[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7aOrET3.png[/img]
[color=254f28][u][b]Location[/b][/u][/color]
💀 7-Eleven Store.
💀 East Flank.

[color=254f28][u][b]Time[/b][/u][/color]
💀 Evening.

[color=254f28][u][b]Interactions[/b][/u][/color]
💀 None.
[/center][hr]

For the past two years, since joining H.E.R.O, Azhar had taken the role of a background character. He didn’t go on missions with others, and outside of scarce moments spent with his coworkers, Azhar barely knew those he called teammates. One could say that it had been a deliberate decision, this social but paradoxically reclusive boy maintaining a withdrawn disposition. Could one truly blame this exotic creature, however? Azhar, or Zee, still recalled the days where he was called [i]’L’shaitan’,[/i] The Devil. Thinking back on his earlier days managed to conjure forth a slight chuckle, but they spoke of public acceptance. Someone like Azhar wasn’t a Hero. His bracelet allowed for him to adopt this role, but without it, there was no possibility to maintain the act. Picturing the days before he was blessed by deliberate the shackle hugging his slender forearm exposed images left forgotten. Images revealing the boy’s true nature, something pacified by current circumstances. 

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Azhar’s focus found its mark, no longer obfuscated by thoughts of the past. Management, that being Mr. Hugo Powers, had taken the boy into his office recently. [i]’You are part of the brand. You can’t keep hiding in the shadows forever.’[/i] Whether it was an undisturbed quote from the man, or Azhar’s own interpretation was growing less discernible by the day. However, Azhar was able to fill in whatever blanks lingered following his conversation with Mr. Powers. The boy had maintained a backstage role, because his powers didn’t quite fit in with the rest. Majestic Fire, Mystical Gravity, a Siren’s Song, a Sovereign of Water, and more. As if the Greek pantheon given life and presented to the public. Among them, Azhar was Hades, his ironically favorite God, but one considered evil at worse, and dark at best. 

Typically, none of this would bother the Middle Easterner. With a shrug, he would offer one of Zee’s trademarked, sharp-toothed grins, and claim that his powers were his own, and they served the purpose he had set out for them. Recent scenarios somewhat toyed with this disposition, however.

He could no longer hide behind that coy presentation. He was expected to mingle with his fellow Heroes, and Mr. Powers wasn’t known for saying his piece, followed by simply discarding it. No, when Hugo Powers presented a demand, a Hero was expected to oblige. [i]’This is America, after all, where the dark is Edgy, rather than frowned upon,’[/i] Azhar often thought. For such a self-confident and steadfast individual, being a part of something bigger seemed oddly intimidating. One would be forgiven for mistaking it stage fright, a disturbance this bar singer hadn’t felt in years.

Perhaps that was why something as simple as a Java Monster Energy drink meant so much. It was the simplicity of it, and the familiarity of its chilled, cold presence. The drink had been a comfort, something to divorce Azhar from the expectations now placed on him. To [i]’play nice with the real Heroes’.[/i] Now, that comfort was drenching the floor, the cream-colored substance spreading across those tiles like a darkening cloud. 

It was an escape, a fix. Azhar wanted his favorite beverage in an attempt to dismiss growing insecurities, if only for a brief moment. Something which had now been taken away from him. [color=254f28]"Come on, Dracula,"[/color] the boy spoke, his faint Arabic accent trickling through those ghostly words. 

“Th-thanks!” A stuttering, disheveled young woman managed as she stood, eyes falling to the burglars unconcious upon her workplace floor. “I’ve..,” she breathed, “I’ve called the police.”

Affording the clerk a soft nod, Azhar paused. His favorite drink had been robbed of him, but he could pick something else. A substitute. Turning back towards the fridge as Dracula leaped onto Azhar’s shoulder, the boy wrapped his clawed fingers around the handle, and pulled the door open. A wintery, pleasant chill ran over his exposed skin, Zee’s alien-like black eyes falling on another option. [color=254f28]"Good,"[/color] came a response, if somewhat late as the mutant approached. Three cans of Pipeline Punch in all of its pink glory had been placed by the cash register before Azhar reached a hand into his shoulder bag.

“Wait, no!” The clerk exclaimed, “it’s on the house, I mean..,” she motioned towards the scene, “you did the thing.” 

[color=254f28]"The.., thing?"[/color] Azhar raised a thin, black brow as he watched the clerk bagging his drinks.

“You did the Hero thing, dude!” There was a delay in Azhar’s response, the boy’s raven gaze lingering on the young woman. She continued before he was allowed a chance to speak. “I haven’t seen you on TV or anything, though,” she explained. “You work for H.E.R.O?” 

With his clawed, demonic fingers resting on the counter, Azhar would eventually raise his digits towards that plastic bag and accepted the gift he had been offered. [color=254f28]"Yeah, I do."[/color] 

“Cool!” Came an excited response. A blatant shift in demeanor, to be sure, from scared for her life to basking in the safety of having a Hero so close. “What’s your Hero name!?” 

Managing an appreciative expression, the ghostly boy was unable to hide his sharp-toothed smile. [color=254f28]"Requiem,"[/color] he answered. A fitting name, one related to Death. 

“Sweet! Can I have an autograph?” Incredibly unexpected, but not an unwelcomed request, one which brought laughter from the Arabic boy, before he obliged. Tracing the tip of a pencil across a blank, white surface, Azhar wrote his Heroic handle in both English and Fusha, the written form of Arabic, before sliding the haphazardly picked gift card back to its owner.

Only a fool would have missed the gathering crowd outside the 7-Eleven, however, the sound of a gunshot bringing far more observers than the police. Many with a cellphone ready, and recording.  [color=254f28]"I should, uh..,"[/color] Azhar thumbed towards the door.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks, again!” The clerk finished, seeing the dark mutant slip out of the store, before bringing her phone up to open a chat window.