Julian winced as his orb of light flared, watching the dragon actually recoil this time. “Finally,” he muttered, “a reaction. Took long enough.”

Then came the voice. “Spotlight,” Intel called, not even looking at him. “If it turns toward you, maintain lateral movement. Do not hold position. If it does not, disengage. You are not the priority target.”

Julian blinked. “Not the priority… Excuse me?” he hissed under his breath. “Have you seen me? I’m always the star!”

Still, he obeyed, slipping sideways with a practiced spin and conjuring another flare, this one lower intensity, meant to keep the dragon’s focus bouncing just long enough for someone else to do something smart. Like literally anyone else.

Then the rest of the scene hit him. Blackstar down but moving, Wireframe unraveling and reforming like living steel origami, the dragon erupting into fire, and… wait. Paint? This… wasn’t a real dragon… Were they basically fighting a theme park animatronic?

His gaze snapped to the man in the beret, still filming and smiling. “Okay, no. That guy is way too calm for a dragon attack.” Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, absolutely not,” Julian muttered, stepping forward with a new flare forming in his hand. “You do not get to outshine me! Who even are you? The director of this disaster?”

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the flare high. It burst midair like a spotlight, casting a dramatic glow across the field, and centering right on the man in the beret. Julian smirked. “Smile for the camera, mystery man. You’ve just been spotlit!”

---

Daniel leaned back, feeling a bit intimidated by Annika's attitude toward Blackstar. He recovered from it quickly, though, and turned his attention to the "dragon" they were facing. He ran up close to it, looking for what they were pointing out, and found it: the smudged parts of its body. Daniel wasn't very knowledgeable about dragon anatomy, but even he knew that it should probably be bleeding instead of that. Quickly making his way back to his original position, Daniel had the feeling that this whole situation wasn't right. The probably fake dragon, the cameraman, the fact that he couldn't find any other civilians around, even the very method they arrived here. Everything felt fake, not just the dragon.

Daniel nodded when Annika addressed him, though his mind was elsewhere. He wanted answers, and currently there was only one person to get them from: the cameraman. Daniel zoomed over to the guy, looking rather miffed. Crossing his arms, Daniel began interrogating him, "What's going on here? This dragon isn't what we thought it was, and for that matter, neither are you. Who are you, and what are you even doing here?"

This all made no sense. It felt like some of these spandex wearers were playing detective, which couldn't be right. Then a few people asked him who he was?

Now it made sense.

"You guys aren't from the company, huh?"

And then the mystery man explained it all: he was here on a formal contract to demolish the place for the Monroe Corporation, which was owned by a family friend. This guy had figured the company had sent them as a favor. He was recording it to show off his powers; this man was the Artist, and he could paint things and make them real. This whole thing was meant to be a demonstration, so that he could hire out to rich clients who wanted him to make them things. Like some chairs, a table, some milk and cookies, because he felt bad for these heroes that got caught up in a misunderstanding. The dragon was the same; formerly paint, now living, and turned into a pile of paint with a wave of his hand.

"In a few hours, a cleanup crew will be here for the rubble, but in the meantime feel free to relax! Oh, and good luck with the new job!"

And with that, the Artist was off, leaving for his next destination.

Annika watched the dragon dissolve with a splash; Liquidised form painting the aftermath of an anti-climactic encounter. She decided not to comment, a dip of her chin to acknowledge a job well done. Perhaps.

Her visor dimmed as the threat markers on her HUD dropped to null. Hostile entity: dereferenced. Environmental risk: low. Civilian presence: non-critical. The soundscape shifted, voices bleeding back in now that the urgency had evaporated. Explanations. Laughter, maybe. Someone asking questions she didn’t need answers to.

Instead she crouched, setting the datapad carefully against her knee. Ike and Omar descend at a silent recall. They hovered for a beat, then folded into themselves at the press of a button.

“Good job.” She whispered, using her sleeve to wipe at a paint streak on Omar's housing. She would clean that properly later.

She exhaled, slow and measured, and stowed Omar alongside the first. The backpack settled heavier against her spine. Familiar weight, familiar order.

Around her, the scene unraveled into aftermath: the promise of cleanup crews, idle chatter, someone accepting food they hadn’t asked for. Annika registered it all distantly, like background radiation. None of it required intervention.

A demonstration, then.

She straightened, adjusting the straps of her pack until they sat just right. Her visor lifted, exposing her eyes to the open air again. The migraine warning she’d been suppressing ticked up one notch, then stabilized.

She took one last look at the empty space where the dragon had been.

“…Inefficient,” she said quietly.