The sudden shrill beep of the pager cuts through the warmth of the moment like a knife. It's a sound we've come to dread, a harbinger of chaos. Chernobyl is here. Lily and I exchange a glance, the gravity of the situation sinking in. We both know what this means - it's go time.

I jump up from where I'm sitting, my heart pounding in my chest. The festive atmosphere is instantly forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. I can't believe this is happening, not now, not on the first night of Hannukah. But duty calls, and there's no time to waste.

I grab my Bloodhound costume from where it's stashed in my backpack. Gossamer really outdid herself this time - the costume feels more like a second skin than ever, fitted with double-thick gloves, a thermal jacket, and comfy thermal pants. The added layers are a godsend, especially if I get punched across a street, though I hope it doesn't come to that.

Just as I'm about to start suiting up, our phones begin to ring simultaneously. It's the group call signal, a shrill tone that always sets my nerves on edge. I put mine on speaker and quickly answer.

"I'm with Blink. Talk to me," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the sudden adrenaline rush.

As I speak, I hear the sounds of other calls being answered, a cacophony of voices and background noises flooding the line - the unmistakable signs of the whole team tuning in. There's the muffled sound of Gossamer's workshop in the background, the rustle of fabric from Playback, and the faint echo of traffic behind Multiplex's voice. It's a chaotic orchestra, each member signaling their readiness, their presence.

"Bogey spotted in South Philly, West. More instructions incoming, check your chat logs. Priority is evac and containment. Do not engage," comes the dispatcher's voice, calm and composed, reading off a prepared statement. The steadiness in their tone is a stark contrast to the growing tension among the team.

"We're on the way," I respond, my mind already racing through the possibilities of what we're about to face. "ETA fifteen minutes."

One by one, the others chime in, their voices overlapping and intermingling on the call.

"Copy that, en route," says Gossamer, her voice tinged with determination.

"Heading there now," adds Playback, his tone serious and focused.

"On my way," Multiplex confirms, the sound of his voice multiplied, a reminder of his ability to be in multiple places at once.

It's a rapid roll call, each member acknowledging the mission, their voices a chorus of resolve and readiness. There's an unspoken understanding among us; despite the danger, we're in this together. As superheroes, we've trained for moments like these, but the reality is always more intense, more immediate.

The call ends with a series of beeps, leaving me in a brief, ringing silence. It's a moment to gather my thoughts, to brace myself for what's to come.

As I start pulling on the costume, I glance over at Lily. She's already halfway through suiting up in her Blink gear. Her costume is mostly white, almost glowing in the dim light of the kitchenette, and the rainbow scarf-cape thing she wears around her neck billows out like a flag. For the winter, she's added more layers of scarf, each one tied at the end with a heavy metal ball that I'm told are supposed to turn them into meteor hammers, but I've yet to see it in action.

I can't help but admire her ingenuity, even as I struggle with the zipper on my jacket. It always gets stuck at the same spot, right where the fabric bunches up. I curse under my breath, tugging at it. Finally, it gives way, and I pull the jacket up over my shoulders, feeling the comforting weight of it settle around me.

Lily is already lacing up her inline skates, the wheels clicking softly against the floor. She's a blur of motion, efficient and graceful, even in the midst of gearing up. I envy her that, sometimes - the way she can just switch into hero mode without a second thought, her brain clear of distractions at all times. For me, it's always a bit more of a process. I have to mentally prepare myself, steel my nerves for what's to come. Grit my teeth.

I turn back to my own preparations, pulling on the thick boots Gossamer provided. They're sturdy and well-insulated, but they feel clumsy compared to my usual footwear. I wiggle my toes, trying to get used to the sensation.

The final piece of my costume is the mask. I stare at it for a moment, hesitating. It's always the last thing I put on, the final step in the transformation from Sam to Bloodhound. I take a deep breath and slip it over my head, feeling the familiar pressure around my eyes and forehead. The world looks different through the mask, more focused through the orange lens. Like the difference between an old camera and a new one.

As I look over at Lily, now fully suited up as Blink, she returns my gaze with a nod, a silent acknowledgment that she's ready. There's a sense of urgency that's palpable between us, but I know Lily, with her speed powers, can get there much faster than I can.

"You go on ahead," I tell her, my voice firm despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "You'll get there faster."

Lily doesn't argue. With a quick, almost imperceptible nod, she turns and takes off. She's a blur of white and colors, swiftly disappearing into the night. I watch her go, feeling a twinge of envy at her speed, but also a sense of pride. She's incredible, really. She picks up fast on the sidewalks and starts bursting forward, vanishing around the corner with a loud skid.

Left alone, I step a couple of blocks away from Lily's house. It's better that way, safer for her family. I pull out my phone and quickly hail a taxi through the app. I've done this before, but it still feels weird, calling a cab while in full superhero gear.

The taxi arrives within minutes, the driver unfazed by my appearance. I guess in a city full of caped crusaders, a superhero hailing a cab isn't the strangest thing they've seen. I slide into the back seat, grateful for the momentary warmth.

"Where to?" the driver asks, his tone casual.

"Near the PES refinery, but not too close," I reply, my voice muffled slightly by the mask. "You know, the one that's exploded."

"Yeah, I'm familiar," he says, nodding, pulling away from the curb and merging into the sparse late-night traffic. The city passes by in a blur of lights and shadows, the streets eerily quiet.

The taxi driver's radio, tuned to a local news station, suddenly shifts from its regular programming to a clear, official-sounding voice. The tone is calm but carries an underlying urgency that immediately grabs my attention. The message is concise, the words chosen carefully to inform without causing panic.

"Attention all residents of Philadelphia," the voice begins, its tone authoritative yet reassuring. "This is an emergency broadcast from the Philadelphia Police Department and the National Superhuman Response Agency. A situation involving an extremely dangerous individual with potential for high collateral damage has been detected in South Philadelphia. We are issuing an immediate evacuation order for all residents and visitors within the area west of Broad Street and south of Passyunk Avenue."

The message continues, the voice maintaining its steady cadence. "Please evacuate the area calmly and swiftly. Follow all instructions from law enforcement officers and emergency responders on the scene. If you are not currently in the designated evacuation area, do not attempt to enter it. For your safety and the safety of others, it is crucial that you avoid this area until further notice."

The broadcast takes a brief pause, allowing the gravity of the words to sink in before continuing. "Police and emergency services are en route to assist with the evacuation and to secure the perimeter. We ask for your cooperation and patience during this time. Please evacuate to a safe location and await further instructions. Do not return to the area until an all-clear has been given by the authorities."

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The driver and I exchange a quick look in the rearview mirror. We both understand the seriousness of the situation without saying a word. We don't mention the supervillain's name or any specific details, but it doesn't matter. The urgency and gravity of the situation are crystal clear.

And I'm diving right into the heart of it.

As the evacuation order blares on the broadcast, a knot forms in my stomach. The danger of what I'm about to face is becoming more real with every repetition of the warning. It's such a contrast to the calm, almost routine drive through the city streets. "You're headed into that?" he asks, trying to sound casual, but his concern is unmistakable in his voice. It's obvious that I'm young. Maybe too young.

"Yeah," I respond. "I'm going to help with the evacuation. I'm not old enough to fight 'em yet."

He nods with a tense expression. "Good luck."

As we get closer, my heart races faster in my chest. This is it. Chernobyl, one of the most terrifying adversaries we've ever faced, is out there. And I'm on my way to confront him, fuck whatever they're going to order me to do. At the very least, I'll be there to save Belle, even if I can't put a dent in this nuclear man.

I know it's stupid.

I know I'm stupid.

I'm not letting her commit suicide via supervillain.

The taxi slows down as we approach the area, and I signal for the driver to stop. I mean, he'd probably stop in a second anyway, since we're approaching a line of police cruisers, lights blaring, coating the streets in a generous, epilepsy-inducing haze of red and blue. But I signal anyway, and he pulls in along the sidewalk.

"Thanks," I say as I hand him the fare, giving him a generous tip. He deserves it for driving a superhero into a potential warzone.

"Stay safe out there," he says, sincere and genuine. He gives me a silent, two finger salute. I salute him back, grateful for his concern, and step out of the taxi. The cold air slaps my face, but I barely notice. My mind is focused on what awaits me ahead.

As the taxi pulls away, leaving me at the corner of 15th and Bigler, right by Marconi Plaza, I'm immediately swallowed up by the throng of people. They're all bundled up against the December chill, their breaths fogging up in the air, faces etched with panic as they hurry east through the park. I can't help but feel a surge of adrenaline mixed with a tinge of fear. This isn't just another training exercise or a controlled patrol; this is real, as real as it gets.

I pull out my phone and dial into the open conference call. It's a procedure we've been drilled on for all-hands-on-deck situations like this. "Bloodhound reporting in. I'm at 15th and Bigler," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. The chaos around me buzzes in my ear, a constant reminder of the stakes.

Councilman Jamal's voice crackles through the line, firm and authoritative. "Alright, Bloodhound, the primary objective is to evacuate South Philadelphia west of Broad Street. Coordinate with local law enforcement and ensure a smooth and orderly evacuation. Avoid panic at all costs."

I glance around, watching the police officers trying to direct the flow of people. They're doing their best, but I can see the strain in their movements, the urgency in their voices. This isn't just another day at the office for them either.

Clara chimes in next. "Remember, engagement with hostile forces is not your primary objective. Keep civilians safe and facilitate their evacuation."

I nod to myself, even though they can't see it. "Hostile forces?" I ask, after a moment of thought. What hostile forces besides Chernobyl. "I--"

"Be on the lookout for any Kingdom operatives. They might try to use this chaos to their advantage. Any sightings of gang members or associates headed towards the refinery should be reported immediately and dealt with," Jamal cuts through me like a knife. "We know they have operations in this area. Preventing contact with Chernobyl is a top priority, but you, in particular, Bloodhound, just report it to the nearest law enforcement. Or call in on this line."

I clench my fists, but I'm not sure why. I mean, there's plenty of good reasons, but which one in particular?

"And Bloodhound," Jamal continues, and I can almost picture his stern face, "with your abilities, you're to assist the police in sweeping the area. Your primary task is to sniff out any injured individuals who might need evacuation. Avoid direct confrontation. From your position, head south towards Pattison avenue. Rendezvouz with the officers at FDR Park. Keep an eye out for evacuees in need of assistance on the way down."

I bite my lip, feeling the sharp points of my teeth against my skin. "Understood," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know I'm lying. I've already made up my mind. I'm not going to spend my night chasing shadows and sniffing out injuries. I have a bigger fish to fry. Or… a bigger radioactive supervillain, anyway.

I start pounding asphalt. My mind races just as fast as my legs, replaying the last conversation I had with Belle over and over again.

You need to stay away.

Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.

I can't just stand by and watch Belle walk into a deathtrap. She might think she's protecting me, but I can't let her face Chernobyl alone. Not after everything she's been through. Not after everything she's done for this city. As I move, I keep my senses sharp, scanning the sidewalks for anyone who doesn't belong. Anyone moving against the flow, anyone who looks too calm amidst the chaos. But my mind keeps drifting back to Belle, to that looming confrontation at the refinery.

The refinery… G-d, it's so far away. And I'm here, stuck in the middle of an evacuation, pretending to play by the rules. But every second I waste here is a second closer to Belle facing Chernobyl alone.

I need to get there. I need to be there for her.

I push the thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand. Evacuation. Safety. Those are my priorities. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

But in my heart, I know the truth. I've already made my choice.

----------------------------------------

As I sprint down Moyamensing Avenue, the cold air burns my lungs, but I barely notice. I'm too focused, too wired. The city blurs past me, a mix of street lights, fleeting shadows, and the occasional honk of a car. I'm like a shark cutting through water, except the water is cold December air and the city's panic.

People are spilling out of their homes, clutching bags, kids, pets. It's a torrent of humanity, all flowing in the opposite direction. They're scared, and who can blame them? I'd be scared too if I weren't so pumped full of adrenaline and determination.

Puppeteer is a streak of black and purple against the skyline, her figure darting from rooftop to rooftop. Her strings catch the light, shimmering like spiderwebs. She's doing her part, helping with the evacuation. I can see her pulling people up, away from the danger. Even when she's moving in the most official fashion, she can't help pirouetting with every motion, twisting through the air like a football, spiraling, spinning.

Multiplex's duplicates are everywhere. One's directing traffic, another's helping an old lady with her bags, and another's carrying a kid on his shoulders. They're like a one-man army, except they're a many-men army. When one of them has done their duty, I watch it round a corner, somewhere out of sight where it won't be noticed, and be swallowed into the darkness, dissolving near-instantly into a soft, greenish sludge that starts evaporating just as fast. Another slot opened up, for another Multiplex somewhere else. Memories transferred.

I push harder, my legs eating up the distance. This isn't a track, it's a maze of asphalt and concrete, with obstacles - cars, people, the occasional stray dog. But I've been training for this, training for months. My body is a well-oiled machine, and right now, it's operating at full capacity, even with the added bulk of my winter costume.

I remember, in a flash, that I forgot to sign up for indoor track at school. A tiny pang of regret, quickly squashed. Who needs track when you're a real-life superhero, running to save your mentor from a radioactive monster? This is the exercise of a lifetime. I wonder if they'd let me sign up mid-season. School seems so far away right now.

My two-mile time is good, really good, thanks to all the training. But this isn't an ideal two-mile. It's a race against time, against a villain who's more force of nature than man, in an urban environment. I know from where I was dropped off from the taxi to the refinery it's, what, forty minutes by walk if I follow the streets? I can cut that in half no problem. Twenty minutes. Faster if I cut through yards.

Moyamensing onto Penrose. I'm getting closer.

Puppeteer's strings catch my eye again, and I can't help but feel a surge of gratitude. Pride. Maybe something else - envy? I keep my senses open, but nobody's cut themselves leaving - nobody that isn't already being helped out of the area. The clock ticks by. 6:10, then 6:11, then 6:12. I still have my feelings about Puppeteer, I haven't forgotten the feeling of her strings on me in the most unfriendly way, but I push that down. We're cool now.

I think about flowers, and wince. I dodge a car that's trying to back out of a driveway, the driver too flustered to see me. I leap over a small fence, cutting through a yard, then back onto the street. The cold is a distant thought, something for my body to deal with later. Right now, all that matters is getting to the refinery. Getting to Belle.

I see another Multiplex helping a family with their belongings, his face set in a grim line of determination. We lock eyes for a second, and he gives me a nod. No words are needed. We both know what's at stake. I hope he assumes I'm running for some other reason. Assumes I'm doing my job, not abandoning my duty.

The minutes tick by, each one a step closer to the refinery, to Belle, to Chernobyl. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my muscles ache, but I don't slow down. I can't. Belle's counting on me, even if she doesn't know it yet. I feel my regeneration starting to kick in, trying to take the edge off of the lactic acid burn. It doesn't numb the pain, but it makes it take longer to set in. Delays the worst of it.

As I near the refinery, the streets become emptier, eerier. The evacuation has done its job here. It's just me and the road now, and the looming shadow of the complex in the distance. My heart pounds in my chest, a frenzied drumbeat urging me on.

I'm close. So close.