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Isaac wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking when it happened.
It had been at least an hour, that much he was certain, his phone buzzing at him to take his anti-anxiety medication as it did every night at eight. He’d been walking for some time before then, slinging his jacket around his shoulders from the heat, before dropping into a convenience store to get a drink to take his meds with.
There had been two people he had noticed, in the back of his mind, that came in after him. A man and a woman. He mostly remembered the woman, with her bright cotton-candy hair, blue at the top and pink at the bottom, in a large pale blue coat that bagged around her frame as she giggled with the man next to her.
A date, he had reasoned, the two of them looking over chips and candy as he grabbed himself a bottle of tea and some beef jerky. When he exits the aisle, the lady turns and bumps into him, nearly making him drop his items.
“Oh! Sorry ‘bout that,” the woman says, hurriedly covering her mouth as Isaac regains his footing, her other hand resting on his shoulder to stabilize him.
“No worries,” Isaac replies, waving her off. He’s been shoved much worse in crowds of reporters at a fight scene. She looks familiar, and he glances at her as she continues on, but all he can really notice is her hair.
He goes to pay for his items, checks his phone while waiting and sees no call or message from his boyfriend. The cashier handed him a crumpled five dollar bill to his twenty, and he took his tea and jerky outside.
For a moment, he had considered going back to the apartment, trying to catch Luke before he slipped to bed, but grimaced at the thought of going back there. Maybe he would let Luke sleep, try again tomorrow when he wasn’t so addled from a hard day of work.
Around him, Prism Port bustled in the warmth of a warm summer evening, the streets popping with people enjoying their Friday nights. He weaved between party-goers and fathers getting off work and tourists enjoying the waning days of summer.
It was tempting, wanting to go into one of those bars and have a drink and something other than the leftover pasta from the night before. Lips were always loosened in bars and merry company, and tonight was the perfect night for such a thing. But the fight still lingered on his mind, and he didn’t think he’d been in good enough company to pry gossip from tourists and locals alike. Plus, a headache was starting to buzz behind his eyes, and the noise of cars honking and overlapping chatter likely wouldn’t help him much.
No. Another night, perhaps.
Instead, Isaac took to wandering, merely watching the festivities as the outdoor seatings grew crowded, idly thinking to himself. Perhaps he should attempt to drag Luke out to an outing like this tomorrow night, ease his inhibitions with merriment and good food and the company of other people.
The thing is, Isaac thinks, diverting from one of the more tourist-trap-y streets to one of the business ones, is that he gets Luke’s worry. They are partners, and he understands the fear of having your partner go into potentially dangerous situations alone. But even though the Hero Agency records contain little information on the vigilante deemed Glitch, Isaac was a reporter--and all his reports said that Glitch wasn’t likely someone to fear.
His foot catches on a loose stone, and Isaac stumbles briefly. He doesn’t fall, but the world tilts around him for a moment, and he frowns and blinks. Sure, he could be dangerous, but so could just about anyone else Isaac had met with in the past for his articles. Hell, Luke himself was dangerous, in the right situation. Isaac himself had nothing to fear, as Luke was a hero sworn to protect the people, but his power was explosive and dangerous when needed.
From what Isaac understood, Glitch was a vigilante, so as a reporter seeking the truth, he likely had little to fear from the man. And he was rumored to be one of the best information brokers in Prism Port, with a skill unmatched even by the Agency’s best hackers and spies.
Is it money Luke was worried about? Isaac thought suddenly, finishing the last of his beef jerky. An information broker as well known as him might have high prices. But, no, that couldn’t be it. With Luke’s job, they were hardly worse for wear when it came to money, and if that was the problem, Luke would let him know.
His mind feels heavy with the thought, sluggish as he tries to wade through all the fights the two of them have had over the past week. It seemed to resonate within his body, making it heavy with some invisible weight.
If only he could make Luke understand. Isaac didn’t know whether it was duty or apprehension that kept him from wanting to hear anything about Isaac’s articles, but it’s been a sore subject since the first time he brought it up. But as a hero, as a protector of the people, Isaac felt he deserved to know just as much about the goings-on behind the Agency as anyone else.
As he diverts down a smaller alleyway he’s taken in the past, one that cuts a shortcut to the park, Isaac considers that he wouldn’t want to know the people he’s been working with are corrupt. But if all the evidence he’s meticulously scoured out over the past three years is any indication, then-
It happens before he’s aware of it. The invisible weight in his bones seems to double, triple, as though he’s suddenly bound in invisible chains, and the world around him sways.
The ground meets his side before Isaac can do anything about it, head spinning in circles. Footsteps crunch on glass, and he blinks to see a pair of boots appear in his field of vision ahead of him.
“Is he down?” The voice that speaks is distinctly masculine, tinged with an accent he can’t quite place. His eyes trail up and he can see a broad-shouldered frame dressed in a loose-hanging shirt, though his vision is too blurry to make out a face.
“Enough.” The second voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place from where, though that one is more feminine. Something pokes him in the back. “Hm. He looks kinda wimpy.”
Isaac has enough presence of mind to realize something is wrong, but it feels as though his head is stuffed with cotton. All he manages to get out is a breathy gasp, “W-what’s-”
“Shh, shh shh shh,” the feminine voice cuts him off, and a hand finds itself in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “Goodnight, sweet prince.”
Darkness drags him under before Isaac can blink.