A pensive tension permeated the air, even as it turned fetid and damp. At least it wasn’t dark anymore. High power flashlights and high visibility vests turned the sewers to a sparkling shadow puppet show. Forms ahead given definition by illuminated concrete and yellow stripes. An almost tacky badge emblazoned in the same reflective material on the back. A cowboy in a hardhat riding a… bucking lightning bolt? Yeah even Aegis thought this was over the top, even for Kadia. Though she needed their help in this, they were her only lead at the moment. Not to mention they had custody of ground zero right now.

The slowly circulating air had lost at least a bit of its horrid odor, but the stink was more likely being replaced by an oppressive layer of ozone. Like this stretch of sewer had just been washed clean and burned out. Aegis winced and shielded her nose with her arm, finally reaching for the respirator the Wranglers had offered. A little bit of hubris refuted. The concrete slowly changed with the air, blackened swaths stealing the light from her guide’s flashlight. The sound of her own breathing suffusing through the mask undershadowed by the soft flow of still heated water. A slight humidity spike even pressing back as they neared their destination. But the soft sounds were eventually overshadowed by harsh typing and grumbled realizations. A sat form surrounded by more Wranglers taking stock of what they were going to have to delay fixing even as the city still sat in partial blackout. The shine of a pair of googles turning to greet her and her guide’s. Techno had beat her to the punch. Seemed warranted after everything.

“What took you so long?”

The mild hiss of his own respirator doing little to cover his disappointment. Though at this point Aegis was just glad he was still working.

“Sorry, an exploded car at the Tally Smith Bridge looked a little suspicious so I had to check it out. What’s the story down here? Besides the obvious.”

A tired glare met her as Techno pulled his visor up, an older model than the one he had this morning. He’d lost a lot of tech in too short a time. Without even getting up he pointed to a deep crack above his head just barely visible as the Wranglers set to their damage tally without so much as an offered light source. But the reflected light was enough. Enough to see the damage done.

“The wire, the rubber, the concrete. It’s all melted to slag. That’s not a surprise, but it’s not the worst of it.”

Techno put a hand to the wall and lifted himself up, his exacerbation still keeping him low as he walked toward the gathered lights and the true epicenter. A defiantly shiny box of wire junctions and switches took center stage and spotlight against the wall ahead, forcing Aegis and Techno to enter against theatrical standard. Spidery cracks melted and spread in and along every direction outward. And a bit of the box oozed down to the blackened… and torn floor below. Aegis leaned around the observing Wranglers to take her own stock, but there was little else to see. Rubber linings were pooled in the box’s base, streaks and veins of copper and aluminum adding some pizazz to the devastation wrought upon this once orderly junction box. But one wire seemed to have survived the torrential burn that tore through this stage, though not without casualty. A single fat wire, wrenched from its orderly bracket, stood defiant over the rest of its comrades. But a closer inspection brought its truth to bear. It was nothing more than an ashen monolith, a barely surviving remnant of what was once grand. Blackened nearly to nothing and flaking away its fleeting stature. But as short as its life now stood, it still clung to a form, one bearing its attackers marks.

Aegis hurriedly swiped a flashlight out of one of the Wranglers hands, she needed better lighting than their spotlights could provide and the flaking was accelerating. An overhead angle and a profile shot told her enough as the structure finally disintegrated to a fine dusty stain.

“Those… those looked like teeth marks.”

A slight revulsion reeled the Wranglers and Techno back from the theater’s act, but skepticism kept the worst feelings low. But this said more than it needed to anyway. Not just a story of too much power, but one of confirmation. And possibly a set direction if her hunch was correct. But a sweep over the blackened and cracked apart concrete backdrop left her with little to follow. And little recourse other than to regroup and take it all in.

“There’s one more thing.”

Aegis’ resigning sigh was cut short as Techno took back the stage, spotlight taken up to shift back to that cracked and melted wall.

“All this melt and destruction… it’s not uniform. Not a simple distance gradient.”

A manual support arm pulled from behind him, he was really at a loss for tech. A simple sample scoop scrapped into the burned concrete, the outer layer at this point little more than… the same dust.

“There’s fucking striations.”

Looking down into that spotlight, Aegis could see the oddity. Some of the dust, destabilized and burned free of its concrete whole, wasn’t so burned away. A subtle shift as she looked down the side long core sample. Looking back up at the wall it came from, she could see the marginal distinction, but the frequency was... considerable. Only really visible in scrunched up sample.

“So he did leave a trail…”

“Just not an easy one to follow.”

The gravity of their undertaking finally found her as Aegis shined her light down this burned in record, darkened gradient rippling into the equally dark distance. A burned in wave form of unacceptable proportions. But one they would have to follow… eventually.

“Ever.”

“Ever?”

“ever.”

“Ever!!”

“Ever…”

Every breath a hollow void, suffocating emptiness. Not quite that empty!! Must this place be so cold? metal on stone on cloth on air. They locked me away again… And left me to rot…

Cold asphyxiation, but approximation may alleviate. Breathe in that juice!! not too deep too fast. Will they see? At least my tomb has lights… More than enough to wake this burned out shell…

Oh, I see something!! More meat? too far too many too strong. A herd of onlookers to my grand unveiling. Someone is celebrating… They think I’m dead…

*woooosh*

Applause? My visage is pleasing to the eye, but bereft inside. too many more many too too toooooyyaaaahhhh. HER!!!

The one who locked me away? She can’t be that bad!! My jailer and executioner displays my corpse for all to see. SHE WILL SUFFER!!! THEY ALL WILL SUFFER!!!

““””Again””””

“GAHHH!!”

Seth shot his eyes open and sucked in. A breath too needed at the moment and his chest still aching like that sword was still cutting through him. His mind was racing as the breath refused to sit and his lungs heaved. Eyes of every shade were still looking at him from the dark corners of his sight, red outlines blaring them without regard for their reality. He franticly rubbed his eyes with his hands, trying to tear the images away. But all he could feel was the ruff grate of laceroid dust on his hands. The dust of his friends, his neighbors still clinging to-

“NO NO NO!!!”

He violently shook the waking nightmares away, the last vestiges of his nocturnal hell still trying to break free of his mind. He gritted and took in a deeper seething breath, and all but demanded the peaceful morning he was being denied. But all he received in return was the ratty smell of his new ‘home’. And the reality that his dreams had not simply been absent all this time, but suppressed. A reality he would be suffering… alone.

Seth kept trying to rub the sprouting insomnia and deplorable state he was in away, but the practically browned wallpaper was not helping. A couple piezoelectric power washes at least got rid of the mold, but had done little for the damage already soaked in. Cheap housing had its drawbacks. A few minutes of grounding and just being awake helped him up, but the deprivation was already eating away at his balance. His once rat’s nest of a bed, triple fried to get the worst out of it, had offered little comfort. But what had been taken from him was far more than sleep.

Shaky steps carried him to the bathroom, dingier than his old one but the proportions were at least the same. Whited knuckles gripped the stained sink as tired eyes met him in the mirror, one greyed ever so slightly like scar tissue that refused to heal. If only in his head. But they were both still hazel. His face was pale, but that wasn’t new. No facial hair returned either, but he never cared to keep it anyway, but the shaggy white shock over everything tore at him in defiant daylight reminder. Of the pain tearing at his chest, like his heart was still split in half and beating without care. Of what he’d suffered through yet could no longer escape, what he survived when no one else did. And of what he was constantly haunted by in his dreams. Dreams he was only having because he was along… in totality.

Because the Garkah were gone, his mind hollow by comparison to his old collective standard. No Speaker to guide, no Threat to empathize, no one… Their city, their Tesh III, was empty. Between bouts of that physical heart ache, he fought his way back into the city, into his own mind. But all he’d found there was silence. The formed energy, the constructs of their expressed intent standing in empty memorial. The octagonal high-rises still filled with self-made works and energy approximations. The blank space that used to dominate the central plaza had been filled back in, a starlight monument in place of the Ark sliver, which was completely absent from his head. The simulated environment still artificially cold, but horridly still. He had been left with nothing but himself, not even an abyss to take it all away.

The water from the sink tasted like lead as he splashed himself away from that spiraling drop. The drain held little of the sewer back and, despite repeated attempts, everything smelled of mildew. This was life now, a shit hole apartment all to himself. And for the first time in this life… He was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Whether they left him with purpose or by accident, there was little he could do. Beings of pure energy don’t leave anything behind for him to track. And this constant malicious heartbeat killed any focus he achieved before it could be truly useful. So there he was, without friends, without much power, and without the purpose he’d clung to for a decade.

What was left of yesterday’s bowl of cereal, a somewhat cold left over soda, and a freshly deloused couch were his final morning destination. At the very least this god awful apartment had a TV. One he’d coopted and tether to the good cable signal. He avoided the news like the plague. The feeling in his chest, when it wasn’t spiked with pain, exude that blind guilt he’d tried to suppress. A guilt that felt tethered to whatever had happened to cause this mess and put him on the run. But also a guilt that refused to show him that ultimate cause. That blind feeling from before was just a prelude to the hell he was living in now. Add in that he was living with an old torn open wound haunting his dreams, and the prospect of opening another he couldn’t even fathom kept his head as down as it could possibly go. Being depressed and sleep deprived was better than melting down and losing himself completely. But…

*bzt* *bzt* *bzt*

“…huggh” ‘There’s just nothing on.’

*bzt*

“…So how can we continue to accept their-“

*bzt*

‘Fucking hell no!’

The TV flipped off before the worst could be aired, dark screen reflecting Seth holding his head in his hands. Those assholes always knew how to rile people up for stupid reasons and with abhorrent motives. Deep down most supers just wished they could smash their studio to bits and end the torment, but he knew that would only empower them more. And draw all the hate they preach on him and anyone else with powers. The League as an institution had always drawn ire, but politics will never stop being cancerous. Especially with a place like this to point to.

This place… This Eagleville.

Seth pulled himself off the couch before he became a part of it, he needed groceries… And air. Stuffing his hair tight under his hat and practically turtling into his borrowed trench coat, he trundled out his rusty door. The rest of his apartment block was relatively quiet, more a product of the early hour than the actual attitudes. Just the one night made this place out to be the postmodern purgatory he felt it would be.

Situated just north of Kadia but separated by the foot hills and protected forests, it used to be nothing but vaguely owned woods, farms, and a sleepy scenic neighborhood. When the crisis hit it became the place where all the refugees were sent because it was the only flat land available to build on. Hundreds of thousands forced from their homes so they would survive when their towns were used as bomb ranges and kill boxes. Tents and rudimentary buildings were put together to care for them, though without any real permanency. But the location unfortunately proved equally useful as a port. The Plateau River that marked the far border was calmer than the Terrace, and could be built up more easily. So as the crisis expanded in scope, so too did the camp. The same slapdash construction used by the Wall’s support structure was started here, warehouses and factories stretching for miles upriver, with basic housing and services little more than an afterthought. That’s not to say it wasn’t done, but nothing was supposed to be permanent. But much of it was.

The poor state of the living conditions gave this place its name, an homage to the Hoovervilles of old, just attributed to the League and their war rather than Depression era policies. As the crisis wore on, the people left to live in this squalor at least had jobs. Someone had to work in all this logistical nonsense. But upward mobility was slow going for people who had little left and a lot demanded of them. When the crisis slowed in the end, those opportunities dried up with it, and people were stranded in barely functional tenements. Thankfully the years since had seen the population decline, programs running through every so often to get people out of a quickly dilapidating ghetto. But still some wouldn’t leave, or couldn’t. Thus it became an unfortunate permanent fixture, supported simply because living here was dirt cheap.

The street was hardly different from yesterday when Seth had walked it, just with less crowds looking to the news for answers and excitement. Gaggles walked up and down the main street to what jobs they could secure or whatever places still operated here, a few even trudging toward the foothills and the only active bus stop. What few cars on the road headed toward Kadia as well, those lucky commuters who found prospects and the barest amount of luxury in mobility. More homebound denizens were already sticking into their own morning routines. Laundry fluttered on balconies and communal rooftops. Lounge chairs in every state of disrepair providing what comfort they could to ease their charges awake. Windows and doors held open so the ac deprived could get the fresh air they needed.

‘Yep… it certainly is a living.’

No one batted an eye as Seth pulled himself along, few caring to pry into others’ lives. Least of all for people they don’t even know. All manner can end up here, either by volition or not. But a good number end up being supers bereft of legitimacy. And violence was an all too common occurrence. Once the population and property values hit rock bottom, the district turned virtually lawless. The League even stopped patrolling after a riot burned down their outpost and half the livable houses. A hero investigating a string of kidnappings ended up getting several people killed by just asking questions, anyone who talked to him ended up dead whether they were giving information or just directions. Most of the district demanded they leave, spurred on by intimidation and the constant disparity in the casualties. So they left, and never came back. Despite the fact that only a few miles of road and forest separated them. That’s why Seth chose to come here, and that choice ate away at his every step.

The police still come through from time to time, but most know full well they’re either token showings or just as dirty as the streets they patrol. To add to the scum, any cops sent are woefully under gunned for their situation. Most of the streets here were said to be controlled by various gangs, with the more dangerous ones being made up of rejected supers. The desperate, stupid, or unprepared had flooded into major cities when the League started up its recruitment drives. People wanted to be heroes, to have a purpose, to mean something to this world. But in much of the country they were met with abhorrent standards, utterly ridiculous challenges, and hostile trainers given far too much authority. The dropout rate skyrocketed, only the best of the best were even given a chance, while everyone else was left to wallow.

Work programs caught a good chunk of the dropouts. A desperate super with a useful power was worth a lot in a labor force practically driven by them. But that left out all those without marketable powers. Glass shard generation, minor psychic abilities, just plain old odd physical traits, the purely destructive powers that simply using resulted in irreparable harm to the user, the sort of stuff the League couldn’t train up to fighting level without causing significant harm to everything around them, or just the ones that couldn’t even be called powers. The lucky or prepared among these simply went back where they came from, but most weren’t so lucky. Cheap housing drew them into Eagleville, and nonexistent opportunities left them high and dry. And so a lot of dangerous, poorly trained, and disillusioned supers ended up here, and now carve the district into jagged territories with little permanence. Conflict a constant variable for even the smallest modicum of peace.

A peace Seth at least had as he walked toward the corner three blocks away. The traffic lights were little more than suggestions, if they even still lit up, so he didn’t wait for any sign to tell him he could cross. The air wafted thicker with the after effects of life here, mixed stenches of open sewer and second hand smoke with the lucky whiffs of old disintegrated mortar and morning cooking.

‘At least the food here smells good.’

The corner came up quickly and splayed out as the blocking buildings moved away. A slapdash street market was still getting prepped for the day, but already the atmosphere was improving. Cinnamon coatings, fried everything, handmade dough and home crushed spices. He could smell cornbread and hotdog water, chili powder and excess flour. The fact that such a place was hidden away from him before and situated in such a shitty place only added to his dour. Not to mention he would have to wait for it to even open in the first place. A defeated, and ravenous, sigh carried him away and into the corner convenience store, a pale loathsome compromise.

Short rows of small order supplies and a few hardened clear plastic barriers made the store out to be a shoplifter’s challenge, but the clerk at least appeared less hostile. Another shared nod of common courtesy with no ruse adding tension, just normal social awkwardness. A few other shoppers browsed about the aisles, but Seth couldn’t bring himself to make them out. Just normal people going about their day. The breakfast aisle was a quick first choice, more prepackaged cereal bowls to make the doubtlessly worsening mornings easier, the thought already driving him lower as he looked at the fruit flavored puff ball pack in his hand. A varied stack building over it as he shifted lanes. A quart of milk hung off a finger with no chance of sagging it down, at least he still had his strength to fall back on. A few sodas were clipped to the other hand as a couple of canned soups filled his palm, and maybe a can of refried beans just to top it all off. And lastly the chips were hugged to his chest by one arm, if he was going to be depressed he was going to have snacks. End of… discussion.

Odd nostalgia followed him to the counter amidst the other shoppers, even the worst event of his life still had good memories to it. Memories that clanked and beeped away as he placed down his supplies for the clerk to tally up. A cursory distracting scan of the counter tried to pull him away and back to the now. Every flavor of gum rowed up high, bogus energy pills, cigarettes of every shade and substance, donation placard to… to…

Seth shut his eyes, locked down as hard as he could, but his damn brain fired every neuron it could to reconstruct that sight over and over. The wall looming over him, the smell of phosphorus and burning desiccated flesh, the dusty grit on his hands and in his hair… and all of those eyes looking at him. Looking at-

“That’ll be $37.45”

The clerk’s almost forced smile filled his vision as the memories snapped away, all the fear still surging like he just stepped back in time to relive everything. Seth shook his head and gritted, getting a grip on reality.

“…Sorry.”

Before pulling out some money from his coat to pay up and keep the line moving. He could feel the worried eyes on him as he collected his bagged up supplies with his head weighed too low to see anything else. Quickly scurrying away, less concerned for the awkwardness and more to just desperately get away from that fucking placard.

‘Who the fuck would still be looking for donations for survivors anymore?!”

Everything was shot to hell, adrenaline dregs still pounding his heart, making that deep ache present for more than just his guilt. He paid the tantalizing smells of far better food nothing, because he had nothing left. He just kept walking back to his dingy apartment, on this bleak street, in this shithole place he now had to live in. His plastic bag of all his goods hanging as low as his cap, face masked to everyone, world reduced to just mildly trashed sidewalk and other people’s shoes. Crosswalks and rusting junkers on the side of the street. His grit let up as he neared his apartment, the rotted away tree planter a nice marker in this blinded out world. He looked up at last, few people left of the morning commute and a barely helping reaffirmation of his surroundings as he looked around. Still the same shithole but… he could feel something odd at his back. That tinge of eyes upon him. Eyes that exuded tension and malice in equal measure. But not recognition. Seth quickly pulled inside, rather avoid getting mugged if he could. Though it’s not like he couldn’t still beat the shit out of whoever it was, but attention was a bad thing right now. The sensation passed as the main door closed behind him, a sufficient deterrent it seemed.

His apartment was still the same as he left it, only way anyone could get in was break in anyway. His stacked up food stayed on the counter where he could see it, no trust placed in the cupboards to keep them protected. The fridge was at least secure, but still fairly iffy. Won’t get very cold and won’t make any ice. Seth tried to boost it a little but the problem was mechanical rather than electrical. But fuck it. At this point he felt he deserved to be miserable. Holding so much in and down was wasting him away. And it had only been a single day. He flopped back down on the couch, at least thankful it was qui- *POP*

He shot back up, frantic exacerbation facing toward the window. And the gunshot still bouncing around through the neighborhood outside. It wasn’t close, but it was still too much to ignore. Leaning on the sill and pressing close to the inoperable window, he scanned the side street that crossed into the main a few buildings up. The direction clear but bereft of sightlines. But his tension soon turned downward, slowly left by the wayside as life continued uninterrupted outside.

No turned heads, no cowering forms, not even a scream. Just another common occurrence that you had to live with here. A fact of everyday life. The gangs ruled the outer streets, never seeming to fight over the main. A peaceful façade against the outside world trying to pry, and the only place people could live in that relative peace. Burned in apathy, trained disregard, whatever the reason no one ever pried into others’ business. Even if it meant ignoring a murder right in front of you.

An ambulance siren finally cut through the glazing, contagious, apathetic trance eating away at him. One of the few services that still worked full time in Eagleville. It echoed off from the center of the district toward that solid fixture of white and red he saw earlier. He rubbed away his callusing empathy. Just as the victim was getting pulled out from a side street onto the main road. The poor guy on the ground was dead already, blood trailing along the sidewalk as a good samaritan, or the killer in question, dragged him out of the territory he unfortunately crossed into. Seth just stood at his window and watched as daily life continued despite everything. The body packed up and hauled off, the killing never even acknowledged as such, and the blood just left to dry and stain and wash away on its own.

‘I fucking hate this place.’

Sitting back on the spotty couch he couldn’t stop hating everything having to do with it. Everything that it stood for, the pain that it caused, the hypocrisy that it brought to light, and the fact that all of it was simply ignored by everyone. He couldn’t help remember his promise, his only damn goal in life. He wanted… needed to be a hero, to help people, to use this… this abhorrent power to do more than just destroy. But just as soon as he thought of it, he couldn’t stop feeling that amnestic guilt eating away at him, telling him he’d done unspeakable things without ever speaking them aloud. He wanted so badly to burst through that window, tear across the street, and slam into the person who murdered the man whose blood was still soaking into the sidewalk. But every time… every time he couldn’t even bring himself to look back at the window.

That murder happened hours ago, time disappearing and falling away into the pit of despair Seth had tossed himself into, he never even left the couch. A depressive cloud keeping him weighed down. The quiet din of the false peace outside the only sound. The quiet only helpful in leaving him to himself, letting him pull away from his downtrodden trance. An uneasy peace even for his aching heart. But more than enough to try and leave this shithole for a time, to try and visit the Garkah’s city again. But even that held little hope for him.

The ache in his chest subsided and he slipped back into his head, conscious mind shifting perspective deeper and deeper. A waiting body of solidified electrons left on a sitting stone in the city’s center. The cold simulated environment forcing him to shiver despite his lack of real nerve endings. The Garkah’s home planet was cold and their bodies run hot so this was comfortable to them for some reason. A longing look up and around showed him what he already knew. He’d already searched several buildings, and his time here was limited by his real body’s willingness to ache unexpectedly.

The high rise yurts were more like tall bunkers, windows sparse and their construction using lots of stone and metal, or at least their electric equivalent. Few outward doors as well, shuttering panels that folded up and down taking their place in alien sensibilities. Something about stooping low being a sign of respect, so a door you had to lift was purposeful. Once inside the interior was segmented by prevailing outer wall, a central room opening to each segment like an apartment hallway. Entrances and exits were opposite each other, stair ways crisscrossing up to each level. This building was home to a fair few scientists, personal rooms made up the bottom floors and work rooms the upper levels.

Seth went to reach down to pull up a shutter but remembered they were also power dependent, a bit of class restriction as well. The weaker the power the lower the stoop. An upward wave of a focused hand and the shutter clacked up like wood slats. The room itself was even more alien by human standards, seat backs being the more obvious omission. Sitting with a reptilian tail required a good bit of room so it at least wasn’t that alien a concept. Most of the work spaces were fairly wide as well, stone or metal formed into smooth high tables. Chairs usually matched the material aesthetics, but their seats were all a soft smooth stone. And always cold. Notably absent were hand tools, though some rooms had writing implements in the shape of bars made of iron shavings. In fact a lot of things were made of iron shavings. Screens, what looked like clocks, a few beds were even stuffed full of them. They really like metal. Or… liked it.

The room Seth entered wasn’t that sparse though, various experiments placed on as many stone tables as the room could hold. He chuckled glumly at the fact he’d stopped seeing the dense simulated environment as such. His mind adapting a little too well to the crafted surroundings. He palmed a few of the tables, iron shaving screens reacting and displaying information on the respective experiments…And reaffirming that he couldn’t read their writing. The Garkah learned to speak English from him, but they neglected to teach him… Garkish?

‘I really should have visited more often.’

Seth had gotten so used to speaking to them as a collective part of himself that he never even needed to learn their language. Though the collection of stylized scratch marks that made up their writing would have proved a difficult subject to learn. And he doubted the process they used would work in reverse.

He checked the other tables nonetheless, a threadbare hope that at the very least…

‘Uh.’

Seth stopped and stepped out of the room, checking the name on the door. One was illegible to him, but another below read Matterist in English.

‘Six weeks of nothing but naming paying.’

Matterist was a theoretical physicist by human standards, though his specialty was of course matter. Seth tried to remember what else he did but it was a little fuzzy. So many other similar scientists that it was hard to keep track of. He went back to checking tables, read out still in…

‘Fuck it! I’m calling it Garhkian, you can’t stop me.’

The screens showed mostly graphs and charts with variables in Garhkian, with adjacent paragraphs more than likely detailing what was meant by them. Seth sighed, still nothing legible. A cursory glance back around only at the various things being tested or displayed only cemented his disappointment. He couldn’t even tell what they were made of, let alone what they did. He walked out, another bust. But… he turned back as he left. The name plate had a symbol on it next to Matterist, one he’d seen on the smaller scale charts. It was a number, meaning this was just one of Matterist’s work rooms. He looked over at the next door in line, and sure enough there was Matterist again. He waved up the door slats, but what met him was completely different to the last room.

There was only one device in here, a large tunnel like structure with a considerable apparatus built up around it. A good bit of it looked unfinished, the inner simulation not fully formed into uncanny matter. But despite its incomplete state, it was on and humming away. Seth rounded it trying to get a good look, a ferro screen still active on one side. The text was still illegible but there were depictions, pictures. A figure that looked not too dissimilar to a human stood on a platform, a symbol flashing above it in a blue hue. Another image next to it looked like a hollow lightning bolt, followed by an empty platform like the one the human figure was on. The flash over the first image repeating every few seconds, and a button in the corner flashing a similar color.

Seth threw caution to the wind and pressed the button, iron shavings giving common resistance and clicking rather nicely. Suddenly, the machine died down its hum, tunnel in its center realizing its true surface as it slowed down, moving so fast it looked like a solid piece. In reality it was a maw of spikes, a few discharging between each other with simulated electricity. The machine turned off, hissing a burst of coolant from its apparatus. It had been running for a while. Except now its image had changed.

A red hue surrounded another human figure and a matching button rose underneath, flashing for attention. Seth pressed the new button and screen locked up, shavings a uniform surface. Fear he’d lost his only clue killed his focus, see through hands grabbing at the screen in desperate fashion, all an invitation for the ache to return. But, slowly, text started to form onto the solid screen… English text.

we are sorry seth

our sins must not be your demise

please forgive us

The ache in his chest rose, the city faded out as he couldn’t maintain his focus. Seth found himself back on the couch, depressive hollow memories refusing him peace as he gripped his chest in his hourly dose of concentrated torment. The symbols, the message, all of it just pointing to one single thing.

‘They’re alive.’

That machine, he’d seen it before. It was a teleporter, simulated but fully functional. They used it to save him, to toss him away, to give him a chance to heal… So they could take the bullet for him. It must have been too limited to take them with, only able to transport one being, body and all. But that still ment-

‘They’re still out there, maybe still in the suit… just waiting for…’

The depression drove his elation around, churned it to something else. The invisible scar over his chest demanding restitution.

“ghrrr…!” ‘I can’t get them back, not like this.’

Seth looked out the window, a seething breath trying to kill the pain, resolve fighting the weight of his soul. The sun was down, night in Eagleville worse than what the depressive atmosphere of the day could cause.

‘I… “Grrhh!” I need to be the hero I promised I would be.’

He pulled himself up, ache in his chest screaming at him.

‘I won’t let this power go to fucking waste damn it!’

A shaky breath steadied him, the ache being forced down by resolve and need for action. Even hardcoded guilt couldn’t fight him forever. He pulled around and eyed his stolen disguise, coat and cap draped on a kitchen chair. He was going to do something about this injustice, and be the hero he knew he had to be.