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I had heard that things were bad in Lost Haven. I knew that there had been major riots throughout the city last night, but I was completely and utterly unprepared for what I saw as my car traveled through the streets, occasionally having to swerve to miss debris that was still strewn about the roadways. The burnt out buildings and sheer desperation that I saw on the faces of those who had lost everything was more than I could stand. 

“Stop the car.” I told Brody, my driver.

Miss Winstone?” Brody asked. He was a good driver, and had served my family well over the years. He had a number of skills that he acceded at, however acting wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t hide the fear in his voice. “Here?”

“Yes.” I told him. “Stop here.” 

Although he had reservations about stopping in a section of town that had been so ravaged by the riots, he did as he was told. He guided the car over to the curb, and as soon as it came to a stop, I opened the door and stepped out. The smell of smoke was overpowering. I almost wanted to get back in the car and continue on my way to Winstone International, but I just couldn’t. Just down the street, there was a young immigrant family standing outside what had remained of their convenience store. The pain that these people must have felt as their livelihood burned to the grown must have been indescribable and I knew that I had to help them some how. 

I felt some responsibility for their suffering, as well as the suffering that everyone in the city had gone through over the last twenty four hours. I was given these extraordinary gifts, and aside from D-Day, I’ve done nothing with them. I let my city suffer and burn while I spent my time on business trips all over Europe. In fact, I was halfway home from Paris when I saw the report of the riots, when that walking tank brought that news copter down on that other meta…I have a responsibility to them too, and their families. I can’t just sit on the sidelines while this city goes to shit, I have to do something.

I owe it to them.