12535, January 25th ; Alexander had been around for just about two years by then. The infamous villain didn’t act or even show themselves often, but whenever they did rear their head, the news and internet overflowed with nothing but information and speculation on their latest carnage. And in spite of it all, the GHH still didn’t have them figured out - quite to the contrary : they hadn’t a single lead. There was no obvious reasoning to how they picked their next target - or at least, they hadn’t caused enough separate incidents for them to figure out a pattern. The only thing that was clear, was that they intended on raising the scales each and every time they showed. Although, exactly when that would be remained unpredictable.

Although their attacks had since spread out all over the capital, their first appearance had been in District 17 ; As such, D17’s station and its staff were the ones officially in charge of the Alexander case. In practice, though, the people in charge largely came down to wherever the terrorist happened to strike. Whenever the silver menace was spotted, the nearest available heroes were called in ASAP, regardless of rank or district, while their superiors and strategists - villain profilers, managers, intelligence gatherers - analysed the situation and figured out who, how and when to send backup. Their priority was, always, to reduce harm, before apprehending Alexander themselves - namely, by evacuating nearby people and sealing off the area. Despite the difficult relationship the two institutions shared, Alexander was a large enough threat to warrant the standard police getting involved with GHH affairs to aid with these efforts. Even then, the silver figure had long figured out the GHH’s M.O., and made humanitarian tasks ever tricky : one of their previous attacks had consisted of Alexander hijacking a bus, holding the driver at gunpoint while urging them to get far, far away from city infrastructure before anyone could reach them ; Once out of range, they finished by exploding the vehicle - its passengers locked inside. Not one person survived, and even the vehicle was gone without a scrap remaining; the only thing left behind was footage recorded by the silver menace themselves, in the form of a USB drive. A silver, glittery USB drive displayed on a square cushion amidst the crash site.

The bus incident had thrown several wrenches in the GHH’s wheels. Until then, they’d assumed Alexander was after their people specifically, and - though they ensured that theory never became public - feared the terrorist may once have been amongst their ranks. But considering the timeline, and Alexander’s presumed M.O. (blowing up absolutely everything without seemingly needing access to explosives) not one employee, affiliate or ex-employee of the governmental hero force fit the bill, at least not without excessive semantics - regardless, not enough to justify suspicions. Either their ability didn’t seem to allow for explosive exploits, or their overall build didn’t fit the terrorist’s - usually both. There was always the possibility Alexander wasn’t a single individual but a group playing coy, but such hypothesises were, for now, still left aside. Abilitied people didn’t slip through the fingers of the GHH and the Underground’s control so easily - let alone an entire group of people.

Though it did amount to a lack of progress in their investigation, the GHH was relieved that they found no liable suspects amongst themselves ; their reputation was poor enough as it was : Should the most infamous criminal of the past few years have come from their ranks, and the public would likely lose any trust they had left in them.

In spite of how incompetent many claimed the GHH to be, its bigwigs knew the civilian identities of nearly all active villains and vigilantes ; Their profilers were skilled, and they had easier access to government records than even the police. Furthermore, anything that became known in the Underground was soon enough ratted out to the GHH. And that was precisely why Alexander was so remarkable. The silver figure was as much of a mystery to the Underground as they were to the rest of the capital. They were wholly independent, a wild card with no connections or affiliations to be found anywhere. It wasn't out of the question to imagine they would even set up one of their attacks within the Underground, just to make a point - especially after the bus incident invalidated the theory that the GHH was their target.

The Underground had its own newspapers - both those that served the major groups’ propaganda and smaller clandestine publications ; comparing their headlines to that of the capital’s surface proved entertaining, given the two “sides”’ respective priorities and concept of what was and wasn't usual ; But when Alexander was around, everyone was on the edge of their seat. The only notable difference in the subterranean population’s opinion of Alexander, compared to that of the aboveground, was, perhaps, a greater amount of admiration and jealousy hidden amongst the fear.

Despite the general unrest, Alexander’s existence hadn’t done much to disturb the work routine of the GHH’s employees. Schedules, assignments, transfers were organised just as they had been for years ; Rank hierarchy remained unchanged, and C ranks still had little say in their work conditions. If anything, the silver terrorist craze had only made it harder for things to evolve, as the GHH was unwilling to try anything reckless ; Despite his A rank and several well-argued transfer demands, Bolt still remained in District 12.

Duncan and Brian had been right ; Fragmental Patterns had only remained as a C rank for a short while, just about a month, leaving the electricity manipulator without a sidekick. Thankfully, D12 still needed A ranks, so the twins didn’t end up being ping-ponged back from where they’d come, and had continued working, just with a new partner. A few new partners, in fact. It soon became clear that ‘Bolt’s sidekick’ had become some form of a temporary slot for new C ranks, while their superiors looked into setting them up with a more fitting A ranking partner. As such, the twins often ended up alone for weeks at a time, and were never around one person long enough for them to catch on to their trick. Convenient as it was, Brett never made peace with the idea. A-ranks were supposed to work with C-ranks, build solid teamwork, and trust each other deeply… and yet they hadn’t been given the opportunity to achieve that. As though they weren’t quite an A-rank ; barely a proper hero, more of a substitute than a bona fide heroic figure. They’d been thoughtlessly flung to D12 to fill in quotas, after all. Whenever he brought it up to Felicio, the latter would do his best to shrug off those thoughts as overthinking, and reassure Brett on the value of his hero work - it never quite worked. Ultimately, Brett felt like dead weight. His entire hero career had sprouted from deception ; it wasn’t his. He was little more than a greedy parasite.

Today was a fairly calm day for Bolt - no specific mission, just some undercover patrol work ; or at least, it was supposed to be. At around 1pm on the dot, he felt his professional phone vibrate in his pocket, and pulled it out. The screen, usually black and white - heroes weren’t equipped with the latest in flip-phone technology - now displayed the word ‘URGENT’ in a bright red font ; Pressing the OK button led him to play a vocal message. He knew what this meant. An ability-related emergency had turned up, and he was the nearest available hero. Wasn’t the first time, actually, but it was a rare enough event to get him excited. The looping recording shrieked the relevant address in barely intelligible robospeak ; ‘DISTRICT 6, SNOWDROP HOSPITAL, 14 FREIZEIT STREET.’ District 6? The other side of town? Well doesn’t that seem fishy as hell. Then again… District 11, 10 and 9, which he’d have to cross to get to Snowdrop, were always busy, as their heroes actually helped with police work. 8 and 7, 6’s direct neighbours, weren’t so bad, but their station also employed the fewest heroes of any districts in the capital. As for 6… Lighthouse’s a mess. Heard it’s Lesion making a show of it - a high-society skyscraper filled with journalist offices, some of them the government’s lapdogs ; Quite the stage. So that was likely where all of D6’s available forces had gathered. Ultimately… a D12 locum patrol boy could very well be the nearest available hero. Not that you have to sell us that short. I thought negativity was my deal?

Bolt had to think fast. What was the fastest way there? He could probably go back to the station and request a vehicle, but at that point, there wasn’t any point in him going over anyone currently on standby in the station in itself. Calling for a vehicle and a chauffeur to pick him up wouldn’t waste as much time, but they’d have to wait right on the border of D12, since stations chauffeurs weren’t allowed to drive their vehicles to other districts without direct instruction from the main station - District 5’s, and heroes weren’t allowed to drive vehicles meant for chauffeurs. As for contacting District 5… yeah, best not to even think about it. The next best option was probably public transports. Personal bias had nothing to do with it. Bolt rushed into the subway station, sneaking skillfully past the ticket booths. He was still in civilian wear from his patrol, so hopefully word of this wouldn’t reach HR. In 10 minutes flat, he was just outside Freizeit Street - the subways had a bad reputation, being dug sometime just meters above the Underground and its many unappealing urban myths (made all the worse by the fact some of them were actual facts that just seemed to grotesque to be true), which at least had the advantage that the few people who did use them didn’t have to wait long at all. The trip had still taken longer than he’d hoped for, but it would have to do. Soon as he arrived, he rushed into the largest building, and found the hospital to be worryingly… empty. Slowing down to soak up the silence and listen in for any odd noise, the young man walked up to the front desk. No one there, at first glance. But as he got closer… Well, the staff was effectively present. They’d been knocked out through some means he couldn’t determine, either anaesthetics or a simp knock over the head, and pushed against one another and under the desks. They weren’t tied, though they were crammed into such a confined space that just trying to get out would prove real painful. Bolt brought a hand to his mouth, on the off chance that it was some sort of gas. With the other, he fiddled with the bottom of his ear, trying to make quick thinking of what to do next. Someone must’ve sent the alarm to the station, which had then ricocheted back to his phone through an algorithm. A shame they hadn’t specified the floor that needed help - Lest it’s less of an omission, and more of a ‘the whole hospital’s in deep shit’. That thought aside, either they somehow didn’t know, or… their call had been cut short. Mechanically, Bolt approached the elevator. He was too anxious, too restless to just stay in place and think rationally. Recklessness had worked out for him so far, in work and in life. Checking every floor wasn’t the most elegant of methods, but it was thorough! One, two, three. He occasionally ran into some staff, which reassured him a bit. In turn, he tried his best to stay professional, and explain the situation to them, urge them to evacuate. Not one of them was any help in figuring out the heart of the matter, however. Apparently, whoever had given the alarm had given it exclusively to the GHH. The rest of the hospital seemed wholly unaffected. A prank call… ? Surely not. That’d be a little too pathetic, even for a substitute. And so he continued taking the elevator aimlessly.

Suddenly, penumbra. An array of shocked sighs. Total current failure - none of the backup batteries were responding either. The entire building was brought to a buzzing halt - as well as the elevator cabin Bolt was now trapped inside of. A non-issue ; He was the electricity-manipulating hero, after all. Cut the rhetoric and move it! Right… Still. He broke through the trapdoor in the ceiling of the cabin. The next floor was just above. He couldn’t have forced it open, but it seemed the doors defaulted to being open when they weren’t being powered. Weird, that. He needed to get to the generator. Usually, those infrastructures were found on ground floors, so he stumbled around to find the emergency stairway exit - stumbled as fast as he could, of course. Before the young man could find it, however, he heard a noise ; A match being set aflame.

He pressed himself up against the wall, out of view from anyone further down the hall, and refocused his vision. A faint glint caught his eye from around the corner. He risked a front-facing glance. The tiny flame didn’t allow him to make out too many details on its own, but its light was just enough for him to understand exactly what he’d gotten into. The red-orange waves revealed the silver reflections of a short, young adult in a catsuit.

Some part of him refused to believe he was truly seeing Alexander with his own eyes, without a screen or newspaper in between. Even with the poor lighting, their colour of choice made them fairly easy to see. Their build was eerily similar to his own - they looked about the same height, too. He looked away, back glued to the wall in apprehension. How could they be here? Who had cut the current? Was Alexander indeed a group, rather than an individual? Or could they teleport? Did they set off something remotely? No, no, the more pressing question was - how could they incapacitate them safely? Alexander with a match in hand could only mean one thing. Unless it was some impersonator or copycat- No, no, focus! Right now, you’re Bolt. You’re on a mission to save lives. Right now, you need to act.

He risked another glance. At Alexander’s feet lay what appeared to be piles of… something. Small… plastic packets. And wires… wires that snaked along the ground, and lead right to where he was standing. He looked up, and found himself right in front of a curious silver stranger, a coy smile playing on their lips. Instinctively, he kicked them away, and they landed in the pile. Apparently, they hadn’t been bracing for that ; their landing sent metallic objects flying into the darkness. They were… lighter than he expected. Alexander jumped to their feet with a thud, and a held in a whimper. “Hah! Haha. Oh, you think you’re good, don’t you? You think you’ve got me cornered, here?” Even through their voice changer, they were clearly beyond upset, speaking in a broken, sarcastic rhythm. They took in a sharp breath, the air shrieking through their teeth. “Haha! Hah! You’re too - late! M-hmh! Too late. But you’re still a pest. And I’ll get rid of you.” They were almost screaming, their tongue snapping loudly in between heavy inhales. Bolt couldn’t understand why they were so enraged. Nothing like the “cold, collected chessmaster” the papers endlessly advertise. But something about their tone and speaking patterns, compromised as it was, was familiar to him. Or maybe his fear was just making him delirious. Alexander threw one of the nondescript packets in his face. His precisely aimed hand deviated it to the side just in time, and it hit the wall in front of him - exploding on contact. Emerging from the cloud of smoke and fire, paint chips and debris flew all around at high speeds, stabbing into his arms, neck, face and left eye, leaving burned cuts and wounds akin to that of point-blank bullets. He kneeled to the ground, writhing against the pain. Alexander giggled erratically for just a second, before snapping back into character and rushing back to the pile. No, no, no. Bolt struggled to his feet and ran, tackling the silver terrorist to the ground as he bled out. “GET OFF ME, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!” Alexander managed to lift him off and, in a lever-like motion, crane him over their shoulder and into the pile, before standing back up, leaning over him and kicking his face in - several times, quicker and quicker each time. The young man was already half-unconscious from his injuries, and barely reacted to the abuse. Eventually, they gave their leg a rest, grabbed his shoulders and shoved him to the side, letting his limp body roll along the pile and stop haphazardly on the floor, making a mess of wires and packets on the way. Finally, Alexander ignited half a dozen matches, threw them atop the pile and immediately ran off towards the hall’s opposite end.

With some unsuspected last bit of strength, Bolt threw himself onto the pile, pressing matches in between his fingers to put them out. Soon as he was done, he turned around, and suddenly felt his pain vanish as cruel anticipation took its place.

Alexander hadn’t fled. They’d distracted him, convinced him he was alone, to determine whether he was faking agony and give themselves time to aim. The young man felt his head slowly warm up…

Blinding pain. Blinding light. A buzzing in his ear. The current had been restored. It seemed to shock Alexander just as much as it had Bolt - or would’ve, had he not been in such a state. Enough that they lost focus and their ability ‘turned off’, just for a second. Running footsteps echoed through the building. Bolt whined with relief. Oh, please let this be over.

Alexander cocked their head, a jaded frown twisting their soft, youthful features. “Don’t you forget me, you. Because I won’t. I don’t forget people. That’s a skill you could afford to pick up.” In a second, they were gone like a flicker of light - just as reinforcements arrived, and Bolt passed out.

That was not the only pile of explosives Alexander had prepared. The Shaws weren’t able to completely foil the terrorist’s scheme. Bolt having given people the time and foresight to evacuate, the uncompromised explosions only took a few lives - fewer than Alexander had planned, at least. Most of Snowdrop Hospital’s main building was history, but it wasn’t fully levelled to the ground. It could’ve been worse. That much could not be said of the Lighthouse, that another, just as deranged - if not as mediatised - criminal had tipped over on that very same January 25th, after taking what interested them out of it and letting it all collapse to the ground. Two unrelated incidents, occurring simultaneously through incredible coincidence, both claiming iconic buildings and tens of the lives within them - two incidents the GHH were just a little too late to stop.

The established, ‘controlled’ game of cat and mouse the capital had grown accustomed to was claiming more and more innocent lives at the hands of mere individuals - time seemed to be repeating, rewinding to the age of the First District - of carnage and all-out civil war.