Shard

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Mafioso Underground - Warehouse.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Rabidporcupine
💀 @Hitman
💀 @canaryrose
💀 @Scarifar

---

With Azhar’s gaze finding home upon Christina, the boy managed a small smile. She wasted no time in affording him a rundown of the situation, a quick and effective picture painted for what was to come. They were all soldiers in this war, irrelevant of age and experience. Indeed, Azhar had been trained throughout his life to harness the powers within. He had been taught how to conduct himself in combat, and how to best wield his abilities alongside others. Not everyone was afforded that privilege, as more than a few Heroes were plucked from the street. They had as much a reason to participate in this battle as anyone. A desire to protect not only those held close and dear, but everyone. "I’ll do my best," Zee commented, his smile a somewhat melancholy display.

Where excitement for battle had always been present, an unmoving desire resting within Azhar’s heart, it had been replaced by glee. A sensation that clawed at him mercilessly, an addiction which was making itself known, as if withdrawals were choking the boy. Shifting his attention towards a ladder leading into the darkness of an ever-stretching tunnel, Azhar exhaled a labored breath. Something was building inside of him, a warcry slowly working itself towards the surface. One would be safe in claiming that the demonic mutant had completely forgotten about Joseph, despite the man’s presence.

Without another word, Azhar proceeded onward. He slipped down the ladder, every motion bringing him closer towards the darkness beneath, his exposed skin responding with a dim glow. A Ghost in the shade, a Devil approaching through the blackness. Irony was not entirely discarded, however, as Azhar’s glow was more akin to that of an Angelic being, no matter how dimly he shone.

It did not take very long for an imminent battle to ensue, ahead. The sound of explosions rattled the tunnel, and with wide eyes, Azhar picked up his pace. Weightless steps brought him further through the damp darkness, movements soon accelerating into a jog, which in turn formed itself into a sprint at the sound of combat. "It’s begun..," Azhar clenched his teeth, the boy’s heart beating against his ribs like a jackhammer. He didn’t know who was behind him, if Joseph had decided to come along, or not. He didn’t care. Only one thing mattered. With every single step, the rising adrenaline took complete control. A reasonable question would, however, be in regards to what that addictive sensation truly was. Adrenaline, or a base, natural desire. Time and time again had Azhar been called a Devil, or Shaitan in Arabic. A slur he decided to own, one he claimed and wielded. Monster, Devil, Demon, Abomination, each one a term Azhar embraced wholeheartedly. However, with calm serenity replaced by something else entirely, statements of what Azhar had decided were endearing may have shifted, if only for the moment.

A short string of time passed before Zee finally saw the outline of people, in the distance. He was lucky to have been blessed with greater sight in darkness, a tradeoff for his hampered gaze beneath a sunlit sky. Unable to prevent the aura of Spectral Energy now blanketing him as if a reflexive maneuver, a sharp-toothed grin bridged itself across Azhar’s lips. Jamie, Rumi, and Blake were all present. Goons had been blasted through, and with a large warehouse stretching itself across the continued interior, Azhar laid eyes on Blake who was yielding to a defensive stance, avoiding bullets heading towards him with furious speed.

The deathly mutant was not a physical individual. The sprint he had performed would have tired him out, was it not for the peculiar emotion confiscating his every desire. Bloodlust. Extending a clawed hand, Azhar conjured forth a devastating wave of Necrotic Force which swallowed the mobsters attempting to riddle Blake with lead. Not a moment was spared to catch his breath, and he barely registered Rumi’s, nor Jamie’s presence.

If one was to listen, a massive slew of footsteps were aimed at the underground warehouse. Blake’s arrival had made sure of that. However, where Azhar previously shook his head in response to abandoning caution entirely, he now stood trembling with excitement. Phantasmal Force licked itself across his body endlessly, as if a second layer of clothing. Every single breath exhaled a gust of continuous Deathly Energy, those large, black eyes fixed on the direction confessing to an influx of incoming enemies. "Go..," Zee spoke, his ghostly voice embraced by heavy breathing, an otherwise mystical voice with Demonic tones elevating its latter presence. "Save your friends," he continued, clawed hands trembling in delight as the Necrotic Powers coating him began to swirl in a dance around Azhar, akin to a violent wind. "I’ll stay..," that shark-like grin widened, a long breath revealing another gust of Necrotic Energy leaving Zee’s mouth, as if desperately trying to infect the very air around him. The blue light emanating from his bracelet began to flicker before eventually, fading entirely.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Azhar's Car.
💀 Mafioso Tunnel.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @Rabidporcupine

---

Samson’s words had remained fixed in the young mutant’s mind. Everyone had their uses, despite every flaw. Indeed, perhaps Azhar had been too hard on the man at his side. A drunk he was, but a useful drunk. Joseph Moore was a man with a dark past, and that was an unfortunate truth none could free him of. Zee recalled what the dark Hero had been told on a distant helicopter ride across Mexico, and yet another tale spun over a campfire. Joseph struggled in a manner not too dissimilar to Azhar, himself. Indeed, they were both seeking to outrun a foe constantly hounding them in spirit, mind, and body alike.

"I am sorry," came a soft-spoken statement from the foreigner, his typical Arabic accent trickling through every word. "You are.., going through more shit than people will acknowledge," Azhar continued, his large black gaze maintained on the nightly street before them, his claws gently grasping the steering wheel. It was, at times, difficult to separate the silliness surrounding HERO’s crime fighters, from a more serious disposition. What had come to pass in regards to Joseph’s past, an event he desperately attempted to outpace, appeared almost brushed aside by the others. Yet again, Azhar’s thoughts found themselves returning to a specific conversation held between himself and the drunk.

"I was a bit too harsh on you, I think," the mutant spoke, stopping by a red light as his attention briefly shifted towards Joseph where he sat, in Azhar’s car. "That said..," the boy sighed, "I do not believe that you’ll find the escape you’re looking for at the end of a bottle." A silent pause laid itself across their conversation as if a blanket, strangling further speech until finally, Zee decided to utter himself once more. He had learned that American men rarely spoke of their issues, which was a similar setup to what he had grown used to, in Lebanon. Additionally, Joseph was often reduced to little more than comic relief, an individual others were quick to discredit.

"I am afraid, too," the Middle Easterner confessed, his clawed fingers tightly grasping the wheel. "It’s getting more difficult for me to control myself," he revealed, a recent conversation brushing over his thoughts. A conversation with Astral, the villain. Indeed, Azhar moved through the mind-games with what appeared to be professional grace, but was one to truly analyze the boy, mood swings would clearly make themselves known. "It feels kind of like.., something else takes over, sometimes." Azhar explained, exhaling a small breath. "Something that has no reservations, or insecurities. Something that just wants to..," he paused, the boy’s sharp teeth clenching. He knew what he wanted to say, but it was getting increasingly more difficult to express those words. Yes, indeed, it felt like Zee was harboring two sides of himself, two blatantly opposing forces within his own mind. A side which smirked in the face of adversity, gladly revealing those shark-like teeth in a display of supremacy, and another akin to a whimpering child.

It came and went, as people said. Some days were better than others. However, one thing remained. Every single day, Azhar longed to release his powers, and above all, he wanted to discard that bracelet circling his forearm. That infernal trinket which constantly strangled him, and lulled a supernatural force into dormancy. A force that roared with a single desire. "We’re here," came an end to their conversation. They had reached the destination afforded them by Christina, and the hatch which allowed the Heroes access into an underground tunnel stood on display.

Placing a hand on the door, Azhar turned off his car and proceeded to step outside. It was time to attack this mansion Thomas had spoken of, and save their friends. Perhaps a dangerous prospect, but one Zee was gleefully looking forward to. A notion which terrified the whimpering boy within.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
⚫ Brookside.
⚫ Police Station.

Time
⚫ Evening.

Starring
🐻 @DClassified
🏺 @Rabidporcupine
💀 @Shard

---

Driving into Brookside was never a decision founded in peace of mind. Indeed, Azhar was more concerned about the wellbeing of his car than his own safety. It was quite a decent vehicle, he would admit, one given to him by the company he so tirelessly worked for. Slowly bobbing his head in tune to the music trickling into his pointed ears, Azhar, or Zee, or perhaps even Requiem considering the circumstances, enjoyed the tune from a pair of headphones mimicking the voice of Nina Simone. ’It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me.., Azhar parked his car, large black eyes landing on the police station. Police officers continued undisturbed on their routines, uniformed crime fighters moving in a path towards a constant war against chaos. Azhar often mulled over the thought, what police truly thought of his kind. Not mutants, no, but Heroes. Those who stood up against darkness with powers otherwise unfathomable. Were they an addition, or merely an obnoxious inconvenience.

’And I’m feeling good.., the song continued, Azhar’s hand falling to the door before allowing a path into the evening air. With a deep breath, Zee locked his car and started towards the entrance of this building dedicated to law and order. Occasionally raising a clawed hand as he waved towards a select few officers warranted a small, growing smile that bridged its way across the mutant’s lips. He had come across Brookside’s Finest in the past, and their efforts had not gone unnoticed. Where Heroes found themselves raised to impossible heights, officers were often forgotten. Azhar still recalled his deal with Monster Energy, where he was used in an advertisement. An endearing proposition and the thought called forth a string of laughter from the boy.

Following the directions dictated by officers along the way, the mutant finally found his Heroic friends where they were waiting for his arrival. However, subsequent to the mutant boy’s entrance, Zee felt his phone giving off a sound. Kim Possible, if anyone was able to deduce the strings of beeps. He had been sent a message.

---

“Hmm, maybe I was just imagining it.” Joseph said, slipping the rune back into his pocket. He’d been sure he’d felt the rune activate, although he was fairly drunk… Well, whatever the case, at least this meant that he wouldn’t have to worry about the cashier, and could focus on tagging along with Sam. Normally, he would be the last person to go out of his way to look for extra work, but it just so happened that he may or may not have accidentally broken a few of the eggs in the shopping bag when he’d dropped the gun in with them. He was lazy, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no way he’d be going back to the Hag with broken eggs. Therefore, he needed to find a good excuse for why he never made it back, and what better reason to give to the old ex hero than hero work?

Before he could speak to Sam and express his eagerness to get cracking (heh) however, he heard an unnervingly familiar ringtone, and turned to see a certain demonic child walk in to join them.

“Oh, hey Az.” He said, sending the kid a lazy wave. “Question, how do you know that ringtone? You darn young folk usually don’t have that kind of respect for anything before your time.”

---

Samson was patient while Joseph figured out whether his rune had activated or not. It was strange to him, these runes, as it was one of the only things that he encountered that he couldn’t sense. It only displayed that there were powers beyond perception out there, and not all of them were as harmless, or lazy, as Joseph was. All the more reason to get back to the mission. His purpose for being here was done, he had alerted the authorities. Now the hunt began.

As it appeared, Joseph wasn’t in need of his services so he was soon to start back out. When he turned his head though, Azhar was walking in. He had gotten here much quicker than he anticipated. A corner of his lip upturned, but not much more. Hearing the beeping that emanated from his phantasmic friend, his eyes narrowed some.

”You may want to address that or turn it off. We’re taking a more quiet approach this time around.” The hunter suggested, pulling his hood back over his head.

---

Reaching a clawed hand into his pocket, Azhar managed a sharp-toothed grin as he looked towards the older gentleman. "Yusuf..," the boy began, still clearly unable to pronounce his ally’s name. However, at this point, it was difficult to deduce if Zee was deliberate in his tone, or if he truly could not comprehend the difference between English and Arabic in this instance. "I am three years younger than you," he stated, holding up three claws. "Three," he repeated.

Despite possessing merely twenty-two years of life, Joseph seemed entirely too eager to adopt a disheveled persona. Alcohol, misery, and constant regret. It was an aspect Joseph embodied, for reasons Azhar had been presented, in the past.

There was a slight tilt of the boy’s head, as his eyes fell to the screen of his Hello Kitty draped phone. A message from Thomas. They did not usually communicate, and while Zee had added his co-workers to his device, messages were generally only sent between them in times of peril. He tapped a stylus onto a chat bubble that revealed itself across the screen, the boy’s gaze widening once light was shed on such distressing content. "They’re in big trouble," the mutant commented. "Like, they might die, kinda’ trouble," he continued, a clawed hand gently scratching the back of his head. "Captured by the Mob, huh..?" The boy shifted his attention towards Samson and Joseph, "Sammy," Azhar began, "you take point on this. I’ll back you up." It was a common maneuver between the two. Samson was a hunter and a frontline combatant in a single package. He made the perfect leader, and the giant was certainly someone Azhar could put his faith in. "Yusuf, are you sober enough?" The mutant raised a brow, those black orbs lingering on the alcoholic. Samson and Azhar weren’t the impulsive Heroes their co-workers represented. They were less than eager to work outside of a professional approach.

---

“Three years is a long time.” Joseph said. “You can miss plenty of stuff in that time. Shows, birthdays, the realisation that your life is going nowhere...”

He paused, his eyes glazing over for a moment before he returned back to the moment.

“I was going somewhere with this, but I forgot where.”

Despite his current attitude, his eyes widened as well when Az informed them that the others were in danger. However, it was only a small change, and brief enough that it was probably unnoticeable.

“Huh. Well, sounds like a good enough excuse to me.” He said. He managed to work up enough false confidence to smirk when Azhar asked if he was sober enough to help. “Nope. But something tells me you’re gonna let me come along anyway...”

---

A decision had to be made. It was rather concerning that fellow team members were in danger. Considering the scope of the danger was life and death, for heroes of their power level, it was clear what route to take. The police were going to get people out of the area anyway, hopefully. Further, if the threat that has their companions continues on, how many more people will they hurt worse?

With his mind made up, he started walking. With Zee’s suggestion of taking point, Kanati was already trying to map out some kind of strategy in his mind. The mob was no ordinary gang. In fact, from what he had heard, their boss was reputable for killing heroes. Hopefully they wouldn’t be getting there too late. The fact that they didn’t take their cell phones yet was an indicator that they didn’t have them pinned just yet.

Half a mind made him want to call Christina, as she was standing in the director’s place in his absence. Instinct told Kanati that he didn’t need to worry about that. As they talked about Joseph’s eligibility to come along, due to his involvement with alcohol, Sam spoke up.

”Despite his impairments, we may still have use for his versatility. He managed to bring in one criminal today at least. I imagine, from the recency, he was drunk then too. So long as he performs his craft from a distance until fully prepared, he should be fine.” Kanati spoke quickly, simply to end that part of the conversation.

Once outside, he debated for a moment.

”I’m going to opt out of the car ride. I may be able to get to the mansion quicker by my own means. In which case, getting a view of the situation. I’ll meet you there.”

---

Rubbing his forehead, Azhar managed a sigh. "I’d prefer my teammates to be sober," the mutant stated. "If our leaders followed procedure, Yusuf would likely be on leave." Though the obvious flaws of HERO and its employees had brought several layers of frustration to the surface, Zee’s attention was quickly stolen by a new notification on his phone. This message was not sent by another Hero, but rather, it was an alert.

They had a location, now. A section that appeared to mark itself a notable distance from the Mafioso mansion, their actual target. "Christina notified me. We have an entrance, I think," Azhar informed, his black-eyed gaze turning towards Samson and Joseph before handing the giant their coordinates.

A short pause lingered while those demonic orbs found themselves fixed on the less sober. "I don’t decide what you do." Zee slipped that phone into the confines of his pocket. "Three years is a long time, right? Far be it for me to question my elders."

Azhar didn’t mind Joseph as an individual, but back home he would never have made it into MEDIC. He was in a state of intoxication more often than not. The man was unstable, and as such, incredibly unreliable.

If asked, the dark mutant couldn’t imagine jeopardizing his mission because bottles appeared tempting. Part of him wanted to leave HERO, if honesty found its way to his lips. It was an unorganized, unprofessional, and incredibly destructive attempt at a gathering of crime fighters, but that was irrelevant at this moment. Azhar, or Requiem, had a duty to uphold. His personal reservations would need to wait. Additionally, Samson was correct. Despite current circumstances, Joseph did have his uses, impaired as he may have been. "We’ll see you there, Sam. Let’s go, Yusuf." Azhar finished, before starting towards his car.

---

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Azhar’s Apartment.
💀 Brookside.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @DClassified

---

Kanati, or Sam, was more than capable. Known as The Hunter, he lived up to the name, a wise and tactical young man who acted through calculated maneuvers. Truly a survivalist, Sam was an individual who others could look up to, a Hero with Herculean strength which flowed in harmony alongside the balance of a serene heart. One of the few Heroes Azhar felt some notable form of connection to, Samson embraced the persona of a gentle giant, which in itself was an ironic change from the more flamboyant young Arab. The two were opposites in many ways, indeed. A chiseled Adonis, compared to a scrawny, little creature. A handsome warrior with muscles, strength, and humility, where Azhar maintained an incredibly different disposition. A scorpion and a lion, without fault.

‘Oh, I just got back from Brookside,’ Zee typed, the stylus dancing across his screen. It was ironic how this mutant ranked S in terms of power and danger, outside his bracelet, could not even operate a phone without aid. Such was the strife of claws. ’I’ll be there in a moment. Just tell me where you are.’

With his bare, equally clawed feet clicking against the wooden floor beneath his bed, Azhar managed a stretch, which was soon followed by a quiet yawn. As had been established, this was this day off. However, boredom soon settled. There resided a charm in the freedom of simply adopting a lazy demeanor, but this day had been anything other than relaxing. There was a line which eventually found itself crossed, where leaning against a chair, or seeking shelter beneath warm blankets faded in both desire, and longing. It was when adrenaline and pursuit of excitement confiscated Azhar’s every thought.

Indeed, where a common stance on powers strung along fatigue after prolonged use, Azhar’s body was somewhat different. His powers were aching to flow free, and their release was an energizing sensation. Almost intoxicating. Though it might have come off as an oddity, the boy’s biology and his superpowers were one and the same. As if feeling a warm breeze against his skin every time he engulfed himself in that phantasmal, emerald force, Azhar constantly wanted more. Yes, it was one of the reasons why Hugo Powers afforded the young Hero targets of less repute. Those further southbound on the power scale. It was because continuous use of Zee’s abilities demanded gluttony. A desire to break free. Only fools claimed immunity to hunger, especially for power. It was an aspect Azhar was well aware of. He was the ‘Dark Side of The Force’, as an ironic comparison. It was true what Astral had stated, that the boy fought against his very nature, because his nature was to unleash himself.

Inhaling a deep breath, Zee’s black gaze fell to his bracelet, a dim blue light emanating from its circular shape. The boy had behaved well, and thus the trinket wasn’t permanently attached to his forearm. However, he had been warned in the past, where taking it off too liberally would result in consequences. The mutant has, nonetheless, admitted towards a rather critical fact. When he did take the trinket off, it was akin to shedding heavy shackles, as if he was able to breathe for the first time. A feeling one could easily find themselves drunk with, and a terrifying embrace it was, where the risk of reason being discarded in lieu of chaos was far too great.

Getting dressed was long overdue. Taking leave of his thoughts, Azhar slipped into a pair of socks, followed by his jeans and a tank-top. The process found its conclusion when Azhar slid a pair of synthetic, fingerless gloves over his hands. With the sun now set, he could finally stretch his wings beneath soothing evening air. One could easily note that Zee left his suit behind, where he much rather participated in Hero work without obfuscation. He wanted others to see him. He wanted to be known. It was, after all, his goal. A desire to reach a state of fame, not for glory, nor for money, but to express an ideal.

"See you later, sweetheart," Azhar’s Arabic accent trickled through his words, the boy’s lips gently brushing against Dracula’s forehead. A schedule had not been set, and there was no telling when the boy would return home. However, as Azhar stepped outside and entered his car, it was only a matter of time before he eventually reached Brookside.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Azhar’s Apartment.

Time
💀 Late Evening.

Interactions
💀 @DClassified

---

Following the police’s involvement, Zee could leave. However, his mind lingered. Why did Hugo Powers consistently provide weaker foes for the mutant to fight? Was it to prevent a scenario where the boy abandoned reason in the face of struggle? Clenching his teeth, Azhar turned in bed, his arms gently wrapped around Dracula’s soft, dark frame. He was getting tired of stopping drug dealers, and barely combat-ready villains. It was starting to be reminiscent of an insult. The confrontation with Astral had been little more than a conversation, before the battle was won. If intel provided the villain's exact location, why didn’t they just send in the police, initially? Despite his frustrated thoughts, Azhar was aware of the answer. It was to prevent deaths, and that much could be handled by drafting a Hero with the ability to incapacitate without killing.

A rather ironic assessment in relation to Azhar, of all people. Shifting his gaze towards the bracelet around his forearm, Zee did little in stopping Dracula’s paw from repeatedly poking the device where he lay. "This is it, huh?" The deathly mutant commented, his recipient turning with a curious, four-eyed glance, before returning to a far more interesting venue of focus. Azhar’s bracelet. "Ever thought about us putting a cape on you, Dracula?" A sharp-toothed grin bridged itself across the mutant’s lips before he felt a tail slapping his face, which in turn warranted a chuckle. "We could be Death and his trusty steed!" Claws tenderly combed their way across Dracula’s raven fur, before Azhar eventually sat.

Placing the cat on his lap, Zee expressed a deep sigh, his eyes closing as he leaned against the wall. "I wonder what the others are doing," came a quiet statement. "Some mafia thing, wasn’t it?" Azhar murmured, his black claws continuously moving across Dracula’s shape in a constant, albeit absentminded manner. The comfort of his bed had overtaken them both, and yet, the mutant managed little in regards to rest. Turning his attention to the cellphone at his side, Zee paused. Part of him wanted to call Powers and halfway scream at that man. ‘Let me fight some real villains, I won’t go nuts and turn into a fucking horseman of the apocalypse,’ Azhar frowned. Perhaps he was digging too far into this. It could have been that he was simply the only available Hero, considering how his co-workers were tangled in a mess he honestly had no interest in. Too many Heroes on one mission tended to end in disaster. Abilities clashed, plans failed if there were any, to begin with, and allies stumbled over one another. The mutant still recalled those scarce missions he had, in fact, participated in together with the others. Only one of them was in any capacity a notable display of teamwork. That trip to the maximum-security prison in Mexico. It worked because the right people were there, and a tactical approach was, for once, entertained.

Embracing the monstrous cat on his lap, Azhar planted a soft kiss atop Dracula’s forehead. It was impossible to deduce how long he continued to sit in the same position, those large, black eyes aimed towards a ceiling with no actual sight in mind. He had recently noticed how a previously chipper and outgoing personality was slowly fading in lieu of a more reserved disposition. Perhaps Astral was right in his attempts at taunting the boy. Perhaps the phantasmal teen was forcing himself to like others. Though, the very same man was trying to seed doubt within the Hero’s mind with every statement. "I’m not forcing anything..," a frown returned, presenting itself upon Azhar’s face. Reaching for his phone and a stylus, both of which rested undisturbed at the boy’s side, Zee scrolled down his list of contacts until he reached the letter S. Moments later, letters were tapped in rapid succession.

’Hey, Sam. Want to hang out? Doing Hero stuff? Need any help?' The stylus hovered over an intimidating button titled ‘send’. With a deep breath, Zee finally tapped the button before sliding onto his pillow.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Brookside.
💀 Warehouse 9.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

“Purpose,” Astral stated, motioning towards the large window behind his desk, a circular glass view which allowed sight into the warehouse interior. “I gave all these people purpose,” he continued. “All of them would have overdosed by now,” the man exhaled smoke as he placed his cigar between two fingers. “So tell me,” came a short pause as Astral leaned against his desk, those bright sapphires meeting Azhar’s abyssal gaze, “how horrible is this, truly?”

"You’re asking me if turning people into mindless husks is morally preferable to drug-induced suicide?" Azhar raised a brow, and sipped his drink. "Really digging deep there, aren’t you?"

With a grin bridging across Astral’s lips, the man took another drag of his cigar. “Before you acquired that bracelet,” he motioned towards Azhar’s arm, “how much of a morally superior mess did you leave behind at the end of every mission, my friend?”

A faint frown made itself known on the deathly mutant’s face, his black gaze falling to the whiskey in his hands. "Enough to warrant nightmares," the boy offered, "enough to drill the scent of death into my head," he continued, shifting his focus towards Astral.

“A very honest boy, you are,” the man raised a brow. He did not quite expect that answer, it would appear.

"Were you hoping for a tantrum?" Azhar asked, before proceeding. "Or do you want to continue, Astral? My glass is still full, so I may as well ventilate my many regrets." Though the expression on Azhar’s face betrayed little more than apathy, there was a sense of jest emanating from the boy’s statement. However, Astral stared at the young hero, not quite sure what went through the teenager’s mind. Indeed, Astral’s power allowed him to peer into someone’s past and learn everything about them with a mere look. Their joys, their fears, their sorrows.

“Is that why your father hates you, then?” The man asked, “because you personify darkness?”

Unable to stifle his laughter, Azhar shook his head. "My father hates me," the boy explained, "because I’m a monster. You’ve seen it all," a claw tapped the side of Azhar’s head, "wouldn’t you say?"

“You’re someone who is trying to escape his true nature,” Astral motioned towards Zee’s bracelet. “Why?”

Enjoying another sip of his drink, Azhar would admit that this was a good trade for what had previously been taken from him. A perfectly good energy drink. However, very little compared to the marvelous splendor that was whiskey. "Don’t you know that, already?" The mutant offered Astral a small, sharp-toothed grin. He had read the documents and was well aware about what this man was capable of. Nothing was a secret.

“I know that you’re afraid of yourself,” the man analyzed, “and I know that you’re trying to look like a hero for everyone else.” Allowing the statement to linger, Astral took another sip of his drink. It could very well have been his last. “What was it you said during that camping trip with your friends? You want to become famous, as to prove that even monsters can be heroes?”

Before setting foot in Astral’s office, Azhar was already prepared to have his mind probed. He had made sure to read through provided documents, and he was also aware that Astral had driven people to insanity. However, the hypothetical ball was on Azhar’s side. "It was something like that," the boy agreed.

Again, there was a pause. A lingering silence which Astral eventually broke. “You’re enjoying this,” he stated, seeing the small smirk bridging its way across Azhar’s lips. “You never did shy away from an interesting conversation, did you?”

"You tell me," Zee leaned against a cupboard, nursing the glass which rested between his slender, clawed digits. "Dive deep into my self-proclaimed philosophical mind and extract every embarrassing secret."

“Because you truly don’t mind,” Astral tapped a finger against his drink. “It is an act of control, your desire to.., what was it? ‘Own your shit’? Yes, that was it.” The man gently stirred his expensive beverage, its price enough to warrant awe. “Because nothing offends you, does it? No insults, no mind games.., your greatest enemy is the struggle constantly raging in here,” he tapped his temple. “To give in and unleash the full extent of your powers, or maintain discipline, and fight to protect those who fear you.”

"You give me too much credit," Azhar commented, with a chuckle. "But you are right about one thing, Astral," the boy’s abyssal orbs fixed themselves on the blue spheres joining the exchange. "Mind games are a waste of time. I wouldn’t join any of you, and you already know that," Zee stated, taking a step away from the cupboard. "Not because of some code or bullshit Hero’s oath," Requiem extended a claw, pointing it towards Astral, "but because if I decided to give in and become a bad boy, the last thing I’d ever do, would be leaving a single one of you alive."

“That’s what you really want, isn’t it?” Astral smirked, “you want to kill all the villains. An Anti-Hero.”

"You probably know the feeling, don’t you? That sickening feeling where you want to puke when you kill someone?" Azhar slowly approached the man, "but somewhere deep inside, buried in your heart.., is satisfaction."

“Is that how you felt when you killed the Warden in Mexico?” Astral remained leaning against the desk, unmoving. “When you helped save the friends you’re forcing yourself to like.” Despite knowing how this meeting would end, there was a twisted sense of joy washing over Astral, being able to speak to someone who so freely expressed the dark desires within. “Oh, you were so delighted.., a man who could copy another’s powers and there you were, presenting yours as if a gift.” Again, there was a pause, but one which remained for a brief breath. “Before you watched him melt into a puddle in response to venturing upon the majesty that are your powers.”

Running those clawed digits through his bangs, Azhar enjoyed another sip. He would make sure to confiscate that whiskey bottle by the end of this. "You know, my biggest fear was expressing those pesky homosexual feelings inside," a claw gently placed itself on Astral’s chest. "Because I was afraid that my mother would cast me aside." Azhar’s slender hand moved, tracing a path across Astral’s torso and towards his cheek where it then lingered. "I was afraid that the other Heroes wouldn’t accept me for being a fucking monster, either," Zee leaned closer, his black eyes now inches from Astral’s own. "But in the end.., who gives a fuck? Right?"

“Own your shit..,” Astral commented, clenching his teeth slightly as his heart rate accelerated.

"Because no one else will..," the boy finished, Necrotic energy escaping his hand, before Astral fell onto the floor. Taking another sip of his whiskey, Azhar finished the drink. "Your conversation’s over."

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Brookside.
💀 Warehouse 9.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 None.

---

It had been a pleasant evening which proceeded down a path of increased frustration. What began with a trip to the store, thoughts of a cold, refreshing beverage circling the mutant’s mind, had now brought him towards the evening’s ultimate act. Leaving Doctor Viven behind wasn’t something Azhar could easily forgive himself for, either. He had abandoned good company, and delicious food, all the result of a villain’s schemes. They were neverending, and one would be forgiven for believing that the rise in Heroes demanded balance in increased crime. Where those with powers stood against injustice, there were individuals who sought to challenge the notion. It wasn’t always due to a contradicting ideal, but sometimes the mere notion of clashing with fire and steel was in itself a call to arms.

Exiting his car, Azhar gently closed the door. A sleek, black vehicle afforded him by HERO. It paid off, as they said, to be a high ranking soldier, but as Zee’s foot felt gravel brushing against its sole, the young crime-fighter’s gaze turned towards a large, red title. Warehouse 9, text which indicated his location in an assertive display, each letter twisting and folding across a ribbed wall.

It was an inconvenience but certainly expected. Seeing metal coating every surface removed the element of surprise. Azhar was required to enter the building through a door, where he much preferred a less obvious approach, there was little else that could be done. Circling the warehouse, Azhar paused before lowering himself to a knee. Hidden behind a large gathering of crates, the dark Hero peered ahead. Pistols and assault rifles, hostile targets had made sure to maintain care. They were guarding the loading bay, indicating that a shipment was imminent. The presence of trucks parked along a wide stretch further strengthened this assumption.

Yielding to patience, Azhar waited. He had to be considerate, and most definitely careful. Astral tinkered with mind-control. His drugs afforded him slaves, and a bracelet rendering the young Hero’s powers non-lethal was not enough to allow for a chaotic approach. They were still innocent human beings. However, no plan ever survived contact with the enemy, and Azhar was prepared to improvise. Forcing innocent individuals into unconsciousness for a handful of hours was preferable than putting them in the line of fire.

“Alright, let’s get this done,” came a masculine voice which trickled across the silent evening air. It was soon followed by several boxes loaded into a truck. A closer look would reveal that this manual labor was performed by individuals dressed in everyday clothes, with no weapons, nor notable trinkets available for combat. Further inspection indicated lifeless eyes, staring ahead dimly as each movement mimicked a routine.

"Astral’s using his drug-slaves as workers?" Azhar pondered, before moving from his position. "I need to stop that shipment," he decided. Turning his attention towards the driver’s seat, Azhar noticed how the window was open, with a man smoking a cigarette, and blowing the puffs out from the truck. "The first puzzle piece." Hiding behind another crate, the boy focused on his target and conjured forth a spectral force. The ghostly, emerald presence licked past its victim, following a cigarette that fell onto the asphalt, as the driver slumped forward. "That’s one," Azhar frowned, turning towards the remaining two guards who stood by the entrance.

“Alright, we’re done here. Get moving,” a gangster commented as he motioned ahead. There was, however, no response. Neither was there movement. “The fuck?” An annoyed sighed escaped the man’s lips before he ventured across the loading bay and approached the truck. “Dude!” He exclaimed.

"That’s two..," Azhar whispered, as Necrotic Force breathed itself into existence around the man’s shape. A mere moment later shifted his state into unconsciousness. "And three," the deathly mutant smirked, lifting his hand towards the third guard to mimic the very motions from before, preventing a reaction which would have given away the boy’s position.

Approaching a fallen guard, Azhar reached into the man’s pocket and produced a keycard. So far, the mission had proceeded smoothly. Patience was a virtue, truly. Raising the card towards a scanner, he noted a sound which was soon followed by the color red turning green. This allowed for Azhar to press a large, circular button that slowly lifted a cargo door. He made sure to open it just enough, before quietly slipping inside.

As he had previously expected, several civilians worked in packaging drugs. If he knew anything about these setups, every tightly wrapped block carried one kilo. Following the progress already started, Azhar continued to rely on stealth. Indeed, he could combat these guards easily enough, as long as he relied on cover from their bullets, but allowing that chaos to take place would instead result in the risk of innocent people dying. A mere look into the warehouse would indicate their presence.

"Now, where is Astral?" Came a thought as Azhar continued to move through the massive interior. He did come across more guards, however. Luckily, silence lingered, and he was able to neutralize them without noteworthy complications. Turning towards the metal stairs by a corner wall leading towards a second floor, Zee fluidly moved up those steps until he finally found himself in a corridor. Several doors stretched across its narrow shape, and as Requiem delved deeper, he soon stopped.

“You took your time,” a voice struck at the boy, earning his attention before Azhar carefully opened a door which allowed sight of a decorated office. “My guards would have just let you come and see me, you know.” On a chair sat a man clad in what could only have been defined as an elegant suit. His short, blonde hair was styled, and a cigarette rested between his lips. Piercing blue eyes peered ahead, and Azhar’s focus found itself transfixed. “Please, have a seat,” the man who went by Astral offered, motioning towards the comfortable chair in front of his office desk.

"You knew?" Zee asked, stepping inside before he closed the door behind him.

“Of course,” Astral tapped his temple, “knowledge is my trade, my boy,” a small grin made itself known upon the man’s lips. “Besides,” he continued before standing, “a fight with you wouldn’t exactly end well for me, would it?” Astral chuckled, opening a wooden, mahogany cupboard and produced two glasses, followed by a bottle of whiskey.

"So you invite me over for a drink?" The deathly mutant raised a brow, spectral energy now dimly emanating from his frame. "You can save your speech."

“Come now,” Astral poured them a serving of golden brown liquid, “we both know what you look like, so why not take that mask off?” He exhaled a small puff of smoke, “this meeting will end at your behest, so the least you can do is entertain a conversation, no?”

There was a slight pause, before Azhar eventually pulled his hood down, followed by his mask. Zee had no secret identity, and as far as he was concerned, the whiskey wasn’t poisoned. Astral had taken a sip himself. "How proper of you," the boy offered, his claws clicking against the glass which had been offered.

“With a thought,” Astral began, “I can lay unconscious on this here floor,” he motioned towards the carpeted surface beneath them. “And perfectly good whiskey would simply.., soak in,” came a sigh. “You know this, so I do appreciate the mercy,” Astral took another sip. “You’re not a savage, Azhar. It is uncommon for Heroes to present.., civility.”

"Because trusting villains with a conversation tends to end well," Zee managed a dry joke, and raised an eyebrow. "But I can’t very well enjoy a glass of whiskey while they’re ripping your fingers off in Coldwater," Azhar brought the glass to his lips. "So you have until I finish this drink."

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Ristorante de Luce.
💀 Mission Start.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @taylorquest
💀 None.

---

As had been established, Azhar sought to enjoy his day off. A pursuit of relaxation, and in this case, social interaction. He had been doing well in that regard, a development in which the phantasmal boy could pat himself on the shoulder. Indeed, the moment spent with Doctor Vivien Valis was a cherished exchange. Alas, all good things must come to an end, as they say. Where a desire to indulge in the blissful nectar that was a soda mix circled Azhar’s mind, the mutant was forced to yield. Despite what some may have thought, and beyond the boy’s own insecurities, a Hero presented himself, a young man with responsibilities. What did a day off truly mean? It meant that Azhar, or Zee, stood on standby, simply awaiting a call before being sent into the boiling pot, once again.

He could not recall the last official mission executed with other Heroes, but rather found himself on solo assignments constantly. One would, however, be mistaken in assuming Azhar’s longing for teamwork. The moments spent with his fellow Heroes had been disastrous. They didn’t formulate plans, they most certainly didn’t work together in a noteworthy capacity, and they bickered all the time. If anything, the deathly mutant was surprised that they hadn’t all found themselves at the mercy of a villain, due to lacking tactics.

Azhar was not an impressive tactician. He was not a leader, and he was not used to working with others. However, at the very least, he could admit towards attempting the feat. The others were, as Americans tended to say, ‘Loose Cannons’. Azhar adored maintaining a more relaxed disposition amidst the dangers of a life-threatening mission. However, betting his continued existence on fellow Heroes more preoccupied with property damage than a professional approach was not Azhar’s idea of a good time.

Mission - Neutralize and Capture.
Villain - Astral, further information included.
Rank - B+.
Location - Warehouse 9, location mapped.
Lethality - Non-Lethal approach.
Power Restriction - None, but discretion required.

Reaching for his cellphone in response to a beeping sound that trickled into Azhar’s ears, the boy’s eyes fell to the screen, which accompanied a heavy sigh. Indeed a day off meant nothing more than remaining ready and waiting, until eventual disaster struck. Such was the life of a Hero, no matter how obscure, or withdrawn. Within the message, a document had been attached revealing in-depth information on the target dubbed ‘Astral’ and his abilities. It was nothing Azhar could adequately afford attention, while at a restaurant when engaged in company, however. "I am so sorry, Doctor Valis," Zee commented, clawed fingers moving towards his forehead where they gently rubbed the boy’s pale-white skin. "I’ve been called for," came a sigh. Azhar couldn’t simply deny the request. It didn’t quite work, like that. If he was sent a mission, he was expected to deliver. The only acceptable excuse was being stuck in a hospital bed with blood leaking from open wounds.

Rising to his feet, Azhar showed Doctor Vivien Valis the text he had received. "Some guy named Astral," he explained, before slipping the phone into his pocket. If he was allowed to use the entirety of his powers, it meant that this villain was quite powerful, even if his rank was a high B. Underestimating this opponent due to a letter strung along the exact same downfall that Azhar criticized his fellow co-workers for. It was irresponsible. "We’ll have to rain-check this dinner," the mutant managed a soft smile, "it was really nice meeting you!" Azhar finished, before making haste in exiting the restaurant which would otherwise have offered him a lovely evening.

A Hero first, and foremost. It was something the mutant often stumbled across. The mission came first, always. It was why he questioned the decision of settling into a relationship when loyalty to your spouse came second. Perhaps a rather fanatical approach, but one Azhar truly believed in. He was willing to abandon his own desires accompanying a normal, everyday life, for the task at hand. There would always be an assignment present, and there would most certainly always be a villain seeking to harm others. A clouded or preoccupied mind had no place on the battlefield, something any soldier would have been able to affirm.

Upon reaching his home, Azhar slipped inside, closed the door, and proceeded to analyze the mission parameters on a more comfortable screen. His laptop. As per usual, a myriad of information was presented. Astral’s real name, his past, his skills, and powers. Naturally, his illegal operation was equally so afforded the Hero tasked with halting its progress. "A mind-controlling drug," the phantasmal mutant frowned "why is everyone obsessed with creating an army?" It wasn’t the first time Zee had come across something like this. Create a drug, disguise it as any common street substance, and gain complete control over whoever takes it. "I’ll be going up against a lot of mind-jacked civilians," the boy rubbed his chin. Hugo Powers’ demand for discretion made all the more sense, now.

Rising from his computer chair, Azhar approached his closet where everyday clothes were soon replaced by a suit, the thing that symbolized Requiem. An unknown Hero mainly considered ‘cool’ amongst teenaged outsiders, Requiem possessed powers far darker than the public had seen. Without that bracelet circling Azhar’s forearm, there was no way for him to maintain the role of Hero. Clenching those sharp teeth at the thought, Zee reached for his mask, a black skull, and covered his spectral face. Dark or light, it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. He had a mission, and Warehouse 9 was located in Brookside, the easiest location to manufacture and sell drugs. A location where eager buyers, and in this case, slaves, waited around every street corner. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Azhar turned towards his cat, the deathly mutant granting the creature a soft smile behind his obfuscating visage, before finally stepping outside.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Ristorante de Luce.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @taylorquest

---

Azhar recalled the drink ‘Roy Rogers’. He had yet to imbibe, however. Perhaps somewhat unfair towards an otherwise excellent beverage. Cola and grenadine syrup did sound like a winning combination, something the spectral boy found incredibly appealing. It did prompt him to consider all the various, interesting options that continuously made themselves known before him, but Zee was far too busy extending a clawed hand towards that of which had grown somewhat familiar. Perhaps it was time to put aside that Java Monster Energy drink, and maintain focus on that which had yet to be experienced.

"I’ll have the same," came a spectral voice in response, Azhar’s sharp-toothed smile shifting towards their waiter. A young man dressed in the obligatory combination of dress shirt and tie, his winning smile the most important part of such an attire. It would be a lie to claim that Zee’s attention merely brushed past their water, before shifting back towards Doctor Vivien Valis. The phantasmal teen was nearly twenty years of age, and his thoughts of recent had been clinging to more intimate venues.

It was difficult to deduce whether these interests were founded in a desire to hold someone close, or simple curiosity. Azhar often claimed that a person in their position, a Hero, as it were, should not reasonably find themselves in such circumstances. Relationships for a Hero tended towards the same end, which appeared to maintain a similar theme. Chaos. Though Azhar was unknown, it would be foolish to claim that he didn’t have enemies. The boy was a high A Tier Hero, someone who had been sent on missions earning him notable rivals in the process. Involving a hapless lover in that constant battlefield was not only naive, but cruel.

"I think I have a more active singing career than Scary Spice," Azhar commented, changing the direction of his thoughts towards what Doctor Valis had stated. It was a joke, one met by jest, in turn, which was evident by Azhar’s lingering smirk. It was commonplace to consider the young man’s expression somewhat disturbing, those sharp teeth meeting an onlooker as a less flamboyant presentation of the Cheshire Cat. However, this woman, Doctor Viven Valis seemed far more interested in what resided beyond the mysterious surface which had managed to split an audience in two. Those who would rather avert their gaze, and those who found Azhar’s appearance intriguing. Claws, fangs, abyssal eyes, a tail, and his phantasmal voice all spoke of a less than family-friendly nature. However, it was something the young Hero wished to change. It was the reason why he wanted to reach some level of fame. Perhaps that way, he could prove to the world that being a monster wasn’t bad. He could teach both kids and adults alike that actions define you, no matter what skin you wore.

"And what about you, Doctor Valis?" Azhar continued, resting his chin against a slender hand. "What do you do for fun?" Zee asked, clearly enjoying their exchange. It had been a while since he was able to engage in a conversation like this. Work had confiscated nearly all of his free time, and ever since he was ordered by Powers to reach for a more social disposition, Azhar’s experiences with his fellow Heroes had been a hit or miss. Though, despite the boy’s more fun-loving personality, he would admit that interactions similar to this had more charm than trying to make himself heard amongst ten others, each one clawing for attention.

"I sing at the Red Lion Bar every Friday, if you want front-row seats," Azhar stated with a slight chuckle, "I’ve actually performed here, too," the boy motioned towards a vacant stage at the other end of the dining room. "I sang ‘Bang Bang’, a few weeks ago." Azhar finished, the expression on his face indicating a sense of longing. Singing was an escape for him, a time where he could forget about the surrounding world and just be the center of attention. A scene where he could abandon all of his issues in lieu of freedom. A monster on stage, someone who loved the spotlight, and someone who proudly presented all that he was. "Bang, bang, my baby shot me down," the mutant grinned, winking at the woman in front of him, reciting a line from the song.

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Location
💀 Ristorante de Luce.

Time
💀 Evening.

Interactions
💀 @taylorquest

---

An unexpected development, but certainly not unwelcomed. Azhar’s black eyes turned towards a co-worker he had witnessed, though never quite interacted with. He did, however, recall her name, if the boy wasn’t mistaken. "Doctor..," Zee began, a smile bridging its way across his pale lips as he spoke. Though a brief moment passed before completing the handle, Azhar’s expression remained. Whatever reputation he may have shouldered at H.E.R.O, an interaction could very well dispel misconceptions. "Valis," the late-teen finished, before motioning towards his waiter. It was a clear indicator that this woman was going to accompany the young hero, which was evident following their guided path towards a table.

A pleasant restaurant by any measure, Azhar leaned back in his seat, the boy’s abyssal gaze lowering to a menu which he had been presented. In truth, the nineteen-year-old much preferred the company of those older than himself. Perhaps it was an expected disposition, as he stood on the cusp of being a man. Less than a year remained until he finally turned twenty. It was no wonder then that others within the bracket of ‘teenager’ may have had a tendency of being branded somewhat obnoxious. It was simply the way of things.

One could also indicate that Azhar was forced to mature rather quickly, his state of mind the product of a less than accepting world. Of course, it would be foolish to state that everyone older than Azhar, or ‘Requiem’ in the public eye, maintained any level of respectable behavior by virtue of their age. While entertaining and most certainly delightful company, a certain Hero by the name of Blake, or more appropriately ‘Firebird’ was known for his less than wise and collected take on conversations. At least he had a pretty face.

"It’s nice to meet you in a less..," Azhar raised a claw, motioning towards the restaurant’s welcoming interior, "professional setting," came a playful grin, Zee’s shark-like teeth making themselves known. It was quite easy to melt into the soothing music trickling into serene air from background speakers, a blanket that laid itself across an already blissful scene. "I sometimes tune out at HERO One," a spiked, slender black digit came to gently tap Azhar’s temple following his accented words, the boy’s Middle Eastern heritage clearly identified. "Though, Powers have ordered me to be more social," Zee chuckled, his spectral, ethereal voice earning itself attention as an aberrant addition to the restaurant patronage. "And sadly, he refuses to go clubbing with me," the mutant exhaled a theatrical sigh. "A Spice Girls sing-along would help in loosening him up, you know?"