(Ash POV)
The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but Midtown's streets were already alive with the usual chaos—cars honking, vendors setting up, people rushing to work and school. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of exhaust and freshly baked bagels. Most of it was mundane, ordinary… normal.
And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that normal was over for me.
Yesterday had changed everything. The drones, the chaos at Midtown, the first morph—I had saved people, faced real danger, and walked away alive. But the reality of it all weighed on me like a heavy backpack full of bricks. Every step I took reminded me that the world was bigger, stranger, and far more dangerous than I had ever imagined.
I walked the streets carefully, my morpher tucked safely in my backpack. I hadn't activated it since the bank incident, not because I didn't want to, but because I needed to think, to understand, to plan. The Grid's hum inside me was steady now, like a heartbeat, reminding me that I wasn't just a kid anymore. I was… something else. Something powerful.
I passed familiar streets, noticing faces I recognized—baristas, pedestrians, a kid who always skateboarded near the corner. Each one of them was unaware of the dangers lurking, unaware of the kind of chaos that had rained down yesterday. And that thought tightened my chest. I had a responsibility now. Responsibility wasn't just about heroics. It was about making choices. Smart ones. Calculated ones.
As I rounded the corner toward Midtown High, I sensed it before I heard it—a shift in the air, a subtle energy spike, like the world itself was holding its breath. My hand instinctively went to the strap of my backpack, my fingers brushing against the morpher. The pulse was faint but distinct, warm and insistent.
"Not now," I muttered under my breath, trying to calm the thrum inside me. But the Grid's voice—or whatever that subtle whisper was—didn't relent. It nudged, pushed, insisted.
And then I heard it.
A shout, sharp and terrified, echoing from a nearby alley. My heart leapt.
I ran toward the sound, vaulting over trash cans and dodging a loose fire hydrant that had been cracked open by someone—or something—earlier. The closer I got, the more chaos I saw. A group of masked figures were surrounding someone—three teenagers. MJ, Peter, and Gwen.
My chest froze.
Not far from them, the attackers had improvised weapons—pipes, chains, and what looked disturbingly like energy blasters. They were calm, precise, methodical. Like professionals, or worse, like they knew exactly what they were doing.
And yet… they hadn't noticed me yet.
I crouched behind a dumpster, evaluating the situation. Heart pounding, sweat dripping down my forehead. The Grid's hum grew louder, almost impatient. My instincts screamed at me: Move. Save them. Now.
I glanced at Peter—he was trying to push the attackers back, using quick thinking and improvised moves, but he was outnumbered. MJ was frozen in fear, her backpack ripped open, papers fluttering like startled birds. Gwen tried to flank one of the attackers, but a pipe swung toward her head.
Without thinking, I lunged. The world slowed for a fraction of a second, the Grid guiding my movements. I grabbed Gwen's arm, yanking her down, while my other hand knocked the pipe aside with a satisfying clang. Sparks flew where the metal collided with the pavement.
"Who—who are you?!" Peter shouted, surprised and relieved.
"I'm… I'm the guy keeping you alive!" I snapped, sprinting toward the attackers, every motion precise, controlled, and deliberate.
One of them turned toward me, swinging a chain. I ducked, rolled, and grabbed a nearby trash can lid, using it as a shield. The chain clanged against metal. I shoved forward, knocking two attackers off balance. MJ screamed and dove behind me as I pushed forward, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Each move was calculated, a mixture of instinct and strategy. I wasn't just reacting—I was leading, protecting, controlling the chaos. Every time a teenager fell back, every time a pipe or weapon missed its target, I felt something strange: satisfaction. Pride. A surge of purpose.
I realized, as the attackers regrouped, that I didn't want to just save people. I wanted to protect them. I wanted to stand between danger and anyone who couldn't defend themselves. The thought was terrifying—and exhilarating.
Another swing, another dodge, another precise counter. I moved like a storm contained within human form. Sparks and debris flew, and in the chaos, I caught sight of something familiar in the distance: Nick Fury, standing atop a nearby building, observing silently.
My chest tightened again. Fury's presence reminded me that this wasn't just about saving my friends. It was about choices, consequences, responsibility. Could I handle being a hero if the world was watching? If Fury was judging?
I ignored the fear. Not now. I had to act.
I shoved one attacker into another, then grabbed a loose pipe and twisted it aside, knocking a weapon from an attacker's grasp. MJ and Gwen scrambled to safety behind me. Peter used the distraction to disarm another attacker. We were gaining ground, slowly, step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat.
And as I looked down the alley, seeing the attackers retreat, seeing my friends safe, something inside me solidified.
I was a hero.
Not because it was easy. Not because it was safe. But because I had chosen to be one.
The Grid pulsed warmly in my chest, approving. The city was alive, dangerous, unpredictable… and so was I.
And this time, there was no hesitation.