Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

Greenwich Village, 6:00 pm EST

One month after the Recluse Incident

---

Marcus shivered as he climbed the alley wall, reaching up to adjust the motorcycle helmet he was wearing. It was more or less a cheap costume, but it would have to do. Besides, if he fell, the helmet would be better to have on than a bare head.

He frowned, and looked down at the ground.

Three stories down.

...Not that a helmet is gonna save me from that, he thought dully. He shook his head, and kept climbing. The building wasn't that tall, but when you were scaling it from the outside, it felt a lot worse than it was. It was also a lot colder, of course, what with the sun already being down and, well... being on the outside of a building. Marcus wasn't inclined to vertigo, but even so, the thought had his head spinning. He never would have considered doing something like this a month ago.

I also hadn't been gassed a month ago...

It had all started from there- within the first week, he'd started feeling... symptoms. Odd symptoms. Hyper sensitivity to sound. To touch. Weird impulses, like someone flipped a switch on his fight-or-flight response. Then, things started getting weirder.

Like, "waking up on the ceiling" weirder.

Over the last month, more and more "symptoms" had shown up. More powers, he should say. The shadows clinging to his motor gear, for instance. The wall crawling. The strength, the speed, and most importantly, that annoying-ass sonar in the back of his skull. It was... maddening. Disturbing. Exciting? Exhilarating?

He hadn't told anyone yet. Not Scott. Not Ray. Not his dad. Not even Hector.

He sighed as he scaled the lip of the building. Hector knew something was wrong, or at least different about him. He assumed it was just the trauma of the Incident- and to be fair to him, it was- but there was also the practice he'd been doing. Sneaking out at night, climbing walls, swinging around an industrial park on his "webs." And all the while, that annoying buzzing like someone parked their amp in his head. Well, tonight, he was going to find out the cause.

He limbered up as he stood on top of the apartment building, looking down a good dozen stories to the streets below.

I hope this is a good idea... he thought, backing away from the edge.

Enough room for a running start.

Deep breath. Then another.

And another.

Knees bend, his footsteps echo from atop the rooftop.

And then... there's no more roof. He's airborne.

He starts to fall, his stomach climbing into his chest as gravity starts to assert itself. He flings a hand out, almost desperately, a tendril of shadow spearing into the building across the way.

The line goes taught, and... physics.

An involuntary yelp left Marcus' throat as he swung like a pendulum- down, and then up. His first tendril dissolved just as Marcus hit his peak, soaring into the air. Weightless, then that same sick rush of momentum as he started to drop again. And then, just as before...

Tendril out. Swing. Up, then down. Tendril. Swing. Up and down.

As he got the hang of the movement, Marcus... laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and could not stop laughing. This was... this was great! Better than mere free running, better than even his bike!

I'm never gonna be late to class again! he laughed to himself, kicking his legs to pick up momentum on the next swing, and then...

...he's flying.

"WOO!"

It takes him a moment to remember why he's out here. He focused on the buzzing in the back of his skull... and plucked it like a guitar string.

t w a n g .

And somewhere in the city, something responds. He began heading in the direction of the echo, face determined. Well... determined aside from the ear-to-ear grin he's wearing under his helmet.

Marco... Marco... where are you hiding, weird buzzing noise...?

Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

Koreatown, 5:58 pm EST

One month after the Recluse Incident

---

Scott slipped out the darkened fire escape into the alley like he had hundreds, maybe half a thousand times before. It never felt great. The feeling that he was lying to his parents always tugged at him, made his stomach sink.
But there was another feeling tugging at him. One he hadn't noticed at first. After that day a month ago, Scott had been surprised that he was completely unaffected, despite being next to Marcus and others at the time. They'd clearly faced the brunt of it, but Scott had felt like there was TV static bursting in his head for the better part of a week. Over time, the sensation had faded into vague crystalline pops. He almost thought it had gone away. Then the dreams came.

He thought back to the nights of waking up with foggy memories of searing pain, shadowed figures standing in the light, beckoning him. He'd had dreams like this when he had first gotten his powers. Scott thought better than to ignore them.

Tying the blindfold over his eyes, he took in a deep breath, as Strand rode again. Pulling on that suit, the blindfold, the black trunks, had always felt rather dramatic. Not to say Scott disliked it. His hands pressed to the old brick wall in the shadows of the alley, as he scaled it for the umpteenth time.

Cresting the roof, he took a deep breath.

'Alright, where are you...'

The sudden pull on his senses unsteadied him for a moment. Scott instinctively widened his stance without noticing. It was like he could see lines, fibers running through the city. They weren't unlike the webs that he shot from the clunky arm mounted devices he wore which gave his alter-ego his namesake; except these thrummed with life.

“Bingo,” he whispered to himself.

Lining up the barrel of one of his web launchers with the skyline, he scanned the nearby buildings.



The web fires off as Scott steps off the edge of the building. It snags on a buttress, and he goes careening through the air over the street like a roller coaster. Before he reaches the apex of his swing, he fires the other launcher. The web catches a traffic light, and as Scott releases the first, the second curves him in the air, sending him southward.

'Greenwich Village?' he ponders to himself, seeing the phantom lines beginning to converge.
An image flashes through his mind as he looks where the lines converge and overlap. A child? Scott realigns his focus as he passes over an intersection and begins to run across a set of flat rooftops. Able to ignore the tangle of traffic and pedestrians on the streets, Scott's making great time. He feels an edge of excitement as he runs. A smile plays at his lips, bright and confident.

Suddenly, he stops. His mind told him to stop before his eyes knew why. Down below, someone had a camera pointed in the air, and Scott had almost ran directly into the shot. The young man with brown hair had his lens aimed at the reflection of the sunset off the Empire State Building.

Moving behind a water tower, Scott fished a pair of CO₂ cartridges out of his pockets. Catching his breath, he wrenches the spent ones from the web launchers, and inserts the fresh ones. Since each canister was good for about three shots each, and he had already drained both crossing Koreatown, he had to make his swinging count, and leave some reserves if he ran into trouble.

Scott did some quick math before leaping over a narrow side-street, firing a web line onto an antenna to get him securely onto the next rooftop before falling into a swinging leap and into the night. The four CO₂ cartridges left in his pocket pressed coolly against his leg. As he swung towards the flickering, emboldening lines that stretched out before him, he only hoped he wouldn't have to use them all tonight.

Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

Greenwich Village, 6:00 pm EST

One month after the Recluse Incident

Danny Davis had made a list. That seemed like a reasonable response after waking up one morning with the ability to stick to his bedroom ceiling.

The list had started simple enough.

Web fluid stability.
Adhesion strength.
Dissolution time.
Maximum tensile load.
Do not die.

The last one had been underlined three times.

Now, standing on the roof of an apartment building in a pink hoodie with the hood up, jeans, sneakers, a mask covering his nose and mouth, his fake glasses in his pocket, and a homemade pair of wrist-mounted web shooters, Danny was beginning to think the list had not been thorough enough.

He stared over the edge of the building.

Then immediately took one step back.

“Nope,” he whispered. “No, that is still very high.”

He had been practicing for a few nights now. Nothing too crazy. Mostly wall-crawling, testing the web shooters, making sure the webbing actually dissolved after a couple hours like it was supposed to. Caty would probably have opinions about him being out here alone, and MJ definitely would have opinions. Loud ones. Possibly with hand gestures.

Danny tried not to think about that.

He also tried not to think about Dad.

That was harder.

He looked down at his web shooter instead and took a breath. Science. Testing. Controlled variables. That he could do.

“Test seventeen,” he said quietly, because apparently narrating his own stupidity made him feel better. “Short-distance swing. Low altitude. Minimal screaming.”

He aimed at a nearby ventilation unit and fired.

A line of pink webbing shot out and stuck to the metal with a soft thwip.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay… okay… Good. That worked.”

Then he pulled.

The web yanked him forward a lot harder than he expected.

“Oh no.”

He stumbled, swung about two feet off the roof, flailed, and slammed shoulder-first into the brick wall beside a maintenance door. His hands stuck on impact, leaving him awkwardly plastered against it.

For a few seconds, he just stayed there.

Then, muffled against the wall, he said, “Great. Nailed it.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Danny peeled one hand away from the brick and checked it.

MJ: Are you awake?
MJ: Wait, dumb question.
MJ: Are you doing weird spider stuff?
MJ: If yes, I’m mad. If no, I’m still suspicious.

Danny stared at the messages and felt a little guilty.

“I’m fine,” he said, even though MJ obviously couldn’t hear him.

He was, in fact, not fine.

Before he could figure out what to text back, the buzzing in the back of his skull changed.

Danny froze.

It wasn’t the sharp, painful warning he had started associating with immediate danger. This was different. In a way he couldn’t really explain.

He slowly turned toward the skyline.

“No,” he whispered. “Please don’t be another symptom.”

Then he heard it.

Somewhere between the buildings, someone shouted, “WOO!”

Danny blinked.

A dark shape swung across the street.

Not fell. Not jumped.

Swung.

Danny stared, because what else was he supposed to do? There was someone else out here. Someone moving through the air like this was normal. Like it was fun.

“Oh,” he said.

Every reasonable thought in his head told him to go home, text Caty, text MJ, and make this someone else’s problem until morning.

Instead, he aimed his web shooter at the next building.

“Okay,” Danny breathed. “Just observe. That’s all. Observing is safe. Mostly.”

He fired.

The webline caught.

“Please hold.”

Then he jumped.

For about one second, it was amazing.

The city dropped under him, the wind hit his face, and Danny actually swung. Badly, but still. He didn’t immediately die, which counted as progress.

Then he realized the other guy was much closer than he thought.

“Oh, come on.”

Danny panicked, fired another webline, and overcorrected. He clipped the corner of a fire escape, spun awkwardly, and hit the side of the next building with a sticky thwack.

Upside down.

About three feet away from the helmeted stranger.

Danny stared at him.

He waved awkwardly.

“Hi.”

A pause.

“I’m not following you in a creepy way,” Danny said quickly. “I mean, I was following you, technically, but there was this buzzing thing in my head, and you were also swinging around, so I thought maybe…”

He stopped.

“That sounds bad. Sorry.”

He glanced down at the street below, immediately regretted it, and looked back at the other guy.

“You are way better at this than me.”

Another pause.

“Please don’t punch me.”

@EnterTheHero

Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

One Month After The Incident....

Alan Maxwell hummed to himself as he sat in his bedroom, sketching away at his sketchbook while a tune from the playlist
on his phone blared away from the desk next to where he slept. Sure, one could argue it may have been more practical to
sit at his desk and draw but for some reason doing it like this was just way more comfortable for him.

That, and he was just feeling like being a lazy sack of potatoes at the moment.

Putting down his pencil, the young man held up the fruits of his labor and nodded in approval. "Not bad. Not bad at
all. Probably my best work so far, if I'm being brutally honest," His smile then stiffened as he spared a glance at the
other papers strewn about the top of his bed. "At least...in comparison to my first couple of attempts..."

The sketches before him were all of...varying levels of quality, but they did have common theme between them. Namely, a
humanoid figure donned in what looked to be some sort of body suit with a mask covering their face. He had played around
with a couple of styles before settling on the one he had before him.

A humanoid figure donned in some manner of body suit with a leather jacket over the upper half of their body, a mask, and
a scarf fluttering in the breeze. Some might ask why include the scarf and Alan's response would be something along the
lines of "...I don't know. I just thought it would look cool."

It was funny just how invested he was becoming lately when it came to sketching and drawing, but in hindsight, it did
make sense. Ever since he had gotten home from the hospital, and his mother had insisted he take it easy for a while and
not do anything strenuous, he was after needing activities to keep himself occupied. And, of course, to distract him
from the memories that refused to leave his head.

Heck, even in his sleep he couldn't truly escape the memories of that awful day....

Alan scowled and shook his head vigorously. He would not allow himself to spiral. Not after having one of
his better days. Trying to focus his mind elsewhere, he got to work on sprucing up said sketch by filling in the
missing areas, and then after that would come the actual coloring portion.

He began filling in the sketch slowly and carefully. A little blue there-

He could still hear the screams. Fresh in his mind. Filled with abject terror and panic.

Some black to go on the jacket as was appropriate. Maybe ease up on the pressure just a little so he-

The world consumed by a sickly green fog and transformed into something out of a nightmare. People
every which way trying to flee, screaming for help, some even praying to a higher power.

His careful tracings started to turn into fierce scribbles. He just needed to get this part right-

He still remembered the fog enveloping him, causing his entire being to suddenly break into spasms
as he lost almost all control of himself and fell to his knees. The burning, the urge to vomit, the
agony...he still remembered it all even now.

The scribbles became even more frantic and chaotic. He needed to focus, damn it! He had to! He wasn't weak!
He could do this-

He lay there amongst the bodies while the only sound he could hear were the screams of the poor souls echoing
all around him. Some part of him genuinely believing that he had been transported to Hell...and that death would
be welcome right about n-

The pencil's snapping in his grasp broke the spell and the sound gave him enough of a jolt that he immediately sat
up, panting heavily as he glanced all about his bedroom in a bit of a panic. Almost as if he were only seeing it for
the first time. "Huh? What? Where-"

The sight of such familiar surroundings- his laptop, the books on his nightstand, the sounds of Savage Garden's "Affirmation"
blaring from his phone. They were all enough to quell the storm that had been raging in his head and bring him back to
Earth. As such, he allowed himself to give out a long sigh of relief. "It's alright, Alan. You're not back there. You're
here. You're safe..."

Looking down at the splintered pieces of his pencil, Alan scowled and dropped them into the waste bin next to his bed...which
just so happened to have the broken remnants of several other pencils already in there. He then fetched himself a fresh
one from the drawer attached to the night table.

Taking a swig of his vitamin water to help further calm his nerves, he readied himself to get back to work. "Alright! Now
we got that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, let's-" He then gave a yelp at hearing a knocking on his door and a familiar
female voice speaking to him.

"Alan, sweetie? It's your Mom. May I come in for just a minute?"

Quick as a flash, he scooped up his drawings and stacked them together. "Sure thing, Mom!"

The door opened a woman's head poked in through the gap. She had fair skin, long brown curly hair and soft green eyes
and her face looked remarkably youthful if not for a few wrinkles under her eyes. From a distance, one would almost
mistake her for Alan's big sister. She flashed her young man a warm smile. "Hey there, Alan, darling. You doing alright?"

"Ehhh...." He bobbed his head side to side. "I suppose I'm doing as well as I can considering...well...everything..." His gaze travelled down to where the waste bin and its contents lay.

His mother's gaze followed suit and her smile seemed to fracture just a little. "...I see...you haven't been having any
nightmares lately...?"

He shook his head in denial. "Nah. My sleep's been pretty good the last couple of days, actually," He raised his head to meet her eyes with concern emanating from his own eyes like searchlights. "How about you?"

At this, his mother let out a sigh of her own and the wrinkles on her face seemed to become more visible. "My sleep's been
fine, I suppose...though kinda hard to get a rhythm going when work is calling you at the most inconvenient times.
Speaking of which..." She raised her face to meet his and now looked apologetic. "I...came to let you know I got
called in on short notice."

Alan couldn't help rolling his eyes, and this only made his Mom look even more guilty. "I know. I know. I'm getting just
as sick of it as you are, but you know how it is. We need every competent set of hands we can get. Especially since a number
of us have upped and left town the last couple of weeks..." Her face then averted his. Almost out of shame. "Can't say I blame them..."

Seeing the grief on her face made Alan's own demeanor shift to something less than upbeat. "Yeah...I suppose I can't blame
them either....not after....well, you know..." Both of them were then swallowed up a bubble of solemn silence with neither
wishing to acknowledge the dark truth. That things would never be the same after the Recluse Incident. "...How long you think
you'll be?"

His mother let out a disgruntled huff. "I honestly don't know. Could be a late shift with how things are right now..." She
forced a smile onto her face now. "Which is why I left you some money on the kitchen table. Go out, grab a bite to eat, and enjoy yourself for a couple of hours doing...whatever it is you feel like doing. I can't imagine being cooped up in here has been all that fun."

Seeing what she was trying to do, Alan couldn't help smiling warmly on his end. He really did have the coolest Mom around. "Thanks, Mom. You're the best...." He then stretched and unkinked his muscles. "Yeah, I think I could use some fresh air anyways. Maybe stop by the comic books store and see if anything new is in...might do me some good."

"Glad to hear that, sweetie," His Mom's smile brightened, becoming more genuine. "See if one of your friends or work buddies are around. Just make sure your phone is on you, and if you get into any sort of trouble...make sure you call me, alright?" Her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "You will call me, won't you, young man?"

He flinched at seeing that look of hers and found himself nodding rapidly. To which the look immediately faded and she was all smiles again. "Great! Alright then. You have a lovely evening, son. And I'll see you later." She blew a kiss at him and shut the door behind her.

Alan waited for the sound of her footsteps to recede and to hear the tell-tale sound of the front door closing behind her. Once that was
done, he reached behind his night table and pulled out the ski mask he kept hidden away and the gloves. He then went and grabbed a hoodie
and jacket out of the closet before eyeing the sketch on his bed warily.

He wasn't about to go off and do anything dangerous, but....well, it didn't hurt to be prepared in case something happened, right?

After all... He held up his hand and let the skin on it billow and pulsate before he clenched said hand tightly and looked into his mirror before ripping off his glasses. He didn't need them, but they did make him feel a bit more normal. Sane. This here ain't going away, is it?

As if in response, his hair shimmered and took on a dirty blonde coloring as his eyes shifted to more of a bright blue before resuming
their standard color schemes. Slipping his glasses back on, he put on his attire, hid away the gloves and mask, and went to grab the couple twenties left on the table. (His Mom did love to spoil him every chance she got)

Satisfied he had everything, he grabbed up his key from the wall rack next to the door and headed on out.

It was time for his night to begin....

Saturday, October 3rd, 20XX

Hell's Kitchen: 2:00 am

One Month After The Incident....

Colin Cantor has a recurring daydream. Or if not a daydream per se', a mental scenario he runs in his head almost nightly. Whenever he climbs into his bed, with or without his big lumbering dog jumping up to join him and take up more of their fair share, he pictures it: he's a superhero, laying in some kind of recovery chamber or healing pod. Around him are his teammates and friends - other heroes and colleagues - who wish him well or plead for him to get back in the fight, as they needed his abilities. He finds this soothing. It makes him think of the old cartoons he'd watch growing up, or the comics he still picks up at Planet X. It's childish, sure he'd admit that, but it lulls him to a peaceful rest every time.

For a few weeks now, that same daydream feels different. Now, after the Recluse Incident, it's no longer a far-fetched dream. It was an entirely plausible scenario. The world truly is something wild. If the child version of himself knew what was in store for him, what was going on in his life now, he'd have been the happiest kid alive. The Colin of today feels a little different.

At least on the heroism part.

---

6:00 PM

In his day job, Colin works intermittently at group homes across the City. His job title is a "Relief Counselor" and it's his role to essentially house sit, and manage the home and it's "guests." The majority of the people he services are younger, kids fresh out of the hospital, but not yet well enough (or wanted enough) to go back home. So they get put in one of these homes, get their medication on a schedule, have someone like Colin take them to their therapist or to their doctor's appointments and so on.

For the most part, the kids do pretty well. Troubled for sure, but in a safe environment like the home they have some protection from the less desirable elements in the city. You have to behave and follow the rules in order to receive services. That helps keep most folks in line, been awhile since the cops had shown up or the staff got word one of the kids is in lock-up.

Occasionally however, that doesn't matter. Even if the kids aren't doing anything wrong. Some cops or just going to cop.

Like this one, Officer Parisi.

Reeks of high school bully.

And over the past few months he continues to show up at the Home in Brooklyn. Insists on "giving the business" as he so succinctly puts it to the teenagers there. Claiming noise complaints and suspicious behavior. Threatening to have them thrown in juvie over talking back to him. Colin himself tried to de-escalate one of his visits, shoot straight with the guy, and all he got was a warning himself. It pissed Colin off royally, but what could he do? File some kind of complaint against the guy? In this city? Useless. The cops all are useless. No, in the face of their fascist regime, Colin could do nothing but stew in frustration.

That was before usssssss

The entity embedded in Colin as a biological level half whispers half hisses in his mind. Since the Incident, it's lived inside of him, like a second personality tying it's threads to Colin's own mind. And each time, he felt a little sting throughout his bloodstream, in a pulsing sensation.

Colin and the entity (he hadn't yet thought of a name for him/her/it and when he asked them directly they didn't seem to know if they had one) now stood in a side alley hidden away from the traffic of the street. Nothing in here save for the backdoor to a Halal restaurant the staff would pop out to smoke in. At time though it was just Colin, the Entity, and soon, Officer Parisi.

Colin knew Parisi would come here around this time once a week to rough up a craps or dominoes game that some group of people were putting on. Rough them up a little bit. Colin knew this because he followed him over the past 2 weeks.

When Officer Parisi stepped into the alley way, alone as always but with that bullied and exaggerated gait of a real asshole, he did so without noticing the other man. And his Passenger.

Beneath his dark jean jacket, under the knitting of his hooded sweater, the Passenger dislodged itself from it's disguise as Colin's tattoo. It swirled up and over Colin's shoulders, pulling up enough to cover the bottom half of his face. Like a medical mask made of black tethering ink and sharp teeth.

He would make this quick.

The officer got halfway down the alley before Colin leapt out at him from the darkness, lifting him with one hand by the mans jaw. The look of terror on his face was utterly sweet, and Colin and the Passenger felt the dopamine rush between the two of them. The Passenger had enough of itself to extend down his right arm, creating a sort of additional inky black armor that ended in sharp fingertips. He kicked the cop as hard has could, right in the testicles, and heard something crunch beneath them. He could feel the officer's scream muffled beneath his black clawed hand.

Colin had to fight the urge to extend his Golden yellow Stinger-like appendage from beneath his wrist - a byproduct undoubtedly of the entity's merging with his body. But to fire them out now would surely kill this person, and he didn't want that. Instead he just wanted desperately to hurt this guy.

He felt the slit opening at his wrist and the sharp stinger begin to extend, and so Colin hurled the officer across the alley, where he collided with an overstuffed garbage container oozing something slimey and discolored from punctured trash bags.

We did not kill him?

Colin didn't respond. Instead he lifted his hand and aimed it at the nearest rooftop. The Entity fired on instinct, not a rope to swing on per se' but more like a grappling hook he could retract and pull himself up.

He made his getaway as the sun continued to set.

Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

Greenwich Village, 6:00 pm EST

One month after the Recluse Incident

Sharp as a needle jabbing his brain the pain started again and the images in the room flickered slightly then stabilized. His mother and father smiled at him then faded away slowly into light particles. Memories...that's all they were. Caught in his weds off light and given life once again. The feeling in his mind as they faded pulled him upwards and too the east slightly. "Near? Well lets, go put on a show." Suddenly the images flickered and the room became the roof top where his mind was leading him. It was only a fraction of a second and it sent Felix to the ground in pain. It felt like his brain was fracturing in to many pieces. Fractals of images appeared like a silent film then it stopped, but he could now pinpoint where the figures that triggered this. "Gods above and below...alright..." He snapped his fingers and stood. Except this time his image was blurred and he wore a blue hooded trench coat.

Opening the window and looking down at the street below he smiled at the stage of the world and then began to climb the side of the wall. On the roof Felix looked around and frowned as he couldn't see anyone in the distance but still felt the direction. There were two of them he thought and slightly annoyed he walked in that direction. Once he reached the end of the roof he simply stepped off and it was as if he floated in mid air. In truth this was something he had been practicing relentlessly at his job and any chance his got. Light walking. It was part of how he could touch his images of his parents. The light constructs he made had a realness to them like holograms made of a hard light, was the best way he could put it. Nervous but glad he was taking steps, literally, he kept moving in the direction of the pings.

As he neared the area he ducked behind a air-conditioning unit then slowly peeked around hearing one of the figures explain what he was doing and asking not to be punched. Who were these people...and why did his weird new sense bring him here to see them. Should he come out and great the two? "Why not? Lets see where this scene goes." Felix blurred just his face and kept the trench coat but also gave himself some blue slacks, then walked barefooted or so it appeared to them out from the unit he hid behind. "Ah yes I don't think anyone would wanna be punched that's for sure." As he spoke he changed his accent a little to match that of someone from the south just in case. He also stayed back closer to the unit and kept an eye on the two. "I'm curious as to why we all find ourselves here. Hopefully this isn't some kind of drug deal or..." He looked the one in the pink over and the helmeted one..."Ummm or it seems we all have had the same thought of covering our identities in some way." The he let the roof top fall into silence.

---

—

---

Last month was weird for Kim Agbayani.

It started out normal. Kim was going to be late to school because her stupid alarm decided to be an ass and just stop working. She decided to just skip school the entire day to hang out with her best friend, Ray, at Empire State and play music with melodica.

It was just a normal day for Kim.

But then, the red mist appeared. The next thing that Kim knew, she, along with Ray, passed out. Out of anyone who died on that day, Kim and Ray were the lucky ones that survived.

That day was very traumatizing for her; she didn’t want to die young. She didn’t want to be long-forgotten and only be remembered as the girl that the red gas killed. But despite this, she kept her spirits high as she tried to return to her sense of normalcy. Return to her music. And return to her crush, Suzy Maxwell.

But then, you guessed it, crazy shit started happening.

Kim’s body started to glow blue, she could make neon signs explode, and she shot neon lasers out of her fingertips.

Okay, the last part was pretty cool. But the rest of it was really weird.

And she was not the only one with these types of abilities, Ray had one of his own as well. Whatever that red gas was, it seemed that whoever survived on that day got superpowers.

It was at that moment that Kim realized that her life was going to change. She wasn’t going to be a normal girl anymore.

She was going to be a superhero.

Well, er, not yet anyway. I know, sorry to hype you up for a second there.

Ray told her to keep her powers on the down low for now, they still needed to figure out what happened to them, and what happened on that day.

So, Kim was just going to have to wait.

---

---

And waiting had been so freaking boring!

It had been over a month since the incident, and there **had been no talk of people having powers. Kim tried looking around the Empire State, disguised herself as a journalist and talked to the staff members so she could talk to the surviving students. And she got caught really quickly.

Apparently, a homemade badge didn’t count as an actual badge. Who knew?

And waiting for Ray to get some updates hadn’t been fun either. Kim just hoped that he was at least trying to save superpower people like them. But so far, no luck.

Kim felt like she was in a maze of unanswered questions. No matter which way she went, she only found herself at dead ends.

While her mom was still at work, Kim was just chilling at the rooftops of her house, looking at… The sky, she supposed, considering there were no stars in New York. She could hang out with Suzy, she could try not to be an awkward dork around her. But it seemed that Suzy was busy with her science project. Her and her science projects.

Kim had considered telling her about her new powers, wanting to show off her neon skills. But that idea alone had scared her. Suzy would have been scared of Kim, thinking she had turned into a blue glowing freak. Probably wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with her anymore. Or worse, would have given Kim to the government, dissected her and tried to figure out how an angsty, weird, gay teenage girl had gotten these powers.

The thought had made Kim shudder.

Okay! Get those dark stuff out of your head, Kim! And look at the damn stars! No, Sky! Whatever! Oh, it didn’t matter. The stars were basically nonexistent in cities with too much light, Kim would never see them…Unless.

Kim’s fingertips had glowed blue as she drew blue stars above her. Some big, some small. Some stylish, some just straight up goofy, like a star wearing sunglasses.

Kim had chuckled at that drawing.

Her life might not have been normal anymore. But, at least she could have tried to have fun with it.

Monday, September 8, 20XX

Upper Manhattan, 2:00 pm EST

---

The bag of five day old clothes crinkled as Nat opened the door. The sterile blue fog of the plastic did little to hide the blood smears on the fabric. Their own blood.

Their mom had driven across the state as soon as she had heard about what happened. Not that anyone really knew what happened. Nat had been too exhausted, and his family too stressed, to really absorb any of the information. The ride home from the hospital had been full of the usual doting and fretting from their mom. The first bite of solid food they had had in almost a week was a batch of chocolate oatmeal cookies. Nat hadn't had them in years.

Now, as Nat opened the door, the sounds of their home life trickled back to them. The TV was going, people were talking down the hall, someone was playing a video game. Music drifted around a corner, and the sound of cabinets and drawers opening and closing came from the kitchen.

“Full house...” they mutter to themself, not wanting to bring up how long it'd been since that had happened.

Nat's energy was spent. They shuffle off in borrowed clothes, through the front of their apartment to their bedroom. They make their usual responses to the typical “You're back” and “Look who it is” remarks. They give their sister a hug and whisper that they're fine and it's good to be home before slipping away and flopping into bed.

---

Several hours later...

---

The slam of a door jars Nat awake. They can't make out the voices at first, only that there's yelling.
“... going to leave when Nat just came home?”
“... ruining my life! ...”

'Mom and James were at it again, great...' Nat folds the pillow in half and covers their ears, trying to get back to sleep.

---

Sunday September 28, 20XX

Upper Manhattan, 11:30 pm EST

---

The light from the hallway shone into Nat's room as they sat awake, typing on their laptop. They had dozed off, and their door had been left open. James steps into the doorway, fully dressed, holding a bag. Nat stands and turns to him.

“I'll be gone for a while,” James says, taking a step into the room, “I'm going to rehab.”
Nat pauses. James had been in and out of rehab before, but never went on his own. A wave of relief washes over them. Maybe things would finally change for the better.

“That's good. Get better, and stay in touch, okay?” Nat replies.
“Yeah, I will,” James answers, “and here,” he adds, stuffing a crumpled five dollar bill into Nat's hand, “I'm gonna start paying you back for gas.”

They hug for a moment. It's a genuine hug, no one holding a stiff posture. When they release, they say their goodbyes, and James heads for the apartment door. Nat closes his laptop and turns off the light, before going to bed.

---

Monday September 29, 20XX

Upper Manhattan, 9:20 am EST

---

Nat opened their bedroom door. They were wearing a black polo and slacks, along with a hat bearing a bright logo that said 'Nick's Quick Pizza and Pasta'. Being open eighteen hours a day, many people had taken to calling it 'Late Night Nick's'. Nat was a delivery driver- one of the few benefits of having grown up in Wisconsin is that they already had a driver's license.
As they walked down the hall, they recognized Bethany's voice, and his father's. Nat slipped into the kitchen with a smile, looking to snag a protein bar.
“Bethany, what are you doing here?” they ask.
“Just stopping by,” she answers.
“Have fun at work,” their dad adds with a wave.
Nat snatches up the crinkling purple wrapper and heads out the door, grabbing his jacket and water bottle on the way out. Stepping into a pair of slip resistant black shoes, they head out the door.

A few moments later, and they descend the front steps of the building. Nat walks down the road for a moment before sitting on the metal bench of a bus stop, as they had done countless times before. A moment later, and they noticed Bethany had followed after them, and was walking out of the building. She moved to take a seat on the bench. Nat slides to the side, placing their stuff on the ground, and bracing their hand casually on the edge of the bench.

The air was still. Nat turned to look at Bethany. Then the words came that changed everything forever.

“James died.”

Nat's hand clenched, causing the metal edge of the bench to fold inward. Bethany's tone was flat, almost cold, and left no room for denial. Nat's face went red as tears began to streak down it.

Needless to say, they didn't go to work that day.

---

Saturday, October 4th, 20XX

Upper Manhattan, 6:00 pm EST

One month after the Recluse Incident

---

Nat pulled on a drab greenish-brown hoodie, a pair of dull yellow sweats, some old goggles- things they wouldn't mind getting rid of. Old thin winter gloves that had started to fray and an old scarf completed the look. It was warm, but Nat didn't care. Right now, they just couldn't let anyone recognize them.

They had spent about twenty minutes to an hour clinging to the wall of their apartment building, building up their nerve. Now, they were crawling through alleys, swinging down into shadows, scaling walls. On the prowl.

---

Gah, what the--?!

That constant buzzing suddenly turned razor-sharp, practically tugging Marcus backwards as he swung. He twisted in midair, expecting... what, an ambush? A stray pigeon? Strand?

What he got was a rapidly-approaching shock of pink.

Um??

Before he had a chance to course correct, the pink blur did it for him, firing out a web--

UM??

--and trying to swing around him... clipping a fire escape, spinning through the air, and crashing back-first, upside-down, onto the adjoining building. Marcus had slowed his own swing using the very same fire escape, and was now wall-crawling toward the unfortunate masked fellow as he babbled about... something. Marcus blinked, raising the visor on his helmet to stare down the interloper.

His eyes went from the... abundance of pink, to the medically-masked face, to the weird, complex gadgets on the man's wrists. They did match the descriptions of something he'd heard of Strand having, but... no. Not like this. Not pasted to a wall, upside-down. That's definitely not Strand.

"...Should I be insulted that you thought my first instinct would be to punch you?"

And then the third voice cropped up out of nowhere, and Marcus turned toward the fire escape to see yet another masked figure. It was like a convention for weirdos.

So, a convention.

Marcus glanced between Upside-Down and Right-Side-Up, back and forth, before speaking again.

"...Well one of us is gonna have to change."

Lame joke deployed, Marcus lowered his visor once again, looking to the third swinger of the night, so far.

"So, uh... I don't suppose you've also got the, uh... 'skin condition' thing we've got going on?" said Marcus, motioning between himself and P!nk with his thumb. "'Cause this seems like the kind of night for weird coincidences like that."

@Azure Bubbles@soren