Ultra City—an awe-inspiring metropolis of shimmering towers and pulsing neon. Its skyline glowed like a crystal crown under the twilight, alive with flying transports and holographic ads painting the glass surfaces with light. A futuristic haven teetering on the edge of wonder and chaos.
2042 May 21. 4:15 pm
On the corner of 9th Avenue, Royal Crest Bank erupted in alarms.
"Freeze! Nobody move!" Five masked bandits burst through the glass doors, armed with high-tech rifles, barking threats at civilians.
"Everyone on your knees, now! Faces to the floor! Anyone who doesn't comply gets their head blown off!" one robber shouted.
Everyone in the bank quickly obeyed.
"Where's the manager?" the gang leader yelled.
"I'm ri-right here," the manager stammered, fear shadowing his eyes.
One robber kicked him and growled, "Take us to the vaul—"
An arrow jammed into his chest, stealing the rest of his words.
THUMP! His body collapsed to the floor like dead weight, eyes wide in frozen shock.
Gasps rippled through the lobby. A woman screamed. Someone dropped their phone with a loud clatter. Children clung to their parents. The silence that followed was suffocating until the second bandit shouted, "What the hell?!"
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. The sharp rhythm of footsteps echoed across the marble floor quick, deliberate... but no one was there.
Eyes darted wildly. "Who's moving?!" one of the bandits shouted, spinning in panic. Another step—tap-tap—closer this time. "Show yourself!"
A small canister rolled across the floor, hissing. Psshhhhh, white gas burst out, clouding the air in seconds.
"Gas!" someone shouted, coughing violently. "Where did it come from?! I can't see!"
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Footsteps echoed through the haze fast, sharp, unpredictable.
"Who's there?!"
More coughing. The sound of running—tap-tap-tap—circled them like a phantom. One bandit spun aimlessly, eyes stinging, weapon raised. "I swear if you don't show yourself—!"
THUD. A body dropped.
Gunshots fired. TAT-TAT-TAT!
"Whoever you are, you don't know who you're messing with!"
FLOOSH. An arrow flew.
"AHHH! My leg! My leg!"
The gang leader, shooting wildly, yelled, "If you know what's good for you, show yourself or I'm gonna start shooting these people!"
The civilians began to cry out. "Somebody help us! Help us!"
"You all better shut up, or I'm shooting!" he barked. "Hey mister, come out or people start dying!"
"Where—where is it?" he muttered, turning left, then right, trembling.
"Pfft, pitiful."
The thug was stunned. He couldn't fathom how the figure got behind him. Before he could react, the figure drove a sharp chop into the side of his neck.
THUD. His body hit the ground, unmoving.
As the gas cleared, the civilians looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of their savior.
Through the thinning haze, they found him—a lone man in a tactical dark green and black armored suit, standing calm amidst the wreckage, his high-tech bow still drawn for justice.
"It's Vilex!" one civilian shouted.
"I knew he was gonna show up!" another cried.
Before the crowd could start swarming him, he was gone.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The police were arriving, too late.
***
Meanwhile, beneath the towering Hero Association base an 80-story glass monolith—the underground bullet train hissed to a stop.
Out stepped Raymond Miller, better known as Frost. Athletic and refined, his sharp icy-white eyes contrasted his light skin and dark ponytailed hair. His coat, styled like a modern samurai's, flowed just past his knees—icy blue with silver accents, marking his elemental affinity.
In the lobby, he was greeted by two figures: Layla Bremm, her burgundy-red hair cut in a sharp bob and piercing green eyes, dressed in a tactical command suit. Beside her, the ever-calm Johnathan Flicker ash-blond hair tousled like he'd been working for hours, gray-blue eyes thoughtful behind a white tech-laced lab coat.
"Welcome to Ultra City, Raymond," Layla said.
"We've been expecting you," Jonathan added.
Raymond adjusted his duffle strap. "Nice to meet you too, Commander. I was told I'd be meeting someone?"
"That would be Timothy Slinger. You may know him as Vilex," Jonathan replied.
Raymond smirked. "Okay, I heard he skipped half the Hero Academy and still outpaced most field agents."
Layla chuckled softly. "Yes, he did. He's gifted. For five years now, he's been Ultra City's one and only hero."
"Wow... is he that good?" Raymond raised his eyebrows.
"The best of the best," Jonathan said, smiling.
"I'm finding it hard to believe what you just said, Commander," Raymond replied, still in shock.
The Commander offered a half-smile, arms loosely crossed as she watched his reaction. "Well, you'll find out soon enough—once you start working with him."
Moments later, Timothy entered the lobby, visor off.
He walked toward them with confidence. Slightly muscular, his build hinted at both strength and agility. His brown hair, styled cleanly into a fade mullet, framed a sharp, observant face. Deep brown eyes held a quiet intensity—always scanning, always calculating. Light-skinned and battle-tested, he looked every bit the man forged by discipline and fire.
"You must be the Academy graduate," he said, offering a hand. "I'm Timothy Slinger."
"Top of the class," Raymond replied, shaking it. "All sweat, no shortcuts."
Timothy's brow lifted. "I dropped out years ago... personal reasons."
"Oh," Raymond added. "I'm Raymond Miller, by the way."
***
Far away, in a temple lit with candles, Sage Micah meditated cross-legged. His brown eyes flickered open, robes swirling with arcane energy. Embroidered with glowing runes, his deep red cloak shimmered as the wind picked up.
"It's time," he whispered to the lady beside him.
"Are you really leaving?" she asked.
"Yes. Take care."
With a wave, he vanished into a portal of stars—his destination: Ultra City.
***
Beyond Earth's atmosphere, in the hull of a royal spacecraft, Rudy Atracius stood at the viewing panel. Warm bronze skin. Plaited hair in two long rows. A majestic ceremonial outfit adorned in golden patterns clung to him. Beside him, a semi-sentient staff pulsed with ember-like veins.
"My prince, please reconsider this," said an aide.
Rudy shook his head. "No. I'm going alone. If I find out that any of you are spying on me, you're dead."
The pod launched his descent marked by fire.
Not far behind, another meteor-like entry flared across the sky. From its crash stepped Jakson Alexandar. Lean but well-toned, his physique carried the grace of a martial artist—built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. His dark hair, styled in a tousled fade like a protagonist straight out of Author's POV, framed his face with effortless edge. His fiery orange irises, flecked with red, glowed like embers. His light tan skin, kissed by the sun, completed the image: a man forged by fire.
"Ow... I didn't think it was gonna hurt this much."
***
Inside the Hero Association HQ, alarms blared.
"We've detected two extraterrestrial entries!" a technician called.
Layla spun. "What?! Extraterrestrial? Looks like you two will be getting your first mission sooner than I thought."
She turned to her team. "Locations?"
"Different places, but both are converging on Broadway."
"Move out," she ordered Raymond and Timothy.
***
Elsewhere in a private lab, Maximus Alle, soon to be known as Superbolt, adjusted his goggles. Blonde curls bounced as he blurred through his workspace, concocting compounds at superhuman speed.
"Maximus! Take a break!" a colleague yelled.
"I can't. It's my project. One more test and I'm done."
In a second, he mixed chemicals and finalized his assignment. Then he bolted out to submit his work.
***
At a tech facility downtown, Larry Stones—future Hi-Tech—stood silently beside his father.
"Why are you giving this to me, Dad?" Larry asked, pale.
"You helped build the suit. No one knows it better," his father replied.
Outside, Ivy Madsen, Larry's PA, waited. Her braided black-and-silver hair glinted under city lights.
"You don't look excited."
"It's complicated, Ivy. Let's just go," Larry muttered.
"Where to now?" she asked.
"I don't know... just away from here."
They entered the vehicle and drove off.
***
On a grassy hill, Tyler Smith, known later as Thunderstorm, lounged inside his dark blue motorhome. His silver-gray eyes flicked toward the call.
"Tyler, fix the toilet!" Bethany called.
"I will... just not now," he replied.
"Fix it now, dummy!" Tomika snapped.
"But you broke it, Miks," he shot back.
"So what? It's still your job to fix it."
Bethany sighed. "He'll fix it, right?"
"I got it," Tyler said, rising. "Let me get dressed. I'll take you to work."
***
Back at the city zoo, Derick Andrew, aka Mega Panther, greeted a group of kids.
"Careful! That snake's cranky."
"Stop scaring the children, Derick," a coworker said.
Derick chuckled and slipped into the back to visit a panther cub.
"Hey, little one. Just saying bye before I clock out. See you tomorrow."
He grabbed his bag and exited the zoo.
***
In a quiet alleyway downtown, Rudy and Jakson crossed paths.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Rudy asked.
"I could ask you the same thing."
Before either could answer, Frost and Vilex dropped in from above.
"Move," Timothy warned. "Or you're both dead."
Jakson rolled his eyes. "Nice to meet you too."
Rudy crossed his arms. "Is this how you greet people who visit your planet? Rude."
"You broke Earth's barrier," Raymond said. "What did you expect, a welcome party?"
Layla's voice crackled over comms. "Take them out."
"Wait!" Jonathan protested. "We don't know why they're here."
"I don't need a reason. They invaded!" Layla snapped.
Jakson laughed. "Invaded? Seriously? I crash-landed into your stinker of a planet, my back still hurts, and you call that an invasion?"
Rudy nodded. "He's right. I'm a king, not a terrorist."
"If you're not a threat," Timothy said, "then come with us."
"Fine by me," Jakson replied.
"Cool with it," Rudy echoed.
Then a massive BOOM shook the street.
Raymond looked skyward. "What the hell just happened...?"
To be continued.