I'm dragging myself down the courthouse steps, each movement sending jolts of pain through my battered body. The chaos around me is a blur of sirens, shouts, and the distant rumble of debris being cleared. I can see paramedics rushing to help the injured, their bright uniforms standing out against the gray smoke and dust. Riot cops are trying to establish some kind of order, herding people away from the scene like sheep. It's a mess, but at least the Phreaks are down for the count.

I catch a glimpse of Multiplex and his copies in the distance, helping with search and rescue. Always the hero, that one. Me? I'm just trying to stay conscious long enough to get some medical attention. I wonder if Multiplex ever gets tired of being in multiple places at once. Like, does he ever just want to kick back and watch a DVD without having to worry about things? Does one copy get all the relaxation for the rest of them? Or is he like me, just always on, always thinking about the next thing?

As I limp towards the nearest ambulance, a paramedic spots me and rushes over. She's got kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, which I appreciate. "Hey there, Bloodhound. Looks like you've been through the wringer," she says, already assessing my injuries.

I try to shrug, but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Yeah, well, you should see the other guy," I quip, but my heart's not really in it. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the pain is starting to hit me full force. I wonder if I should start carrying painkillers in my utility belt. Maybe I could get a sponsor deal with Advil or something.

The paramedic helps me sit down on the back of the ambulance, and I finally get a good look at the damage. My armor is shredded in places, revealing bloody gashes and deep punctures. But it's the hole in my thigh that's really freaking me out.

I watch as my skin reaches for itself, my muscles twitching around the hole like it's trying to knit itself together. I don't usually get stabbed in places where I can see it, and knife wounds are usually sort of 'thin' anyways - this is just... Well, I can see down into it, into the layers, although they rapidly fill back up with blood.

The paramedic must sense my unease because she gives me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we'll get you patched up in no time," she says, already pulling out supplies from her med kit. "Let's start with that leg wound and then we can clean up the rest of your smaller injuries."

"You have experience with regenerators?" I ask nervously. It wouldn't be the first time my body uncomfortably squeezed cotton out of a wound and I doubt it'll be the last time, either.

"A bit," she says, trying to give me a friendly smile.

I grit my teeth as she starts cleaning the wound, the sting of antiseptic making me hiss through my teeth. It's not the pain that bothers me so much as the weird sensation of having someone else poking around in my body. I'm used to my own accelerated healing taking care of things, but this injury is beyond my short-term capabilities. Like, I'm probably going to be limping on this leg for at least a couple of weeks.

And with the adrenaline leaking out through the floor, the pain comes back.

The paramedic is thorough, cleaning out the debris and applying some kind of antibacterial gel that feels like it's burning a hole through my leg. She then starts packing the wound with gauze, and I have to look away. It's not that I'm squeamish, but there's something unsettling about watching someone else's hands disappear into your own flesh. I wonder if this is how those people in the magic shows feel when they get sawed in half. I clench my teeth up and grit my jaw, trying not to yell.

As the paramedic works, I try to distract myself by using my blood sense to scan the area for other injuries. With the area mostly clear, and my brain no longer in survival mode, the burning mass of red that existed in my mind's eye has calmed down to dense splotches, localized in particular areas. It doesn't go too far - around a city block around me in each direction. Most people are just walking around with minor scrapes and bruises, but there are a few that stand out like beacons in the night.

I spot a woman with a nasty head wound, blood pooling beneath her skull. "Hey, there's a lady over there with a serious head injury," I tell the paramedic, pointing in the woman's direction. "She needs help, like, now. I'll live."

The paramedic nods, finishing up with my leg and signaling to one of her colleagues. They rush over to the woman, and I feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing that I could help, even in my current state. It's what we do, us heroes. We look out for each other, and for the people we've sworn to protect. Plus, it's a good way to rack up karma points, right?

As I sit there, letting the paramedics do their thing, my mind starts to wander. I think about Gale, and how she just disappeared after that last team meeting. I hope she's okay, wherever she is. I think about my mom and dad, and how worried they must be right now. I should probably give them a call, let them know I'm alive. But mostly, I think about how much I want a cheesesteak. My brain glances off the fight like it's a bouncy ball, like it's already compartmentalizing it and shoving it somewhere irrelevant. Bottled up for some later meltdown.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The paramedic finishes bandaging my leg, and I tentatively try to put some weight on it. It hurts like hell, but I can stand, which is a minor miracle in itself. "Take it easy, Bloodhound," the paramedic warns. "You may be a regenerator, but that doesn't mean you're invincible."

I nod, knowing she's right. I may be a hero, but I'm still human. Still vulnerable. It's a sobering thought, but one that I can't afford to dwell on right now. I've got work to do, people to help. And possibly a burger to eat.

I limp away from the ambulance, scanning the area for any sign of my teammates. I spot Playback and Spindle in the distance, looking just as battered as I feel. We exchange weary nods, a silent acknowledgement of the hell we've just been through.

There's still so much work to be done, so many people to help. But for now, I allow myself a moment to breathe. To feel the pain, and the exhaustion, and the overwhelming sense of relief that comes with knowing that we've won. That we've made a difference, even if it's just for today.

I take a deep breath, wincing as my ribs protest the movement. Yeah, definitely gonna need some painkillers after this. And maybe a long, hot bath. But first, I've got a city to help put back together. One limping step at a time.

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

An hour later, I'm still limping around the block, helping paramedics locate injured civilians buried beneath the rubble. My blood sense has been a godsend in the search and rescue efforts, allowing me to pinpoint the location of survivors who might have otherwise been overlooked. It's exhausting work, both physically and emotionally, but it's the least I can do after the chaos and destruction that just unfolded.

As I make my way back to the courthouse steps, I spot Playback and Spindle sitting on the edge of an ambulance, looking just as battered and bruised as I feel. They wave me over, and I hobble my way towards them, wincing with each step.

"Yo, Bee!" Playback calls out, his trademark grin plastered on his face. "You still in one piece?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "More or less. What about you two? Heard you had a run-in with Pumice."

Spindle nods, his lanky frame unfolding as he stands up. "Yeah, Joe's no joke. Thought I was gonna end up as a human pretzel. We had a little help, though."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, arms folded over my chest.

Playback gives me a look that feels uncomfortably like a you don't want to know, but Spindle continues on, blithely. "Some new hero in biker gear." Jordan? No, wait, they're dating. "Flew in, flung shit at Pumice like a cannon, and left."

"Shame we couldn't get her name," Playback cuts in, a little too fast.

But I'm not stupid. "Good thing you had some help, huh?" I say, my voice taking on a slightly bitter edge.

"Yeah, that telekinetic really came through," Playback says carefully, like he's trying not to set me off. "Shame they dipped out before we could thank them properly."

I shrug, trying to play it off like it doesn't bother me. But the truth is, it stings. Knowing that Jamila was out there, fighting alongside my friends, but couldn't even face me. I get it, things ended weird between us. But still, a part of me wishes she'd stuck around. Even if it was just to make sure I was okay. She couldn't even give me that?

"Sam!" a voice calls out, and I turn to see Gossamer jogging towards us, her bright green costume standing out among the sea of emergency responders. "Thank goodness you're alright. I was worried sick."

I manage a small smile, touched by her concern. "I'm okay, Goss. Just a little banged up."

She nods, her eyes scanning over my injuries with a practiced eye. "We should get you checked out by a professional. That leg wound looks pretty nasty."

I wave her off, not wanting to make a fuss. "Already saw a paramedic. Now it's just a matter of letting my body handle it. What's the situation?"

Gossamer frowns, but doesn't push the issue. She knows how stubborn I can be when it comes to my own well-being. "Just been helping the paramedics out. Not a lot of time to waste. Today was, uh... Bad."

Playback looks at her with a pitying look, like the kind you'd give a dog trying to get a treat out of one of those puzzle boxes. "Bad. Yeah," he repeats.

As more members of the Young Defenders and Delaware Valley Defenders arrive on the scene, I find myself drifting into a silent moment of introspection. I watch as Rampart and Crossroads coordinate the search and rescue efforts, their voices calm and authoritative amidst the chaos. I see Blink darting in and out of the rubble, using her powers to move debris and free trapped civilians. And I can't help but feel a surge of pride, knowing that these are my people. My team.

But even as I watch them work, I can't shake the feeling of unease that's been growing in the pit of my stomach. The brutality of the fight with Deathgirl, the lives lost and forever changed by this senseless violence. It all feels like too much to bear.

"You holding up okay?" a voice asks, and I turn to see Crossroads standing beside me, his dark eyes filled with concern.

I shrug, not trusting myself to speak. Crossroads has always been able to see right through me, even without using his powers.

"It's okay to not be okay, you know," he says quietly, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "What we went through today... it's not something anyone should have to deal with."

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. "I just keep thinking about all the people we couldn't save. And the people who they fed the Jump to. Whatever they did to it... it's..."

I swallow hard, feeling my entire body clench up. I don't have any words besides mimicking Gossamer. "It's bad."

Crossroads sighs, running a hand through his braids. "I know. But we can't dwell on that. We did everything we could, Bee. And we're going to keep doing everything we can to make sure something like this never happens again. They've got Deathgirl, Pumice, and Chrysalis all wrapped up. Chimera is MIA. You did the right thing."

I know he's right, but it doesn't make the pain any easier to bear. I think about Liberty Belle, about the sacrifice she made for this city. I think about all the heroes who have given their lives in the line of duty, about all the ones who will continue to do so as long as there are people in need of saving.

"Yo, Bee!" Playback calls out, breaking me out of my reverie. "We're gonna do one last sweep of the area, make sure we didn't miss anyone. You in?"

I take a deep breath, pushing down the pain and the doubts and the fears. Because that's what being a hero is all about. It's about pushing through, even when it feels like the whole world is against you.

"Yeah, I'm in," I say, my voice steady and strong. "Let's do this."