[b]UNDISCLOSED APARTMENT, SOMEWHERE IN CHICAGO
6:00 PM[/b]

Sitting in his apartment in a revolving office chair, dressed in full vigilante attire, Steelheart was carrying far more burden in his hands than any man should have to bear, even one in his disposition. He was in the middle of making an dreadfully important decision, one that could decide the fate of not only his life, but the lives of every citizen of Chicago.

[i][color=lime]Now, which filter looks best on this picture?[/color][/i]

Clicking through the Instagram interface, Steelheart tried on filter after filter, looking for the one that would set the mood perfectly. He spun around in his seat, a part of him knowing that he was only trying to distract himself from the nerves that had plagued him for who knows how long. Of course he had plenty of reason to be nervous; anyone would be if they knew that a group with the skill and lethality of the Iconoclasts was on a witch hunt to exterminate everyone who chose to live a life like his. And yet, on the other hand, he just could not decide whether a Gingham or a Slumber filter looks better on the picture. "[b][color=lime]If there's one thing that you can credit Instagram for, it's that they've got an innate amounts of filters to choose from,[/color][/b]" he mumbled to himself. Finally becoming frustrated and choosing one at random, he took a moment to look at the picture that would soon worm its way onto every Instagram user's feed. This was a simple one, a selfie that he took on an entirely white background. Gone was his usual cheesy smile, duck face, or obscene hand gesture, he held himself with a serious air that most would find out of character of him. Below the picture was a small caption that read:

"[i]The Iconoclasts plan on coming to this fair city with their minds set on nothing but murder. I truly hope that this is what they find in Chicago, although not in the way that they expect. Wish us luck. Or not. I really couldn't care less.

-You know who it is ;)[/i]"

Taking a small breath, he clicked his computer mouse and sent the picture to the masses, via an untraceable bot account that he had whipped up. He could imagine that tech geeks everywhere were baffled by his methods and envious of his talent, a thought that often brought a smile to his face. Still, there was more reason than this post for him to delay hitting the town. Indeed, Steelheart had been spending the past few months preparing for that fated night when Death would come knocking on his doorstep. He knew that, in preparation for the bloodbath, some vigilantes would attempt to hide and cower rather than fight the group face to face. Thus, all of the billboards that he had managed to hack across the city, rather than displaying a constant stream of beautiful, beautiful memes, displayed a rallying cry of sorts to every vigilante in the city. Mostly, they were filled with motivational bullshit that had happened to come to mind while he typed, but he hoped that they would be enough to turn up a few more heads and give the Iconoclasts a run for their money. He had also spent plenty of time gathering equipment, making sure to stock up on nylon rope and pepper spray, should they be of use. Alongside his baton, he carried a weapon that he would normally never touch: a .44 Magnum revolver. Under usual circumstances, Steelheart was never the sort to pack any heat, but he knew that these circumstances were not usual in the slightest. He would try to avoid using it until it was absolutely necessary, but this was more out of safety than any moral standard. He only had basic knowledge on how to fire and reload the weapon, making him just as likely to shoot his own foot than a threat. Also, if the gun jammed for any reason, he would be clueless on how to repair it. As he checked his phone to find the weather, he stated, "[color=lime][b]If I don't carry it around nowadays, there's a good chance that any night could be my last. Simple as that.[/b][/color]" He frowned at the rainy forecast for tonight that he had received from his phone; his good old rope always served him well, but it was notorious for becoming slightly weaker when wet. Still, he shook his head and glossed over this, especially when he thought of his final preparation, the "pièce de résistance" of all of his paranoia and planning.

Although it had taken considerable effort on his part, as he was certainly no seamstress, Steelheart had installed an extremely small waterproof camera into his black shades about six days before. It was certainly not something that went unnoticed, but anonymity was not his goal. This was really more of a project for him, something to work for. As he went around town and performed his daily acts of vigilantism, he would record every second of it. Eventually, as he suspected that it would take weeks, once he had enough footage, he would cobble it all together into one video and hack into every news station in Chicago and stream the video. It would be the most difficult feat that he had ever tried to pull off, but he personally hoped that it would shed some light on the work of a vigilante to the average Joe's out there. In the fight against the Iconoclasts, public support could do wonders. Or at least he thought it could. [i][color=lime]Besides, if we're able to defeat the Iconoclasts, then people might just stop seeing us as the bad guys.[/color][/i] As he stood from the chair and prepared to leave the apartment, he left it with one final thought.

"[b][color=lime]What have I got to lose?[/color][/b]"[hr]
[b]FULLER PARK
6:30 PM[/b]

If anyone were to ask Steelheart what had led him this far out of his territory, he wasn't sure if he could provide them a straight answer. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was plain instinct. No matter how it happened, he found himself wandering the alleys of Fuller Park tonight. If anything, he knew that the lower income neighborhood would have a bit more action, and he could always use a good chunk of footage. Still, even if he barely knew the place, something about the atmosphere felt... off, like the deceitful calm of the eye of the hurricane. Gripping his baton in one hand, with the other on the holster of his revolver, he crept through the alleyways, hoping to be the lucky one to catch some dirtbag trying to break the system. Although there were plenty more criminals than there were vigilantes, sometimes Steelheart felt like he couldn't take a step in the city without stepping on the toes of another of his own. It was probably one of the many reasons why he chose not to work with other vigilantes; everyone seemed to be in the game for a different set of reasons, a different style, and a different goal. He felt like once they all attempted to work together, the fragile system that had been created would crumble to pieces faster than a rotting Jenga gam-

"[b][color=lime]Oh, shit![/color][/b]" he shouted suddenly as he turned the corner and almost immediately hid back behind the building. Steelheart hadn't seen much, but it was enough. A car in flames, a crazed man with explosives, that was all it took for him to tell himself that he was out of his league. [i][color=lime]Don't think like that,[/color][/i] he thought halfheartedly to himself. Still, he knew where his priorities and strengths laid, sticking to the shadows, computing his way through obstacles. A face-to-face confrontation with an insane vigilante armed to the teeth with bombs was obviously not something that he was prepared for. No names came to mind of the man's name, but then again, Steelheart never really bothered paying attention to the acts of any other vigilantes either. It was the reason that he spray painted his alias onto his shirt in the first place. Everyone who saw him would know who he was. Returning to the present, he peeked around the corner and tried to see what else he could see. After a few moments, he noticed that he was not alone. Apparently, exploding a car in the middle of a street was enough to draw some attention from at least a few others. All of them vigilantes, from the look of it.

"[b][color=lime]Okay, so that was useful, I guess.[/color][/b]" Now that he had more information, Steelheart tried to make some sort of plan. Truth be told, he had plenty of options at his disposal. The first would be to try and sneak up on the nutcase with the explosives, knock him unconscious, and go from there. He would be at an advantage, considering how one of the vigilantes was going out of their way to provide a distraction of sorts. However, he was also far out of his territory and unfamiliar with his surroundings, so there was a good chance that he would get caught, and he had a feeling that getting caught would be the last thing he ever did. Another choice would be to try and solve this his own way: get a few good pictures of the guy and hook them up to his face recognition software. If there was one thing that Steelheart knew that every vigilante feared, it was getting their identities exposed. Of course, this was an unlikely course of action for many reasons. The software was still relatively unstable, and it would take twenty minutes at least for it to find a match. Also, if he wore a mask, as most of their kind dos, it would be almost impossible to get accurate results. Finally, he would have to get multiple high quality pictures of the bomb toting vigilante, and he couldn't think of a good way to get them. The only other option that he could think of, unfortunately, was not one that he even wanted to consider.

He could leave.

He could turn around and walk back to his apartment and leave this up to all the other vigilantes quickly swarming the area. There were plenty of them; surely, one of them would be able to resolve the situation. One of them must be better prepared, more daring, more willing to face a dilemma like this. In fact, the more that he thought about it, the more it felt like the only possible solution. He couldn't possibly try to take this guy down without being blown to smithereens, and that was not something that he wanted to face tonight. Or any night, for that matter. But if this were to end up on the news tomorrow, headlined something like, "Bomber in Fuller Park, 12 Killed, 30 Injured," could he manage knowing that he could've done something and walked away? With that thought, he came up with a different idea. [i][color=lime]Well, maybe I don't have to leave, but I don't have to go fight that guy "kung-pao guns blazing" either. Maybe I'll just wait until the situation either resolves or escalates. I'll decide what to do from there.[/color][/i] Making his decision, he slid back behind the building and watched the situation unfold from a distance. Perhaps it was a cowardly decision, but he thought that it was better than doing nothing.