Meanwhile, Mightyfly was forced to dodge an endless barrage of traps, ranging from glitter-filled cannonballs to balloon saw blades that were unnervingly as sharp as their real counterparts.
He narrowly avoided multiple flying boxing gloves launched from hidden mechanisms, barely keeping ahead of each new hazard.
There was no moment of respite; even attempting to pause and catch his breath seemed to trigger yet another trap.
"Where did the Magician get all of these machines?" Mightyfly wondered, mentally comparing the contraptions to support gadgets designed to aid professional heroes—particularly those developed on I-Island, though these were only slightly less advanced. "Did she invent all of this herself?"
His thoughts were cut short when a massive slab of polymer clay shot from a concealed cannon and slammed into him, pinning him against the wall.
Despite his strength, he couldn't move. His energy reserves were too low to break free, leaving him helpless as several balloons drifted toward him.
From their markings, they appeared to be filled with sleeping gas—or something far worse, judging by the skull designs printed across their surfaces.
"No… move!" Mightyfly strained with every ounce of strength he had, but there was no escape.
Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the corridor into darkness as if someone had destroyed them. A shadow passed by Mightyfly, swiftly grabbing the balloons and hurling them far away.
He heard the whirring of machinery shutting down one by one, and moments later, the polymer clay binding him began to melt, loosening its grip and finally freeing him.
Dropping into a defensive stance out of pure instinct, Mightyfly fixed his gaze on the darkness. "Who are you?!"
"Jeez, you're really cautious, huh, Mightyfly?" The figure clicked on a flashlight, illuminating his face. "It's me. Sparrow. We met earlier, remember?"
Sparrow wore a dark gray mask that concealed most of his face, its upper portion shaded in dark brown. A pair of goggles with gray straps and circular red lenses rested over the mask.
He was dressed in a brown hooded jacket, the hood pulled up over his head and stylized to resemble a sparrow, complete with a dark gray beak, white markings along the forehead and sides, and an eye with a dark brown pupil.
Beneath the jacket, he wore a white suit secured with dark gray buckles around his torso. A dark brown pouch with multiple pockets was strapped to his upper left leg, and gray gloves covered his hands.
"Sparrow?" Mightyfly relaxed, the tension easing from his posture as recognition set in. "So you really were a superhero."
"Of course. Why else would I want to keep doing this?" Sparrow replied, studying him. "Are you okay?"
Mightyfly chuckled sheepishly at the question. "Yeah. I was just surprised."
"I used to be a sidekick to Knightowl back in New York," Sparrow continued, "alongside my cousin, who was also Sparrow. I got tired of the harsh training and wanted to live my own life. But once in a while…"
"You miss it," Mightyfly said knowingly. "The feeling. The urge." He understood all too well—ever since childhood, he'd felt an uncontrollable need to save others, even if it meant putting himself in danger. "But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your boss, especially after what happened earlier?"
"I had a suspicion," Sparrow replied. "I was investigating the devices used in the attacks. They all carried two brand logos—Tsurugi Industries and Hill Corporation. When I happened to pass by this bank and saw a crime in progress, I decided to look into it. While you were busy dealing with the traps, I stayed back and examined them. Every single one bore the Hill Corporation logo."
"Those gauntlets were made by Tsurugi Industries?" Mightyfly asked. "Could they have been stolen?"
Sparrow shook his head. "Tomoe Tsurugi runs a tight operation. Her company is extremely strict about security. If any of her technology had been stolen, the entire world would know by now."
"So… she might've willingly supplied those criminals?" Mightyfly said, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Sparrow nodded in confirmation, though Mightyfly knew little about the Tsurugi family.
"And Hill Corporation?"
"That's the strange part," Sparrow said. "Hill Corporation used to be owned by Olympia Hill's sister. It was shut down years ago after her sister's crimes as the supervillain Ignoblia came to light. I don't understand how the company is still operating. These devices are new—and Ignoblia isn't the type to give away her blueprints for free."
"Is Ignoblia still in prison?" Mightyfly asked.
"Definitely not," Sparrow answered. "But the prison she escaped from doesn't want to admit their failure, so her breakout hasn't been officially announced." His expression darkened. "That's why we need to apprehend the Magician. I need answers about where these inventions came from."
Mightyfly smiled. "Then let's work together. Want to be kamikotized?"
"No thanks," Sparrow replied without hesitation. "That power's too addicting to rely on." He paused, then added, "Besides, you'd only have a few minutes before you revert back if you empowered me, right?"
Mightyfly blinked in surprise. "How do you know that?"
"I might've done a little research on you a few nights ago," Sparrow admitted. "I was curious about this new hero." He turned and gestured forward. "Come on. Let's go find the Magician."
---
The Mime set more traps throughout the bank in complete darkness, his body aching with exhaustion from all the lifting and hurried work. Every muscle screamed at him to stop, to give up and surrender—but he knew his mother would find him and punish him for his laziness and disobedience.
Once he finished placing the last of the traps, he hesitantly pulled out a pistol containing only two bullets.
He carefully made his way through the darkness, trying to reach the ground floor without triggering any of the devices he had just set. He failed. Two spring-loaded boxing gloves launched suddenly and slammed into him, sending him flying across the floor.
Moments later, he was hit by fart balloons that burst on impact, nearly making him vomit from the unbearable stench.
His fear spiked when he noticed three harpoon cannons hanging from the ceiling, all aimed directly at him—the very same ones he had planted earlier for Sparrow.
The harpoon tips were non-lethal, but they were coated with a toxin that induced intense hallucinations before killing its victim slowly. There was no escape.
His mother would never come back to save a useless son.
When the cannons fired, the Mime squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying that his next life would be kinder.
Nothing happened.
The harpoons never launched. Instead, the cannons sparked and died, struck by some kind of EMP. The Mime opened his eyes to see Sparrow standing near the disabled weapons, while Mightyfly shielded him protectively.
"Are you okay?" Mightyfly asked, worry evident in his voice.
The Mime didn't know how to respond—especially not to such genuine concern from a hero. His body trembled violently as the realization of how close he had come to death finally set in. S
eeking comfort, he stepped forward and hugged Mightyfly tightly, catching the hero completely off guard. He didn't understand why, but for the first time in his life, he felt that he should trust someone—even if it meant disobeying his mother.
"It's okay. It's alright," Mightyfly said softly, hugging him back and gently patting his back to calm him.
"My aunt's training was harsh," Sparrow said, his voice filled with disgust, "but she was never cruel enough to force me into being a hero. That Magician doesn't deserve to be called a mother for turning her own child into a criminal."
"Are all the traps disabled?" Mightyfly asked.
Sparrow shook his head. "Only about sixty percent. That kid's good at placing traps… or maybe I'm just rusty."
"So what now?"
"First things first, we find the Magician," Sparrow replied, struggling to keep his anger in check. "It doesn't take a genius to see she's probably already escaped, leaving her own son behind."
Mightyfly turned back to the Mime. "Hey, it's okay if you don't answer. But do you know where your mother's hideout is?"
The Mime flinched at the question. He hesitated, torn between fear and loyalty. His mother had provided him with everything—how could he betray her trust? And yet, he also knew the truth: she treated him like a pawn, not a child, using him solely to spite the father he had never even known.
Noticing the conflict on his face, Sparrow knelt down in front of him. "Look. I know you don't want to betray your mother. It's not wrong for a child to love their parent, even when they've been treated badly. But that doesn't mean you should support her actions. No matter how you feel about her, you shouldn't destroy your own morality for someone who doesn't care about you."
The Mime listened carefully, still hesitant, but he knew Sparrow was right. He had only become a criminal because his mother needed him—not because it was what he wanted. His real dream was to become an actor like his father, but that future was slipping away the longer he remained tied to a dangerous criminal.
"Mime," Mightyfly said gently, "don't let your heart be swallowed by darkness. Don't let despair cloud your mind. You deserve better than this. Help us stop your mother before anyone else gets hurt. Be the hero this city needs."
Hero.
The word almost made the Mime smile.
When he thought of his mother, all he remembered was pain—brutal training, dangerous heists, and constant fear. Yet during his brief moments of rest, he would secretly read worn-out comic books about the United Heroez, inspired by their courage and devotion to protecting the city.
If there was even a chance for him to become a hero, he wanted to take it.
After a long pause, the Mime finally raised his hands and signed a confession."I… know the place. I know her secret hideout…"
Mightyfly smiled warmly and gently patted the Mime's head. "Thank you for your help."
"Thank you," Sparrow added. "You can guide us."
Sparrow fired his grappling gun and exited through the shattered skylight. Mightyfly lifted the Mime onto his back and followed with a powerful leap through the opening.
Once outside, the Mime raised his index finger and pointed in a specific direction, guiding them forward as Mightyfly and Sparrow followed without hesitation.