Chapter Text
The world is protected by those who are strong: by people with abilities that a person in the earlier ages couldn't begin to fathom. These people are heroes both in title and in life and it all began with the first powered person who was inspired by the cartoons on the TV. Y'know, those kids' series with all sorts of hero and villain conflict, like Batman or Superman!
That's what most people think.
Good is born where the bad thrives, however, and so, the heroes arose where there were villains first. After all, there is no need for peace-keepers unless there are threats around, is there? It's the smallest bittersweet truth that no one remembers anymore -at least, the common people don't.
No, no, the common people are bombarded with hero propaganda each and every day and in turn, they deify the hero society so much that the heroes themselves have forgotten their roots.
It's the cold and harsh truth that has been forgotten in time.
The one who forgets their upbringing, however, becomes corrupt -that is another truth. This one is remembered frequently, though! Isn't that ironic?
Grian wants to laugh at it, throw it in a bin and set it on fire; burn it along with all the evils of the world.
Everything was perfect until the first hero to demand a salary appeared. Up till then, there was what people call nowadays Vigilantism: voluntary heroism by some trained professional. So came the first Hero Headquarters, somewhere in the capital, funded by the government and partly from public donations.
Vigilantism died in the eyes of the law immediately, as more and more heroes joined the paid hero campaign. Heroes existed to take down villains -the powered individuals who used their special abilities against the weak or whatever the actual terminology is- and if vigilantes did so before them, then how would they get paid?
Grian has witnessed many atrocities in his time… vigilantes dying alone in cold, dark and disgusting alleyways of trash, finished by a so-called hero is one of them. He'd only found a body back then, lifeless and bled out dry, like a vampire had sunk its teeth in the supple flesh. The next time, he'd managed to call an ambulance in time but then he learnt that saving the dying, invisible helpers of the city is a worse fate than death.
That one, he'd unknowingly sent straight into the wolf's mouth: the public eye. The vigilante was arrested quicker than the ER had been operating, trying to save their life, whoever that was. Grian never learnt their name.
It was around the time when his own abilities were starting to manifest, years and years ago. First, there were wings sprouting from his back… a painful experience; having wings growing inside skin and flesh, feathers, colorful and innocent but as sharp as paper. Now that he looks back on it, he can't say that he regrets it.
Second was his favorite ability, although to this day, he doesn't know what to call it. It's a fickle little thing- its name, that is. Being able to see through someone else's eyes is quite unique. He is pretty sure that there are no others who bear this gift. Lastly came the fast reflexes and some sort of danger-sensing tingle at his nape. By the time he was a fully-fledged adult, every piece of power had fallen in place.
The third vigilante was what started it all.
With new, growing powers coursing through him, Grian believed he could help. That maybe, just maybe , that he could save someone. Truly, he believed it.p
He found the vigilante bleeding, deathly pale skin and half-lidded eyes, yet another half-finished job of a sloppy hero. Darn corrupted heroes. It was a sour sight.
Yet, as he stood there, he felt powerless. He had no medicine on him, no spontaneous healing ability and no one to back him up. It didn't look like the person would make it anyway, not with how much blood there was on scene.
He could only offer mercy.
*
The rumor of Watcher , the hawk in the sky with obsidian black wings spread like wildfire. A superhuman who rests at the top of the dark silhouette of high buildings, who perches and becomes one with the outline of the city against the storm clouds.
The hawk who attacks heroes in the night, who drops on them from the sky. They never look up. He doesn't kill… yet.
It's enough to scare… terrify; enough to upkeep an infamous reputation.
It's what Grian wants. It's high time the heroes had someone better; someone scarier, more of a threat than an annoyance, to fear.
They, indeed, fear him.
The corruption is halted only for a small time and then, it picks up again, like nothing has happened. The rumors of Watcher state that he isn't a threat; that he is a sneaky villain, an escape artist with big wings. Nothing special; nothing to be afraid of.
Of course, it takes a year for that to happen.
There is only one way to keep them away, he finds. So, he makes his first kill, picking one of the sidekicks left to patrol his part of the city alone.
This is the appetizer, the heroes say at a conference meeting the next day and Grian laughs as he watches them. He's sending a message.
"You have no idea how right you are", Grian quietly muses to himself, letting gravity lead him into the soft mattress of his bed.
*
It takes no time at all for Watcher to gain dame in the underworld and all its illegalities. Before he knows it, he has a full team behind him, supporting his every move. There are doctors, emergency responders that delve in villain turf for the higher payment and there are other villains in it too that he could call friends. At the end of the day, though, they are simply business associates, who simply help each other out of sticky situations.
Easily enough, he gains positive popularity from the local vigilantes in the area. He and his team protect them when times get tough and Grian doesn’t see another struggling, dying person in the alleys anymore.
Slowly, he begins to riffle through information; he gets even more involved than he initially had.
Eventually, he is able to detect the corrupt from the pure and he takes initiative to begin cutting the thorns off the rose. A sort of cleansing, if you will. With that set in stone, he packs his things and moves to the heart of the problem: to the capital, where it all began.
There, he finds even more heroes and even more villains. He sets territory, shares it sometimes, and he makes his presence overbearing for the local authorities not to notice him. News travels fast and sure enough, there are people after him within the month.
That’s not in his focus, however. No, he has found a diamond amongst the coal in the deep, depressing mines and he lets himself tunnel vision to the one way to change the world.
*
Scar started with a dream.
A dream to become a hero is perhaps the one dream every boy who has heard of Batman or Superman shares with another. Scar was no different and he didn’t change his mind as he grew up. He knew the dangers, he affiliated himself with the idea of death quickly -he was incredibly prone to accidents for some reason- and he practiced his own power day in and day out. Thankfully, telekinesis was an ability that required little resources to exercise.
He remembers that one time when he was younger, when he was just a child going to Primary… He uprooted a tree in the local park. It used to be his greatest achievement. His childhood friend, mischief-causer and prankster, Grian, had cheered.
Life led him to the capital, far away from his friends right when he’d finished high school. He lost contact with all of his friends but there weren’t many agencies looking to take apprentices under their wing; it was a necessary step to following his beliefs and having a high-paying job too! What else could a person ask for other than a hobby they could live off of?
So, he started training under one of the top heroes of the agency, slowly but surely climbing the ranks until he could step out of the shadow that had been covering him for two years and a half.
When he was finally ready, one of the top heroes in the popularity leaderboards and the head of his own little corporation, Boatem Inc., he did not expect to debut into an even scarier world.
Word that Watcher was moving inland had reached the HQ in no time and they were prepared to welcome a hit to the gut when he’d finally arrived. Sightings were reported from all around the continent, which didn’t help at all in locating a temporary residence or at least a base of operations.
Ultimately, however, Scar knew that one of the HQs would be hit. It was advised to not wander around at night, especially alone, since Watcher was known to attack during that time frame and also pick the easier target.
Now, Scar is a careful man, thanks to the fact that accidents appear to happen wherever he goes like he walked under a ladder or smashed a mirror. Talk about unluckiness -and to think that he hasn’t done any of those superstition things!
So, how does he end up in Watcher’s claws? Honestly, he doesn’t know. It was supposed to be a quick run to the grocer’s to buy some last minute stuff but noooo, his day had to go from good to bad! Maybe he could’ve waited for tomorrow and not wander the streets at closing hour. Yeah, it was his fault that he has now found himself in this predicament.
Scar is also the one hero who refuses to wear any sort of mask to cover his face. One of the perks of telekinesis is that he can attack from far away, making the need to be up close and personal with his enemy completely unnecessary.
Weeell… this time might be an exception.
Watcher has him cornered, hand around his throat, back against a rather humid, glossy wall and the villain’s face having been shoved right into his personal space. Scar doesn’t know how to react and the other’s claws are right ontop of his carotid, tracing in a rough line but unmoving otherwise and he doesn’t want to cause any accidents by trying to attack one of the greatest supervillains of all time.
For whatever reason, he hasn’t been killed yet and that is evidence enough that he is needed for something; that he’s valuable in a way other than the expensive hero gear and the tailored suit.
Vibrant, violet eyes similar to a galaxy stare right into his own and he thinks he might go blind if he doesn’t look away from how bright they are in contrast to the darkness of the
night and the poorly lit up street. The scarf around the lower part of his face makes it difficult to distinguish the grin that is slowly crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“You”, Watcher says, voice accented but audibly altered by a voice changer. “Are going to be very useful!”
There is something distinctly familiar in the way he holds himself when he lets go of Scar’s neck, still keeping him cornered but without invading his bubble anymore.
A creepy feeling settles in Scar’s stomach, foreign and all-consuming.