Sirens blared. Ambulances rushed to the scene. Crowds gathered around, bitterness and pain heavy in the air—a life withering away before their eyes. Though the young man was rushed to the hospital, there was no way someone could survive a shot to the head. Even in this technologically advanced era, the chances of survival were slim. The city could only watch as a promising star of the police faded at a young age.
The news struck hard at the Hero Building. The young man had been a huge help to them, even though he wasn't a part of the Association. But there wasn't anyone in the whole building who the loss would hit more than Timothy Slinger.
Timothy locked himself in his room. He switched off his phone, sat on his bed with the lights off, and let the moonlight spill across him. His head bowed, tilted to the left. His eyes looked hollow, like the sight had been drained from them. This wasn't the normal look he wore—but who could expect the norm? This was a man who had just added another loss to his collection of the dead.
Timothy's head buzzed with thoughts, voices—different ones. They played like radio tracks, switching from station to station:
You've killed another.
Useless man, you've given your omen of loss to another family.
When will you learn that your existence is meaningless?
And then, in chorus, they said together:
Just take the life away—you're worthless.
He didn't move from the spot. Sorrow weighed on him like chains.
[Narrator]:
😞😞 You lot might be expecting me to speak, but what's there to comment on? A life has been taken.
The night pressed on. Police searched for the perpetrator but found nothing. The city and its people could only accept that blood had stained their home.
****
A week had passed. The city was still mourning their loss. Today, the young life taken was ready to be buried. Chairs had been set, the altar prepared, podiums arranged. By noon, the burial would take place in the city's graveyard.
Noon came fast. Offices closed early; the self-employed and unemployed all prepared to leave for the burial ground. Though not everyone was attending—it wasn't compulsory—most of the city felt they should honor the life of young Cecil Edgar.
The Hero Association also prepared to leave for the burial. The Commander and her trusted assistant, Johnathan, had left earlier. Before she departed, she told Raymond to go speak with Timothy.
Raymond wore a dark suit, ponytail tied neatly, hands in his pockets. He walked to the doors of Timothy's room, knocked, but received no response.
He sighed, calling out, "Timothy, I know you can hear me. I'm leaving for the burial."
Timothy still didn't respond.
Raymond breathed in and out, worry pressing on him, and said, "I don't have the right to tell you not to feel sad, not to feel broken. I don't know anything about you, don't know how many losses you've had. I know I don't actually mean anything to you."
Raymond chuckled faintly, forcing a smile. "Please, we've only known each other for barely a month." He pressed his hair back, licking his lips. "Don't take this the wrong way. Losses are traits of being human. We win and we lose, but I can tell you've lost more than you've won. You have people around you now, meeting new people. I know it's hard losing a friend, but we're here not just as partners, but as friends—to help you carry that burden and let loose those chains."
Raymond stepped back from the door. "I'm taking my leave now. I called Larry; he said he'll join me there. In case you're coming, the code is the usual—black outfit."
With that, Raymond picked up his pace toward the elevator.
Still, after all this, Timothy Slinger didn't make a sound. Soon, the building grew empty of officials; most had left for the burial.
****
The burial ground held hundreds, all dressed in black—women with scarves, men with caps. Captain Dicksen took to the stage.
"I'm saddened to lose a colleague, a son, a friend. Cecil Edgar was the man I would have trusted with this precinct—you can ask any of my officers if you don't believe me. He worked harder than any of us, taking shifts that weren't his. Someone saw him having a good life and decided to cut it short."
Cecil's parents sat in the front row. His mother was full of tears; his father could only hold her and shed his own.
Dicksen's speech went on. Seated at the back were two familiar figures: Raymond Miller and Larry Stones.
"He's not showing up, is he?" Larry asked.
"He could," Raymond replied, "but the chances are slim."
Larry, wearing pity on his face, said, "Sorry I couldn't be around for all this."
Raymond let out a small smile. "Ah, no problem. You've got the license now."
Larry nodded and smirked. "Yeah—now a full-fledged hero." His eyes brightened with realization. "Bad manners, I forgot to introduce you two."
Raymond looked confused. Larry tapped the person beside him. "Max, this is Raymond. Raymond, this is Max."
Both men shook hands. The man Raymond shook had blonde, curly hair, a bright smile, and brown eyes. Max said, "Can't believe I'm actually meeting you in person."
Raymond's brows rose. "Oh—nice to meet you, too." He turned to Larry, silently asking what was happening.
Larry smiled. "Don't stress. He knows—he's a you-know-what."
Raymond, now understanding but still puzzled, thought: Was he deployed here? That's possible.
Suddenly Raymond's phone buzzed. A message popped up: Turn back. Sender unknown. Raymond looked confused, then turned and saw two men by a tree in dark glasses. Their posture was familiar—one Raymond had seen before.
He called to Larry. "Hey—let's go."
"To where?" asked Larry.
Raymond pointed, and they walked over. Even then, the men's faces were hidden behind dark shades and caps.
A familiar voice said, "It's been a while, Larry."
They knew the voice—it was Timothy's. Larry spoke fast. "Yeah, same. Sorry about the—"
Timothy cut him off. "It's fine. I'm just a little stressed out, that's all."
The other man was Derick. "Don't let him gaslight you—when I saw him, he looked so malnourished."
Raymond cut in. "Well, Derick, that's because he hasn't eaten for days." He turned to Larry. "Didn't think you were going to show up. What changed?"
Timothy spoke in a low tone. "It's nothing. I just—" He paused, then said an unexpected word: "Thank you."
The words felt like wind through Raymond. He broke into a hearty smile and let out a short laugh. "Why thank me? You don't need that."
Derick interrupted the heartfelt moment. "You're the guy in the fancy suit, right?"
The words hit Larry. He felt disturbed. "Don't you ever call it fancy—it's worth a billion Cellies. Aren't you the guy that caused chaos at the zoo?"
Derick bristled, frowning. "Caused chaos? I stopped it. Look at this dude."
An argument was brewing, but Raymond cut them off. "Enough—this is a burial ground, not a talk show."
Both fell silent. The Captain continued his speech, but people began to leave. At first it was normal—until a certain group rose from their seats and walked to the front row.
They wore black hoods. Everyone watched in confusion as the men stood there doing nothing—then, from their pockets, they produced guns. Screams erupted from the front rows. Police on guard rushed toward them, but they were too late.
The men did something unusual: they pointed guns to their own heads and fired.
Screams and shouts filled the air as citizens ran helter-skelter. The police scrambled to coordinate, but they couldn't stop the chaos.
"What the hell is going on?" Larry shouted.
Timothy bowed his head, his mind racing for an answer. "That superhuman is here," he said.
Just then, two unknown men appeared across the field, holding cardboard signs that read:
THIS IS JUST PHASE ONE.
Those words were threats to everyone around. Timothy's heart pounded. "Raymond—what are we going to do?"
Raymond, surprised by Timothy's question—Timothy was usually the one with solutions—found himself unsure. His eyes were sore. "I don't know."
"I'm going to go after those guys," Larry called out. "You two do what you can."
Raymond nodded. He then realized Derick wasn't with them—he had gone for a piss. Timothy didn't have the strength to move, but he needed help. "Timothy, I'm going to go find Derick. You stay here."
He ran toward where he'd last seen Derick.
****
Minutes earlier
"Ahhh, I feel relieved," Derick said, smiling.
His phone rang. The caller ID read: Jean.
"Hey," Jean said.
"What's up, Jean?" Derick asked, answering joyfully.
She replied, "What's up is… I want you to kill."