[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/RkFZD7E.jpg?1[/img][/center] [hr] “ Hey. I made your favourite cup of tea. I know it’s been a while but a lot of things have happened since you….......we last met. ” A pause. “ I broke my arm. I found out that my chemistry teacher was a retired burglar. I shoot electricity out of my hands now because I, uh, touched some weird, funky tear gas. I wish I could tell you everything. If you were still here. ” He sets the cup gently onto the beaten, mossy headstone. The taste of the chamomile is like that of a warm fireplace. “ You once told me everybody has a choice in Dakota City. I don’t tell this to everyone but….I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m not making the right choices. And believe me, the hardest part is having to live with them. When I first got these powers, I thought I could do nothing wrong. Now? I’m not so sure anymore. ” He sips more slowly. “ I wonder about him sometimes. He’s either proud, disappointed, angry, happy or all of those things at the same time. It seems...weird, doesn’t it? That my first instinct with my powers was to go out and fight crime. Just like him. …..Maybe, Lightning Junior is a good name for me.” The sun is setting quickly now, the Dakotan sky darkening into a lush purple. “ D-do you believe that he’ll see the both of us again? That he’s looking out for me in secret? Not that I’ve forgiven him…..I wonder if you would have after what he did. ” Silence is his only reply. “ Well, wherever he is, if I see him again, I’ll make sure he’ll come visit you first.” By the time he stands up, there’s dirt staining his pants. “ I’ve gotta go now, but don’t worry. I’ve got more visits planned in the future. Just for you especially. You’re the real superhero of Dakota City, not me.” An awkward shuffle. “ Well, bye then. I’ll always be here for you. ” [hr] The doctors had taken him off painkillers after a day, despite his complaints. Herman had preferred being lucid instead of having to deal with the annoyances of reality. One of those annoyances was his student who was also the crime-fighting vigilante known as Static. The teenage superhero was out of costume, currently bombarding him with chemistry questions. He’d claimed that his excuse was that he’d happened upon his hospital during his patrol but Herman suspected it was more likely due to an upcoming test. “ See? I’m telling you right now, Mr Schultz, this question straight up doesn’t make sense!" “ I’m surprised the school managed to find a substitute teacher so quickly.” Herman speaks casually whilst scanning through the question vexing Virgil, mind working at breakneck speeds. “ By the way, you forgot to take into account the fact the london dispersion forces generated by that long hydrocarbon chain. That’s why it’s B instead of C.” Herman gives the question back. Virgil’s mind lacks a certain intuition, one honed from years of experience, but his mind eventually reaches the same conclusion at a slower pace. He wordlessly scribbles the correction without a verbal complaint. Minutes pass, Herman offering a few scant words of assistance every now and then. Virgil pays with rapt attention to every question, his hands no longer skittish with the jitteriness of caffeine. The pallor in his brown skin has returned. His eyes are no longer bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. His shoulders are more loose and relaxed as if a weight has been lifted. He guessed even superhero vigilantes needed leaves once in a while. That or he took his advice literally to heart. “ Did you really have to give yourself up to the police?” asks Virgil, out of the blue in the middle of solving a particularly difficult question on nucleomagnetic resonance analysis. Herman’s mood becomes sour. He pulls at the handcuff stapling him to the bed. It would be so easy to lockpick and free himself but it would only make him look worse in the end. The two police officers guarding the entrance to his hospital room wouldn’t help matters. He remembers the moment when he offers himself up to Dakota PD, cuffs slamming on both of his wrists, during the day when Static beats Buchinsky to a pulp. The person who should have no reason to ally with him, the antithesis of who he was, defended his right to a fair trial, in spite of his numerous crimes. Witness reports helped turned the tide in his favour. “ Not giving myself up would raise more questions than answer them. “ Herman then smiles. “ Besides, we can’t have our local town hero openly fraternizing with a bank robber, can we?” Virgil snorts at the thought of the media capturing him in the act. He’d had enough of the hordes of hungry journalists and reporters begging to interview him after the live incident with the Electrocutioner. “ That’ll be a headline.” They continued in silence for a while. Virgil casually summons a metal ruler over towards him, a web of electricity attracting it to his hand. The one security camera focused on the two of them is currently glitching out from static interference, hospital workers waiting for the repairman to arrive and hoping dearly that the career criminal would escape in the mess. It’s not like the cause of the issue would be a teenager abusing his control of one of the four fundamental forces of the universe. Herman picks up a folded newspaper from a reputable gazette, flipping through the pages. “ So, you’ve been taking it slow? Nice and easy like I told you yesterday?” “ Yes, granny Schultz. ” Virgil relents slightly under Herman’s pointed stare from behind his paper. Ever since he’d collapsed in exhaustion from a long midnight patrol in Sadler during History, Richie and Herman were looking over him like mother hens. Besides, he’d improved to 3 hours of sleep everyday. It was an improvement over the half-hour naps he’d managed when he first patrolled Dakota City. “ Maybe, you should go up to Washington Avenue sometime next month.” Virgil doesn’t get the chance to ask what he exactly means; a thrown newspaper with a folded page is explanation enough. [center][h2][b] UNKNOWN VIGILANTE STRIKES AGAIN IN WASHINGTON AVENUE[/b][/h2][/center] [i][center]By Augustus Freeman[/center][/i] [center][i]Dakota PD officers have apprehended suspected narcotics smuggler, Dylan Burr, after being discovered unconcious and tied-up in an Washington Avenue alleyway with several scratch marks on their face. The 21 year old reportedly stated after interrogation that the attacker was armed with claws like "Freddy Kruger". Dakota officers believe these markings bear resemblance to reports relating to a vigilante that has been operating in Washington Avenue. There have been no official statement whether there is any relationship between the individual and the Big Bang incident that occurred on Paris Island. Burr is expected to serve .........[/i][/center] “ Anyone you know?” Herman remarks as Virgil reads through the rest of the article before giving it back. “ It’s probably just some rabid dog that attacked them. The local animal shelters have been flooded since the Big Bang anyway.” Virgil returns back to his work, although, Herman can see that the seeds of curiosity have been planted in his mind. Herman finds it amusing that a teenager who can make metal move with his mind finds the idea of another vigilante to be improbable. “ I’ve heard down the grapevine that the Kilowatt Kid will attending a charity basketball match tomorrow hosted by Freeman Community Center.” Herman raises an eyebrow in concern “ Aren’t you worried about your Dad or sister finding out about…..?” He doesn’t need to complete the sentence for Virgil to fully understand. Virgil stops writing, setting the pen down. It zips to the railing of Herman's hospital bed with a clang, magnetized by the build-up of static in Virgil's palm. “ I’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” He replies, looking unsure of himself. The hands on the clock then strike to four in the afternoon. Virgil begins to collects his books. “ I should go now. Me and Richie are gonna have to be at 8-Bit Central early before Maximum Radical 4 is sold out. ” Herman tries not to cringe at the title. Taste was something that the newer generations lacked in compared to the old ones. Just as Virgil begins to leave, Herman's mouth moves open but no words come out at first, muscle and mind uncoordinated. “ W-WAIT! I just remembered. I called up a few reliable contacts through a secure line. Since you lost your costume a couple of days ago and I’m partially responsible for the tech Buchinsky used against it, I figured I’d owe you one….” Herman took out a cardboard box from underneath his bed. It’d taken days for Melvin to fufill his requests but the former criminal now turned professional clothier insisted he needed time. He offers the box towards Virgil who slowly opens and peeks into it, taking the entire costume piece by piece for him to see. It's an urban evolution of the dingy thrift shop apparel that Virgil has worn in his current tenure as Static. Strips of sea blue and bright yellow run across glossy black fabric, that when rubbed between Virgil's fingers, brings memories of rainy days and ponchos in Herman's mind. Whenever Virgil runs his static-laced hand through the contours of the costume, blue and yellow fabric become neon for a few seconds before fading away. Herman concludes that Melvin Potter does good work. “ You like it?” Virgil smile lights up like a Christmas tree when he lifts up the inner shirt, a golden lightning bolt surrounded by a circlet emblazoned in the center. “ Like it? I love it!” [hr] It's been 3 months since she last visited the surface. Gale misses the kiss of the sun on her now permanent alabaster skin.The moon is an eternal vigil above him, assuaging her fears of boiling to death when the sun comes up. Her fellow night-breed follow behind her, guarded, tense because Paris Island is a land frozen in time. Houses have been evacuated, ships have been left to dry on the dock where sea-water batters endlessly against them and grass has eaten through the concrete. They approach a chain-linked fence, a hastily taped sign saying "WARNING: HAZARD" to the main gate. There’s a screech in the air as the wind rustles, a indistinct large shadow flying down towards them . Her lieutenant, Tech, pulled out an umbrella and twists the grip, transforming it into Gale isn’t sure of how enhanced intelligence translates to holding a man-sized cannon without being crushed under its weight. She could fit her head in the bore of the barrel. “ Give the word, boss, and I’ll smoke her.” “ Wait.” Gale lifts up her hand. “ She’s not here to hurt us.” “ Who is she, then?” Tech asks. “ The greeter.” She recognizes the winged meta-human from her actions during the Week of Terror. Talon. The enforcer of the Meta-Breed's leader from what she heard. Beady eyes stare at her like a hawk as Talon perches on top of a crane. The one-inch long daggers that are responsible for her namesake clack on the rusting steel. Gale is almost expecting her to caw when she opens her beak-like mouth to speak. " He's coming. Wait for him and don't even think about leaving." Talon swoops off into the night, the moon illuminating her feathered figure before she disappears into the clouds. Gale only has to wait a few minutes before various bang babies come out of the shipping containers like termites. They’re surrounded. Is this supposed to be some sort of indirect threat? A show of strength? One of them, a red-headed caucasian, looks at her with an arrogance born of a person who's used to getting what they want. She almost mistakes him for being normal until she sees the sphere of fire bouncing up and down his hand like a baseball. Itching for a fight. There's a yelp at the back of her group, Gale turning around to see what the commotion was all about. Their shadows are bleeding. The darkness clots together to form a weeping tear in reality. A foot step through the portal. Then, another. She's only heard rumours about the entity that walks out of the portal, sealing shut the moment he exits out. The Night-Breed have roamed around in the dark tunnels and sewers of Dakota for a month. They are familiar with the concept of darkness. They are the dark. But her fellow Night-Breed step away from the He is the Shadow-Man. A slick voice reminds her that what she's meeting is not an abomination but a meta like her. " You must be Nightingale. We've never had the chance to meet before. My name's Ebon, master of shadows." His suave voice is calm yet utterly commanding, oddly inflecting the end of each syllable. " So, I’m assuming the only reason you stepped onto our turf is because you want to discuss 'bout something.” Ebon leans languidly on the side of a shipping container, waiting for her reply. Gale doesn't know why she's thinking twice as she begin to form the pre-planned words in her mouth. Even if he’s a ruthless gang lord, power is what the Night-Breed right now. Power is what they need to find a cure. What difference would there be between allying with a surface dweller or the Shadow Man? Gale makes an imperceptible nod. “ Times are desperate. The Night-Breed believe that an alliance with the Meta-Breed is necessary in these conditions.” There’s the hint of a smile the way Ebon’s eyes tilt upwards. Gale briefly wonders if she’s made a mistake, Ebon’s void-like arm reaching over her neck and giving her a reassuring clap on the shouder. “ Wrong answer. Times are changing. Welcome to the future of this city.” [hr] [i]The taxi fare wasn’t cheap. It was lucky that he’d kept a roll of dollars on hand whenever he made trips like this. There was a silent courtesy between him and the driver before they zoomed off into the midnight, leaving him to ponder the sights of Dakota City. The land where lightning always strike twice. The chirping of the crickets kept him company, a dimly lit bus-stop on the other side of the road. He looked back towards the interstate highway. Maybe, he should have stayed in New York instead of coming all the way here. A shower of electric sparks sprays out from the nearest streetlight. He reigns in the doubt and comes to a single decision. No. Too late for regrets now when Dakota City was a town of regrets for him. He came to fix his mistakes, not dwell on it until it consumed him from the inside out. He adjusted his shades, clouds rumbling morosely with thunder and lightning above him. He had a son to meet after all. [/i] [hr] [h2][center][color=MediumBlue]STATIC WILL RETURN[/color][/center][/h2]