Orion Castor wished he'd paid more attention in drama school. His "intimidating samurai stroll" was hard to maintain when his knees were knocking. Citizens waved, their phones out. They saw the Gold Badge on his chest. They saw the prop katana. They saw a legend.
He saw a paycheck that barely covered his rent.
Just get to the cafe, Orion. Get a coffee. No monsters today. Please.
A shadow fell over him. He looked up, expecting a cloud. It was a boy. A small boy, strapped to a clunky jetpack, zipping erratically thirty feet overhead.
"What in the—" Orion muttered.
A deeper, more menacing shadow followed. A Pterodactyl-like creature made of office supplies—a "Terror-dactyl"—swooped down, its beak open to screech a challenge directly at the city's greatest hero.
Orion froze. This was it. The end.
A high-pitched whine cut through the air. A beam of blue light lanced from the boy's jetpack, hitting the monster. It didn't explode. It… stapled. The creature folded into a neat, compact cube of paper and metal, which plummeted and landed in a recycling bin with a soft thud.
The boy, without a glance, shot off sideways, his jetpack sputtering.
The crowd erupted. "HE DID IT! ORION'S INTIMIDATING AURA PARALYZED THE BEAST!"
Orion stared at the recycling bin, then at the sky where the boy had been. His "Cataclysm Blade" aura of pure panic faded.
Who was that kid?