The sun beats down on my back as I help unload boxes of supplies from the back of a van. It's been almost a month since the attack, and the city is still reeling. But slowly, surely, we're starting to pick up the pieces. It's not like the criminals stopped showing up after the Phreaks' attack - if anything, it just emboldened people, now more capable of seeing the sort of widespread destruction that Jump is capable of.

And Chimera is still on the run. Still spreading the Phreaks' tainted brand of pills.

It's pretty bad out here, man.

"Thanks for your help, Bloodhound," the shelter coordinator says, wiping sweat from her brow. "We really appreciate you taking the time to volunteer."

I shrug, trying to play it off as no big deal. "It's the least I can do. We're all in this together, right?"

She nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Right. It means a lot to the people here, seeing heroes like you stepping up and getting involved. It reminds them that they're not alone."

I think about the faces I've seen today - the tired eyes, the weary smiles, the flickers of hope amidst the grief and pain. It's a humbling thing, to be a symbol of strength and resilience for people who have lost so much.

As I continue to help with the unloading, I catch snippets of conversation from the other volunteers - talk of the trial, of the protests, of the uncertain future that lies ahead. It's a reminder that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like everything has changed.

Later that week, I find myself sitting across from a reporter in a bustling coffee shop, my hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. She leans forward, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"So, Bloodhound," she begins, "what do you think is the most important thing for the public to understand right now, in the wake of everything that's happened?"

I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. "I think… I think it's important to remember that we're all in this together," I say, echoing the shelter coordinator's words from earlier. "Heroes, civilians, even some of the bad guys, everyone. We all want the same thing - to feel safe, to have justice, to build a better world for ourselves and each other. We all get up and put pants on one leg at a time."

The reporter nods, scribbling in her notebook, her expression totally unreadable. "And what about the divisions that have emerged? The anger towards the NSRA, the protests in the streets?"

I feel a flicker of frustration, but I push it down. "It's understandable," I say slowly. "People are hurt, and scared, and they want someone to blame. But we can't let that tear us apart. We have to find a way to come together, to have tough conversations and make real changes. It's not going to be easy, but it's the only way forward."

I give the diplomatic answers, not the real ones. Well practiced. Words directly out of Bulwark's mouth, drilled into us in the aftermath of the attack.

Nobody wants to hear the real answers right now.

The interview continues, and I do my best to navigate the delicate balance between honesty and diplomacy. It's a strange feeling, being a mouthpiece for an entire community of heroes. But if my words can help bridge the gap, even a little bit, then it's worth the discomfort.

As the days turn into weeks, I find myself falling into a new routine - volunteering, training, giving interviews when asked. It's exhausting, but it feels good to be doing something, to be working towards a greater purpose.

But there's one thing that continues to gnaw at me, a persistent ache that I can't quite shake. Jamila.

I find myself walking past her apartment complex more often than I care to admit, my heart racing every time I catch a glimpse of movement in the windows. I tell myself I'm just checking in, making sure she's okay. But deep down, I know it's more than that.

One day, as I'm making my usual rounds, I stop short. There's a moving van parked outside the complex, and a group of men carrying furniture and boxes down the front steps. My stomach twists, a sinking feeling settling in my gut.

I watch from across the street, my mind racing with possibilities. Is she moving because of me? Because of what happened between us? Or was this planned all along, and she just didn't tell me?

I think back to our last conversation, the hurt and confusion in her eyes. I wish there was something I could've said to change the outcome. But at this point, I feel like there's nothing that would've made it any different.

As the moving men finish their work and drive away, I'm left standing there, staring up at the empty windows of what used to be Jamila's home. I feel a surge of emotions - sadness, regret, anger at myself for letting things get so messed up.

I take a deep breath, tearing my eyes away from the building. I have other things to do.

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The news is a constant buzz in the background these days, a never-ending stream of commentary and speculation. I try to tune it out, to focus on the things I can control. But it's impossible to ignore completely, especially when my parents are keeping it on for their sake.

"In a stunning turn of events, Congress has introduced a sweeping new piece of legislation aimed at regulating superhuman activities and increasing oversight of agencies like the NSRA," the anchor announces, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

I feel a flicker of unease at the thought of more government oversight. Haven't we had enough of that already, with the NSRA pulling the strings behind the scenes?

"Proponents of the bill argue that it is a necessary step towards rebuilding trust between the superhuman community and the public," a guest commentator chimes in. "By increasing transparency and accountability, we can ensure that those with powers are using them responsibly and ethically."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"But critics warn that the legislation goes too far," another voice counters. "They argue that it infringes on the civil liberties of superhumans and could lead to discrimination and abuse of power. Some say it's an attempt to re-introduce the controversial Superhuman Registration Act of the mid-2000s…"

A few days later, I receive an unexpected phone call. It's from my congressperson's office, inviting me to speak at a legislative session in mid-October. A person who has, so far, only existed as an abstract concept, a name my parents talk about every November, a face whose signs I see hammered into front lawns.

"We believe your perspective as a young superhero could be invaluable in shaping this legislation," his assistant tells me. "Your experiences with the NSRA, the challenges you've faced… it's important that those stories are heard."

I'm taken aback by the request. Me, speaking in front of a room full of politicians and policymakers? It seems daunting, to say the least.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "I'll do it," I tell the assistant. "Just let me know what I need to prepare."

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The meeting room at the DVDs' headquarters is buzzing with anticipation as the Young Defenders and Delaware Valley Defenders gather for a special announcement. I take my seat next to Spindle, my leg bouncing nervously under the table.

Councilman Davis clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Thank you all for coming," he begins, his voice grave. "As you know, the past month has been a time of great upheaval and change for our city and our community. We've faced challenges we never could have imagined, and we've had to adapt in ways we never thought possible."

He pauses, letting his words sink in. "But through it all, we've remained committed to our mission - to protect the people of Philadelphia and to fight for justice and righteousness. And that's why we're here today."

I glance around the room, taking in the serious expressions on everyone's faces. Whatever this announcement is, it's clear that it's not going to be business as usual.

"First and foremost," Councilman Davis continues, "I want to congratulate Crossroads on his graduation to the Delaware Valley Defenders. His leadership and strategic thinking have been invaluable to the Young Defenders, and we know he'll continue to excel in his new role."

There's a round of applause as Crossroads stands up, a small smile on his face. I clap too, but it feels insincere for reasons I'm having difficulty placing. "Thank you," he says simply, before sitting back down.

"With Crossroads moving up, we've made the decision to appoint Rampart as the new leader of the Young Defenders," Councilman Davis says, nodding towards Rampart. "His strength, both physical and mental, and his dedication to his team make him the perfect choice for this position."

Rampart nods, his expression solemn. "I'm honored," he says, his voice deep and steady. "I'll do everything in my power to lead this team with integrity and courage."

"We also have some news from our allies in Los Angeles," Multiplex chimes in. "Captain Plasma has agreed to relocate to Philadelphia in the short term to help shore up our ranks. His experience and unique abilities will be a valuable addition to the Delaware Valley Defenders."

There are murmurs of approval from around the room. We all know how stretched thin the DVDs have been since Liberty Belle's death, and any extra help is more than welcome.

But just as I'm starting to feel a glimmer of hope, Puppeteer and Playback stand up, their faces pleasantly neutral.

"We have an announcement to make as well," Puppeteer says, her voice tight. "Playback and I have decided to resign from the Young Defenders, effective immediately."

What? Huh?

"I know this comes as a surprise," Puppeteer continues, her hands trembling slightly. "But I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I've realized that I need to make a change. I've enrolled in a paramedic training program, and I'll be starting classes next month, on top of all the other stuff. I think it's the best way for me to be useful to society in the future, given… you know."

Playback nods, his usually playful expression serious for once. "And I've decided to go back to college," he says. "I've been putting it off for too long, and with everything that's happened… I don't want to have any regrets."

But I can read his eyes. I know there's something deeper there, something almost bitter.

I know the courthouse changed something. But I don't know what.

"We understand," Councilman Davis says, his voice heavy with emotion. "And we support your decisions, even though it pains us to see you go. You will always be a part of this family, no matter where your paths may lead you."

There are hugs and tearful goodbyes as Puppeteer and Playback make their rounds, saying their farewells to each of us in turn. When they get to me, I can barely speak past the tightness in my chest.

"I'm going to miss you guys so much," I whisper, my voice cracking. "It won't be the same without you."

Puppeteer smiles, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "You're going to be amazing, Sam," she says, squeezing my hand. "You've grown so much already, and I know you'll continue to do great things."

Playback nods, pulling me into a tight hug. "Keep giving 'em hell, Bee," he murmurs, "And keep in touch. Don't trust these bitches," he whispers.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As they walk away, I feel a sense of finality settling over me. Things are changing, faster than I ever could have imagined.

"With Puppeteer and Playback's departures, the Young Defenders will be operating with a smaller team for the time being," Councilman Davis says, breaking the somber silence. "Rampart, Gossamer, Blink, Spindle, and Bloodhound - you five will need to work together more closely than ever before."

"There's one more thing," Fury Forge says, leaning forward in her seat. "With all the chaos and destruction of the past month, it's likely that there have been several new natural activations in the city. We need to be on the lookout for potential recruits, before they fall into the wrong hands."

"We'll keep our eyes and ears open," Rampart says, his voice firm. "And we'll do everything we can to help any new activations find their way."

As the meeting ends and we all start to disperse, I can't shake the feeling that everything is changing. Changing, so fast, too fast. Like when the Phreaks did their attack, something broke. Or maybe it started earlier than that?

Everything feels wrong. Something's wrong, and I don't know what.

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The first day of sophomore year feels surreal as I make my way through the crowded streets of Tacony. The air is crisp with the promise of fall, but the usual excitement of a new school year is tempered by the heavy presence of riot police on every corner.

Jordan walks beside me, their shoulders hunched against the early morning chill. "I can't believe this is our new normal," they mutter, eyeing a group of officers marching past us. "It's like we're living in a police state."

I nod, adjusting my backpack on my shoulders. My leg twinges with every step, a constant reminder of how much has changed since last year. "I know," I say, my voice low. "It's like the whole city is holding its breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop."

As we approach Tacony Charter Academy High School, I feel a sense of apprehension settling in my gut. The once-welcoming facade now looks imposing, with metal detectors flanking the front gates and stern-faced security guards checking bags and IDs.

"I feel like I'm walking into a prison," I mutter, as we join the long line of students waiting to pass through the checkpoint.

Jordan snorts, but there's no humor in it. "Maybe that's the point," they say, their voice bitter. "Keep us all in line, make sure we don't step out of place."

I think about the protests, the anger and frustration boiling over in the streets. The way the authorities have cracked down, with curfews and riot gear and a constant, looming threat of violence. Is this what they want? To scare us into submission?

As we pass through the metal detectors, I can't help but feel a sense of violation. The guards rifle through my backpack, their hands rough and impersonal. I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to pull away.

When they're satisfied that I have nothing interesting on me, they let me free. I clench my teeth together and get ready for what's going to be a long year.

End of Arc 6: Sideshow