang out. Handoff to Silver Bullet. Then get him to Medbay. Once Flash Bang is out, everyone clears the area IMMEDIATELY. We all know what happened the last time we disarmed an Isakov trap.”

“Roger,” Deathknell said. Blackout heard similar sounds from her earpiece.

“Roger,” Blackout said instinctively. Deathknell chuckled. Armory turned his robotic helmet Blackout’s way.

“Swallow, this kid looks pretty banged up. Swoop in and take him to Medbay.”

Armory trusted the durability of his high tech, armored suit, as he waded into the light. Swallow entered into Blackout’s field of vision, her white, feathered wings outstretched. She may as well have been coming to bring him to heaven.

“Alright, kid,” Swallow said. “I’m going to have to buckle you in.”

Swallow unfastened several leather belts that were incorporated into the front of her costume. Reorganized, they formed a harness. Blackout stepped forward, prepared to lace himself into the belts.

A loud burst.

“ARGH!!” Armory howled. “Everybody get clear! He’s going to blow the bridge!”

There was no time to follow the order. A terrible flash of light washed over everything. Swallow shrieked. Then it was black.

Blackout’s shroud swallowed the entire area. It was larger than any he’d conjured before. Swallow and Deathknell were frozen with their hands up defensively. It took them a moment to register the fact that they were still alive. Though in the pitch black, it would be fair to assume that this was death. Swallow gasped.

The shroud was keeping the light pinned inside of Flash Bang. It was fighting to get out. Everything left inside Blackout was being siphoned by the shroud. With every step he took, the shroud’s perimeter shrunk in circumference. Every other step was an uncertain one, as the shrapnel in his leg cried out whenever there was weight on it. The closer Blackout got to the light source, the harder it was to keep pushing forward. He accepted as a surety that he’d be bested by the light, the pain, the moment. Still, he put his next foot forward.

At the pod, Blackout could hardly stand it. The bindings that kept him conscious fought the ones that kept his shroud up. The seams were stretching perilously thin. Under the shroud, Flash Bang was visible once again. His face was scrunched into a tight grimace. He thrashed around like he was still blowing the bridge. The pod’s protective glass had been shattered away. Looking down at the wires that connected Flash Bang to the machine, Blackout visualized his obsidian blade. Just like that, it materialized. There was barely enough energy left inside Blackout to lift his arm, but he put it to the wires, nonetheless. Letting gravity do the work, the weight of Blackout’s arm brought the blade down. Despite the substantial thickness of the wires, the blade cut through them like jello. Moving to the other side, Blackout did the same. The machine sparked in protest.

Once the last wire was severed, the shroud became effortless again. Flash Bang was finally still. Blackout fought his wounds to drag Flash Bang out of the pod. As soon as he used his final bit of torque to get the rest of Flash Bang free, he heard a noise from the pod behind him. A spring. Metal sliding against metal. A throughline of pure pain, piercing through Blackout’s back, out through his front. Flash Bang’s limp form slid from Blackout’s grasp. Blackout groped his torso for answers. A cold metal spike poked out through his chest. The shroud dropped away. Shock took over, followed closely by terror.

The first thing Blackout noticed was his heartbeat. At least that was still chugging along. With all the other injuries Blackout had endured, he was able to push forward because there was some next step that needed to be taken. Now, there was no excuse to keep his eyes open. All of his muscles relaxed, as he crumpled around the spike that impaled him.

The rest of Blackout’s experience was auditory. Armory’s voice was barking orders.

“DK, take Flash Bang! Go!”

A saw. Metal on metal. The section of spike that ran through him was severed from its base.

“Swallow! Take the kid! Now! NOW!”

Sizzling. Crumbling.

“Acid! It’s going to take the bridge down! Get the him out now!”

Hands grasping his shoulders. Rising. Rising. Feet hanging. Wind on his face. Then, it all slipped away.