(Ash POV)
Night had settled over Midtown, but the streets still hummed with energy. Streetlights flickered, casting long shadows between buildings, and the faint smell of smoke and burnt metal lingered in the air from the chaos earlier. My chest still throbbed from the adrenaline, my arms and legs aching from running, diving, and throwing myself into harm's way.
I walked alone now, hood up, hands shoved into my pockets, trying to make sense of everything. My mind replayed the fight over and over: the drones, the sparks, the terrified screams of students, Peter diving to save Gwen, me catching MJ before she hit the floor, Jake and Noah calculating their way through chaos like it was some twisted video game.
I had saved them all. Or at least, I hoped I had.
And yet… Nick Fury. That one piercing eye. The way he had just stood there, watching. Watching me. Not the drones, not the kids, not the chaos. Me.
I stopped mid-step on a quiet street corner, feeling a chill run down my spine. Fury had been calm, composed, analyzing everything with that one-eye stare that seemed to slice through the chaos like a laser. And I couldn't stop thinking:
If he knows what I am… if he knows what I can do… will he approve? Or will I be a target?
I swallowed hard. The thought was terrifying. Fury wasn't just some authority figure. He was the ultimate test. The person who could decide if I was a hero, a threat, or just another reckless kid with powers beyond reason.
I kicked at a loose rock, sending it skittering across the asphalt. I almost laughed at myself. "I'm literally standing in the middle of the city, thinking about the consequences of being a superhero before I even morphed," I muttered under my breath.
The adrenaline was fading, replaced by exhaustion and doubt. My muscles ached. My chest still burned. And yet, part of me—the part that had moved instinctively to save Gwen, MJ, and the kids—was restless.
It was like a humming energy inside me, a quiet whisper, the same one I had felt from the morpher earlier. This is right.
I looked up at the darkened skyline, feeling the pulse of the city around me. Cars passed, oblivious to what had happened a few hours ago. People went home, ate dinner, laughed at trivial things, completely unaware that chaos had danced through their streets earlier.
And I realized something startling: I had liked it. Not the danger itself, not the explosions or sparks. But the act of saving people. Protecting people. Being the difference between fear and safety.
The thought made my chest tighten with something new—pride? Satisfaction? Fear? All of it at once.
But then reality crashed in.
Being a hero is terrifying. Being a hero puts everyone I care about in danger. Maybe I should stay quiet. Live a normal life. Go to school. Make friends. Avoid chaos. Avoid responsibility.
I shook my head. I could feel the hum of the morpher in my bag, soft but insistent. It wasn't forcing me. It was just… waiting. Waiting for me to make the choice.
I sank onto a bench, burying my face in my hands. MJ's terrified eyes, Gwen clinging to me, Peter panting and bruised—they all flashed in my mind. And somewhere in the back of my brain, Fury's gaze lingered, reminding me of the cost.
And then it hit me: the real question wasn't whether being a hero was safe. It wasn't whether Nick Fury would approve.
It was whether I wanted to stand for something.
I thought about the alternative: being selfish, hiding my abilities, pretending nothing had changed. Being normal. Safe. Invisible.
And then I thought about the kids, about Peter, Gwen, MJ. About how terrified they were, how lucky they were I had acted, how small acts could mean the difference between life and death.
I clenched my fists. The adrenaline surged again, pulsing through me like electricity. My morpher hummed in agreement. This is right.
I stood up, exhaling slowly, letting the tension leave my shoulders. "Alright," I whispered into the night. "I'll be a hero."
Not because it was easy. Not because it was safe. Not because I wanted glory.
Because it felt right.
Because I couldn't just walk away.
Because someone had to stand between people and the chaos that could destroy them.
I started walking again, slower this time, thinking about the choices ahead. The city didn't sleep, and neither could I—not if I wanted to make a difference.
I thought about the fights to come, the dangers I hadn't seen yet, the people I would have to protect. And yes, it was terrifying. Every step forward was a risk. But it was also exhilarating. Empowering.
I glanced at the darkened skyline once more. Midtown was alive. Vibrant. Dangerous. And now, so was I.
The night whispered possibilities, and for the first time since the drones attacked, I felt… ready.
I tightened my grip on my backpack, feeling the morpher pulse faintly against my side. The Grid was still inside me, still alive, still waiting.
And I made my choice.
I would be a hero.
The city might not know it yet. The world might not know it yet. But I did.
And that made all the difference.