Chapter Text
Bdubs huffed out a frustrated breath through his nose as he typed angrily on his laptop. The story he was working on was not going well. Lately, there hadn’t been any leads to go off, let alone actual information to gather. To add to his misery, a raging headache pounded behind his eyes to the beat of his heart. A common side effect of his power, but one that no amount of painkiller had learned to fix. He was hungry, in pain, and stuck in a journalistic rut with a report due in two days. Things were not quite looking up for BdoubleO100. The story that was supposed to turn his career around was instead driving it straight off a cliff.
The heroes that plague our city—
The heroes that plague roam our city—
The heroes that roam our city
Every day, so-called heroes take to the streets—
Bdubs deleted the sentence once more. The aggressive clicking of the backspace key was becoming all too familiar to him. With another irritated sigh, Bdubs shoved backwards in his chair, coming dangerously close to tipping over before the flimsy four legs collided once more with the floor.
The chair, like almost everything else in his small apartment, was bought second-hand. Several mysterious stains decorated its wooden seat, but Bdubs couldn’t really afford to be picky when he bought it. It mismatched horribly with the rest of his furniture, but Bdubs thought it provided character to the small living space. Even if the friends who visited didn’t exactly appreciate it.
Just another reason that this story had to work out.
Bdubs ran a hand through his already mussed hair, brown strands sticking out every which way. He adjusted his headband in an attempt to push it out of his face. After squeezing his eyes shut and massaging his temples roughly, Bdubs attempted to focus once more.
His report due soon was supposed to be about the heroes that worked in Life City fighting crime. They were technically vigilantes, as they worked unsanctioned by the local law enforcement, but most people just let them do their thing. After all, they took care of most of the crime that LCPD was too lazy—or too scared—to take care of. Especially in the more… unsavory parts of town. Especially with criminals whose abilities stretched past a basic understanding of a gun.
But lately, many of the heroes that patrolled the city had turned to more violent methods. There were some exceptions that still upheld the heroic ideals, of course, but horrific acts by heroes splashed across the news were becoming more and more common. Bdubs dubbed these cruel characters as “Anti-Heroes” in his reports. Most notably was the duo of Slipstream and Maniac, two Anti-Heroes that had quickly risen to infamy due to their violent methods. The LCPD hadn’t bothered to apprehend them or anything, but the rest of the city was waiting with bated breath for the moment they went too far.
Bdubs was determined to be the first to push the story when it happened. For the last month he had attempted to tail the Anti-Heroes. The success of his little endeavor was… debatable. The heroes moved much faster than he could as a civilian, especially with Slipstream’s power.
When the white-haired, fox-hybrid vigilante had initially risen to power, Bdubs had learned everything he could about him. Information was scarce for the first few weeks after his first appearance, but Slipstream had made himself very known very quickly. Maniac, not so much. His power hadn’t revealed itself until 3 months after his first appearance, but there was still speculation about whether there were any hidden factors of his power.
There are sites and forums all over the web dedicated to documenting each aspect of each hero that made their debut on the streets. Half of them die out after a few months once their dedicated hero got scared off or too hurt to continue working, but the few that followed heroes akin to city-wide icons were immensely popular. Bdubs had spent his fair share of time trawling the sketchy pages, and had gotten his fair share of virus alerts to go with it.
But it was all worth it when Bdubs could confidently call himself the leading expert on Slipstream, Maniac, and a variety of other hero duos. As his main target for his story, Bdubs followed Slipstream the closest. Maniac was usually there too, but he seemed far less complex somehow. Just someone who was known for hitting a lot of people, honestly.
Slipstream, on the other hand, had a power that fascinated Bdubs. The ability to control air, to put it simply. There were millions of other heroes with powers similar to it, but Bdubs had only seen Slipstream use it in ways that felt innovative. New. Like Slipstream not only wanted to use his power, he wanted to use it to its full extent. Which meant using it in ways that Bdubs had never seen before.
Bdubs had watched countless videos of people speculating that Slipstream was one of the rare heroes that possessed two abilities, but every supposed “new power” of his could be attributed to his air-control if you thought hard enough about it. Suffocation? Stopping air from entering someone’s lungs. Growing or extinguishing fires? Feed them more or less oxygen, and the rest is easy. Flying? Well, yeah, okay, that one’s pretty self-explanatory.
The point was, Slipstream appeared to be the most powerful hero in the city. And he used it almost exclusively to catch petty thieves and beat down the occasional gang member, occasionally taking their spoils for himself. It didn’t make any sense!
Bdubs had spent far too many late nights speculating on what the fox-hybrid’s reasoning could be. Why have such potential for good and use it for so little! It infuriated Bdubs. It’s what inspired him to turn in the request for his story in the first place. But so far, all of his fanatical curiosity had led to little more than absolutely nothing.
Bdubs pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at the painfully blank doc on his laptop. Outside, the sounds of the city at night whistled through his open window. The flashing lights of cars and billboards and the rowdy noises of drunk businessmen were something that Bdubs had gotten used to over the years. But in this moment, they were just another thing that pissed him off.
Getting up angrily, he slammed his window closed before returning to his laptop. After a moment’s hesitation, he slammed that closed too.
He was too restless to write. Thankfully, Bdubs always had a remedy.
He was suited up and on the roof before he knew it. Well, ‘suited up’ was a bit generous. His uniform was nothing special. Hell, ‘uniform’ was being a bit generous too. It consisted of little more than a white T-shirt, black shorts over leggings, and some heavy duty boots. All of a more protective material, of course. The only truly specialized thing about his costume were the rings he wore on each hand, slotted over the hand wraps he wore to protect his knuckles. It wasn’t a seamless look, but they helped him channel his power. Besides, they lended a little more force to his punches. A mottled green jacket thrown over his shoulders, accentuated with a golden zipper, protected him from the winter chill and completed his look.
Bdubs had been a hero for about a year—as long as the heroes had really been around. One of the more famous ones if he did say so himself.
‘Sundial’, as he called himself, was splashed across small-time journals dedicated to following hero movements often, with the occasional feature on larger publications. He had even been interviewed a few times! At least one of them had been by his civilian identity, but Sundial thought it still counted.
Though many heroes worked in duos, Sundial was one of the few that worked alone. Not necessarily because he wanted to, but because he simply hadn’t bothered to find a partner. His power was… specific, to say the least. It would be far more difficult to find a partner than they would be worth. So instead, Sundial patrolled alone.
He occasionally teamed up with law enforcement—a rare feat for a hero in Life City—for problems too big to handle solo, but that was about it for Sundial’s social endeavors. He preferred it this way.
Settling his mask over his face, Sundial launched himself onto the rooftop across from his apartment building. The rush of wind against the fabric stretching to cover the lower half of his face was exhilarating. Thankfully, it also blocked the smell of body odor and human waste that permeated the streets around here. Sundial had missed this while cooped up in his apartment. The sounds of the city surrounded him as he hopped over rooftops deeper into the city. He kept his ears perked for any signs of a scuffle that he could deal with. He itched to punch something. There was only so long he could spend attempting to write.
The steady pounding of Sundial’s feet on the rooftops became comfortable, a familiar heartbeat that always characterized his heroic outings. Without some fancy vehicle or power to ferry him around, Sundial relied on good old-fashioned running to get around. It made him feel a bit childish compared to the more financially endowed heroes, but he was old-fashioned, what could he say?
Distantly, the sound of shattering glass reached Sundial’s ears. He paused, feet stilling as his head turned, seeking out the direction of the sound. Raised voices helped give him some inclination.
Sundial vaulted over rooftops in the general direction, breath rasping out of his mask in controlled puffs as he pushed himself to go faster. At this time of night, who knew what could happen if he didn’t get there in time.
Throwing himself over a railing and sliding down a fire escape, Sundial came face to face with what appeared to be an armed mugging.
A man with a gun and a—frankly ugly—mask was threatening a woman that held a small purse to her chest defensively. They both turned as Sundial landed in the alley, respective looks of irritation and relief on their faces.
“Put the gun down and no one has to get hurt,” Sundial cautioned the man, slowly approaching. It wouldn’t do to rush at him and risk the gun firing.
“Fuck off, man,” the criminal spat, turning his attention to the hero. “This is none of your business.”
Ah, he’s new here, then.
“It is, actually. So put the gun down and you can go home. And hopefully choose better career options, Jesus Christ, man,” He rolled his eyes, one hand outstretched placatingly.
“I said, fuck off!” He leveled the gun at Sundial. His hand was shaking, lips trembling in and betraying his badly hidden fear. Despite himself, Sundial felt a little bad for the guy. He didn’t deserve what was about to happen to him.
Before Sundial could speak that thought aloud, the man’s finger tightened on the trigger, milliseconds away from pulling it and splattering Sundial’s brains against the alley walls. He would die at the hands of some punk-ass kid who didn’t even wear gloves when he planned to mug someone. Sloppy. It would be an incredibly embarrassing death for Sundial. If the mugger had bothered to do his research on the most well-known hero in Life City.
Time slowed to a crawl before the bullet even left the gun. A flash of fire in the barrel was the only indication that the weapon had been fired at all. The man’s face was frozen in fear and anger behind his mask. Sundial sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled towards him, unaffected by the sudden slowing of time. Gently, he removed the gun from his hand and re-aimed it towards the sky. Hopefully the bullet wouldn’t hit anyone on the way back down, but that bit wasn’t really his problem. Instead, Sundial allowed time to resume as his leg swung in a devastating arc towards the mugger’s head.
The gunshot and the crack of Sundial’s boot against his skull echoed simultaneously as the seconds began to tick by normally. Sundial squeezed his eyes shut briefly to counteract the minor headache as his small bubble of time-manipulation caught up with the rest of the world. He was well-used to the side-effects by now, but by the faint green look on the woman’s face, she wasn’t faring the same.
“Oop—!” Sundial caught her as she fainted, lowering her to the ground and propping her against the alley wall.
She must have a weak constitution, normally civilians do a little better than this. We were only like 10 seconds behind!
Sundial moved to pocket the gun before thinking better of it, wary of the hot muzzle. He held it gingerly between his fingers as he left the alley. He’d alert the police to the collapsed woman and man he left in the alley when he dropped off the gun. He wanted nothing to do with a weapon that was most likely bought off the raging black market of the city. Just because they were common didn’t mean that he wouldn’t get in trouble if he was found in possession of one. Hell, for all he knew, the LCPD were itching for a reason to lock him up.
Tensions had been higher around heroes these days.
The trip to the police station was done quickly. Just in and out with a little help of his powers to go unseen. No one noticed you if you moved faster than they could see in a second. The only thing he left behind was a brief bout of nausea in the precinct’s receptionist.
As Sundial was passing through a stretch of intensely advertised city on his way to the rougher districts, a particularly bright billboard caught his eye. It was one of those electronic ones, the new ones that had started popping up all over the city. They were brighter, flashier. Much more eye-catching, at least. Good for advertisements, not so good for the people that had to buy black-out curtains just ‘cause they lived near them.
This one in particular featured a flame-haired man, a small smile on his face. If it could even be called that. He gave a strong thumbs-up next to the words, “REPORT A HERO, SAVE A LIFE.”
Sundial’s brows furrowed as he stared at the bold lettering, colored in a glaring yellow-orange that very nearly matched the color of the man’s hair.
Billboards and all sorts of notices like this one had been plastered all over Life City recently. Messages that claimed heroes did more harm than gone, and must be reported to be stopped. And stopping them meant ‘saving the city.’ Many people agreed with them, too. After all, hero actions had become more reckless, of late. Sundial had covered much of the developments in his own news stories.
That being said, his agreement with the new ideas being spread through Life City could only go so far. Heroes were still doing good. That’s why Sundial dedicated himself to sharing the truth about heroes. Their flaws—and there were many of them where Anti-Heroes were concerned—and their strengths too.
However, the posters plastered across the city seemed determined to paint them in a negative light. It rankled Sundial, honestly. He wasn’t a bad person, and he certainly didn’t need to be reported.
Like you’re reporting others? A nasty voice in the back of his head said. Sundial silenced it.
I’m reporting on others, there’s a difference.
“Freaking rhetoric, is what it is,” he muttered. Picking up a nearby stone, he flung it at the billboard, speeding time rapidly to increase the impact. It hit the board and the sound of shattering glass echoed down the street. Sundial winced, immediate regret coloring his actions.
“Okay, well, that’s not a good example!” Sundial called down to whatever spying-on-heroes devices might be listening. A soft clattering on the street below made him leave as quickly—but nonchalantly—as possible.
Sundial was slowing down now. He had gotten most of his anxious energy out after dealing with a few minor break-ins and gang dealings, and his motivation for further scraps was slowly dwindling. The last mugging he had intercepted, Sundial had all but begged them to ‘just stop, man’ in his exhaustion, only to use the last dregs of his energy to slow time as a knife was chucked at his face.
All of it left him feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. But at least he didn’t have to work on his story!
It was a small consolation, but when given the choice between staring desolately at an empty google doc or trudging exhausted across rooftops, Sundial knew he would make the same choice every time.
But now, covered in bruises and sweat, Sundial would give anything to be stuffed back into his small apartment.
Tired, but recognizing that his night was far from over if he wanted to get his article done in time for the deadline, Sundial pulled out his phone to open a mobile order app for a coffee shop near his apartment. He frequented BDog Cup & Co. as both Bdubs and Sundial, in person and utilizing their pick-up services. Beyond the delectable coffee, Sundial was good friends with the owners of the shop and the full-time employees. (He hadn’t bothered to get to know the part-time teenagers that they hired to give some work experience).
A few quick taps on his phone, made slightly more difficult by his clunky rings stiffening his fingers, and Sundial’s coffee with two sugars was ordered and ready for pick-up in about 10 minutes. As one of the few shops in Life City that was open 24 hours a day, they were still pretty popular at night. A small wait for drinks was common, especially when semi-finals were approaching for the university students in town, as they were now.
Sundial checked the time briefly on the tiny watch he wore on a chain around his neck. At first, Sundia had resisted wearing the clock. It felt tacky, an unnecessary part of his costume, regardless of its ability to help Sundial keep track of time. Eventually though, Scott—the designer and maker of Sundial’s costume—had convinced him to keep it.
“A time-based hero should have at least a bit of a time-based costume!” He had said. Or something like that. Regardless, Sundial had given in, and the time-piece was now a well-known item associated with the hero.
The little round clock face just barely read 5:00 AM as the minute hand ticked into place. How perfect. He had time to get coffee and at least finish a few paragraphs of his article before he was expected at the Morning Life News office at 7:00 AM. Sleep, however, would have to wait. Maybe he could nap at his desk, surely Impulse would cover for him….
As Sundial clambered over rooftops towards BDog Cup & Co., a small notification let him know his drink was ready to pick up. Perfect timing, he thought with a relieved smile. Waiting in line in his hero costume did not sound wonderful at the moment.
The coffee shop came into view after a few minutes of walking. Yellow lights twinkled warmly from the windows, and electronic lanterns hung near the door, illuminating the entrance for customers. A large wooden sign hung over the entrance displaying the name: “BDog Cup & Co.”. Sundial breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it, he couldn’t wait for the imminent relief that caffeine would bring.
Sliding down a drainage pipe that had held his weight a million times, Sundial’s feet hit the concrete ground with a thud. He approached the coffee shop wearily, not bothering to disguise himself as a hero. The few people staring wearily into coffee cups inside would just have to learn to leave him be.
As Sundial entered, a tiny bell over the door announced his arrival. At the counter, Big B, one of the co-founders of the shop who occasionally worked as a barista there, was taking the order of a hooded figure. The ominous person wore a forest-green cloak with a duffel bag absolutely full to bursting dangling from one gloved hand. The hood itself seemed weirdly large, and kind of lumpy on the top. The little Sundial could see of the person themselves was delicate feet wrapped in some kind of cloth shoe poking out the bottom of the cloak. He was immediately suspicious.
It wasn’t often that people went around in a hood and cloak, at least, not in this part of town. Sundial had seen the fashion all over in the more sketchy bits of the city, but they usually kept to themselves. And they certainly didn’t frequent local coffee shops.
Sundial crept closer as subtly as possible. Thankfully, Big B didn’t seem too scared or worried. A placid look decorated his face. He looked surprisingly chipper for this hour in the morning, but Big B always kept odd hours. He was an odd person, honestly. Sundial has never fully understood him. But even Big B didn’t go around dressed like a drug dealer—or, like, a murderer or something.
As nonchalantly as possible, Sundial leaned on the pick-up counter, making a show of looking for his order as he tried to get a glimpse of the stranger’s face. Big B noticed him and cast him a friendly smile, but the stranger stared resolutely forward as he pulled out a wallet from somewhere inside his cloak and fished out a few dollar bills.
Cash… suspicious? Sundial watched carefully.
“Can I help you?”
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Big B speaking. Instead, the stranger had turned fully, exposing his face to Sundial.
The hero had to bite back a gasp at the site of his face. Still, his eyes widened dramatically at the sight. A violent red scar stretched across the left half of his face, disappearing behind a black mask that covered from his nose down. White hair framed his face, apparently the volume of the hood was mostly filled by the thick hair that poked out just slightly. An unnaturally red eye stared out at Sundial from the warped part of the stranger’s face. A steely gray eye on the other side successfully pinned Sundial in place.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed slightly at Sundial’s expression. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he snapped, before whipping back around to face Big B to receive his change. Big B now had a wary—but slightly amused—look on his face, and handed over the coins with a ‘Have a good day.’
Take a… Sundial scoffed at the man’s outburst, stepping closer. “‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer’? Where’d you get that one? A teenager’s guide on the best comebacks?” He said snidely.
He was promptly ignored. Okay, fine then. “What, don’t have something to say this time, smart guy? C’mon, maybe this time you can describe how you’re rubber and I’m glue. Something real befitting a grown adult at five in the morning!” Sundial snapped.
Maybe a bit of an overreaction right off the bat, but something about this guy just rubbed him the wrong way. It was extremely inappropriate for a hero to be heckling (for Sundial had to admit that was what he was doing) a random customer in a popular cafe, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. Especially when the random customer turned around once more, an affronted look on his face.
“Excuse me?” He asked flatly.
“You heard me.”
The man’s eyes wavered for a moment, going from Sundial to the tables behind him, as if considering his options. Sundial had heard him order a mug to drink inside the cafe, he couldn’t exactly leave. His eyebrows sank to display a clear scowl, despite the bottom half of his face being concealed, as he appeared to make up his mind.
“I did, I’m just surprised someone dressed so ridiculously has room to judge others. How’s throwing stones going? You crack your glass house yet?” His voice was flat, though Sundial could make out a faint undercurrent of irritation. Perfect.
“What’s so ridiculous about my outfit?” Sundial demanded, stepping further forward, entering the customer’s personal space. He gave no ground, instead meeting Sundial’s eyes. He noticed with annoyance that the man had a few inches on him.
The few other customers in the cafe were beginning to take notice of the confrontation. Looks were being thrown their way, only exacerbated by the obvious hero costume that Sundial wore. He wasn’t exactly a low-profile hero, either. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the few phones that were being pulled out. Sundial couldn’t exactly afford bad press at the moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when mismatched eyes were staring steadily at him. Challenging him.
“Nothing,” the stranger said casually. “Just the obnoxious clock around your neck.” Dammit, Scott. “Oh, and the ugly jacket.”
Sundial gaped at him. “How dare—“
He didn’t even get to finish his outraged sentence before the cloaked man’s phone ding-ed in his pocket and he held up one slender finger to stop Sundial in his tracks. His eyes scanned over the message rapidly, before he pocketed his phone and turned back to Big B.
Sundial watched in disbelief as the man cancelled his order, apologized for the waste of time, and promptly left the coffee shop, all without a single glance back at Sundial. Big B, who had been watching the argument with steadily growing amusement, just shrugged when Sundial turned to him in indignation.
After finally receiving his order, Sundial stomped out of the shop, clutching the plastic cup too tightly in a fist. When one of the patrons had tried to engage him in conversation, he had just flashed a bright smile, assuaged their worries, and exited the interaction as swiftly as possible.
Amidst grumblings of an annoying white-haired weirdo, Sundial tramped back to his apartment. He just planned to drink his now-lukewarm coffee and write a few painful paragraphs before collapsing in bed for a few minutes, but the universe had extra plans.
As soon as Bdubs had freed himself from his hero costume, about a million texts arrived from Impulse.
-Dubs, Slipstream sighting!
-I’ll send you the coords hold on
-he hasn’t been seen in a few days, what do you think sparked this one?
-hurry up man, the fights gonna be over in a second
Texts of a similar nature continued as Bdubs yelped and stuffed himself into boots and a jacket before rushing out the door. He had been inside his apartment for all of two minutes—his coffee still sat lonely on the counter. He mourned the loss briefly before Impulse forwarded the coordinates and his excitement overpowered his regret.
Bdubs flew down the stairs of his building, sprinting out the front door of the apartment complex so fast that the door slammed into one of the potted plants his neighbors kept on the porch and went flying. Muttering a hurried apology, Bdubs didn’t bother slowing to pick it up.
It was 5:27 when Bdubs arrived at the specified location. His chest was heaving with rapid breaths, and sweat trickled steadily down his face. Bending over to place his hands on his knees, Bdubs attempted to suck in air. Only when he finally straightened did he bother to assess his surroundings.
Police and clean-up crews decorated the scene sporadically, but the site was notably devoid of Anti-Heroes. Slipstream had left nothing behind but smashed buildings and messy stains on the ground that Bdubs knew had to be blood. Either Slipstream had been feeling especially violent, or Maniac had been with him. Bdubs was too late. He groaned loudly, cursing to himself as he thumped himself on the forehead roughly.
Sighing, he dragged his camera out. Might as well document something if he had come all this way for nothing. Bdubs pulled out a pen and tiny notepad from his pocket as well. If he was lucky, some of the people who had seen the fight would still be around. One day he dreamed of interviewing Slipstream himself, but for now he would settle for eye-witnesses.
Creeping towards the yellow police tape, Bdubs held his camera to his eye carefully. A bloodstain next to a collapsed bit of building was just in view, not yet cordoned off. He snapped a few pictures. Checking them over, he hummed in approval. Honestly, his photography skills were improving nicely. He wasn’t a bad photographer by any means, but let’s just say Impulse had made fun of him more than a few times on the subject. But the pictures he had just taken didn’t look too bad, if he did say so himself.
And he did, quite loudly too, as it alerted an officer that hadn’t noticed his presence yet.
Bdubs was shepherded off the site and given a stern reprimand about leaving the police to their work. He quickly discarded the lecture, deciding to just nod along until the officer let him go.
Realizing that the police would most definitely refuse to give him a statement, Bdubs set off in search for someone else he could interview. Luckily, a group of teenagers was milling about nearby, talking with hushed voices. Bdubs didn’t enjoy talking with teenagers—and they certainly weren’t the most reliable story-tellers—but everyone else was either a police officer or looked more than a bit tight-lipped.
Resigning himself to his fate, Bdubs approached the teens. They immediately stopped their conversation and turned their heads to face him simultaneously. Bdubs felt like he was facing down the hydra rather than a group of kids.
“Hi, um,” he cleared his throat roughly. “I was wondering if any of you saw the fight with Slipstream that just happened here?” Blank looks from all of them. “I’m a reporter and I arrived like two seconds too late, could any of you—“
“Slipstream totally just fucked this guy up,” one of the teens shrugged. He continued, saying, “I swear the EMT’s had to scrape the guy off the sidewalk. And you can quote me on that,” he added after a second.
“Okay, it wasn’t that bad,” one of his friends interceded. “He was trying to rob a bank anyway, he deserved it.”
The two began to bicker as their friends looked on. Bdubs, sighing, gave up on his possible witnesses. Wearily, he sent off a text to Impulse about needing a quicker alert system for Anti-Hero sightings, and left the scene. The officer from earlier was glaring at him anyway, it was about time he went home.
Bdubs thought with regret of his laptop awaiting his arrival and mentally cursed Slipstream.
When he arrived at his apartment, he barely gave his computer a second glance. Instead, Bdubs stripped off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and collapsed into bed. He clicked on his TV to the local news station (he insisted it helped him sleep) and settled in for the half an hour before he would have to wake up for work.
Something mundane was playing for once, just about some large company or other buying more and more land in Life City.
Corporate bastards, was Bdubs’ last thought before exhaustion dragged him willingly towards sleep.
When he awoke, 30 minutes later, the TV had turned to static and Bdubs had no memory of the broadcast.