The hours blur together as I make my way up and down the streets surrounding the courthouse, my blood sense guiding me to pockets of injured and trapped civilians. It's a grueling, heartbreaking process, but I push through the pain and fatigue, knowing that every second counts.

At one point, I find myself digging through a mound of rubble, my fingers raw and bleeding as I claw at the debris. I can sense a faint heartbeat beneath the stones, a flicker of life that I refuse to let slip away.

"Hold on," I mutter, more to myself than to the person trapped below. "I'm coming for you."

With a final, desperate heave, I manage to shift a large slab of concrete, revealing the battered but breathing form of a young woman. She blinks up at me, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

"You're okay," I tell her, my voice cracking with emotion. "I've got you."

I help her to her feet, supporting her weight as we make our way to the nearest ambulance. She clings to me, her tears soaking through my tattered costume.

"Thank you," she whispers, over and over again. "Thank you so much."

I don't have the words to respond, so I just hold her tighter, letting her know that she's safe now.

As the day wears on, I find myself falling into a rhythm with the other heroes and first responders. We work in silent coordination, communicating through nods and gestures as we move from one crisis to the next.

At one point, I spot Rampart lifting a massive beam off a trapped family, his muscles straining with the effort. Nearby, Puppeteer is darting in and out of a collapsing building, using her strings to hoist people out when the lower floors are too dangerous to escape through.

Even Playback, usually so quick with a joke or a quip, is uncharacteristically serious as he works with Spindle to dig and search for survivors.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the devastated streets, I find myself leaning heavily against the side of a building, my lungs burning with each breath.

"Easy there, Bloodhound," a voice says softly, and I look up to see an older man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. "You've been going non-stop for hours. You need to rest."

For a second, I'm fully prepared to challenge how he knows my name. But then I remember that, you know... people know me. People know who I am. I've been a superhero for basically a year now.

Weird.

I shake my head, pushing myself upright. "I can't. There are still people out there who need help."

The man reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. "And you've helped so many already. But you can't help anyone if you run yourself into the ground."

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips as a small group of civilians approaches, their faces streaked with tears and grime.

"We just wanted to say thank you," a woman in the group says, her voice trembling. "To all of you. What you did today... it means everything to us."

I feel a lump rising in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to compose myself.

"We were just doing our job," I manage, but even as I say it, I know it's more than that.

"No," another man in the group says firmly. "You went above and beyond. You put your lives on the line for us, for this city. And we won't forget that."

The others nod in agreement, and I feel a swell of emotion rising in my chest.

"Thank you," I say softly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "Truly. Your support means more than you know."

As the group disperses, back to their loved ones, or to nearby paramedics, I take a moment to catch my breath, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes.

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It's been a long, brutal day, and I know there are still challenges ahead. The Phreaks may be in custody, but their legacy of terror and destruction will linger long after the dust settles. I just let myself feel the rest for... I don't know. Just a second. Just a second is enough.

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

As the last of the survivors are whisked away to safety and the worst of the debris is cleared, I find myself being ushered into a makeshift command center set up in the lobby of a nearby office building. The space is buzzing with activity, with heroes and first responders coming and going in a constant stream.

In the center of the chaos, I spot Multiplex, Fury Forge, and Bulwark huddled around a table, their expressions grim as they pour over a stack of papers and maps. Crossroads is there too, his face etched with exhaustion and concern.

"Bloodhound," Multiplex greets me as I approach, his voice strained with exhaustion. "Glad you could join us. We're just about to start the debriefing."

I nod, too tired to speak, and find a spot to lean against the wall as the other heroes gather around. I see Playback and Spindle, their usual banter replaced by a somber silence. Blink, Playback, and Gossamer all trickle in one after another. Rampart is... well, I see him lifting heavy objects outside, and I think he'll probably stay doing that.

"Alright, listen up," Bulwark says, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. "Today was a hell of a day, and I know we're all running on fumes. But we need to talk about what comes next."

He gestures to the papers on the table, which I now see are filled with names and addresses.

"These are the families and communities most affected by today's attack," he explains. "They're going to need our support in the coming days and weeks. Not just with the physical recovery, but with the emotional toll as well."

Multiplex nods in agreement. "We need to make a public statement, to let the people know that we're here for them. That we'll do whatever it takes to help them rebuild and heal."

Crossroads speaks up, his voice heavy with concern. "What about the Phreaks? Deathgirl, Pumice, Chrysalis... what's happening with them?"

I feel my brow furrow without my conscious interaction. Whenever Crossroads says something, I think it's because he knows the answer and wants other people to hear it. So... that makes me a little worried.

Multiplex sighs, running a hand over his face. "They've been chemically sedated and are being transported to Daedalus in upstate New York for temporary holding. We need to figure out what to do with them, how to keep them contained and prevent something like this from happening again."

I feel a twist of discomfort in my gut at the mention of chemical sedation and containment. It seems... extreme, even for villains as dangerous as the Phreaks. But I can't quite put my finger on why it bothers me so much.

"Is that really necessary?" I find myself asking, my voice sounding small and uncertain even to my own ears. "I mean, I know they need to be held accountable, but... chemical sedation? It feels... wrong, somehow."

Multiplex gives me a sympathetic look, but his voice is firm when he responds. "I know it's not an easy decision, Bloodhound. But we have to prioritize the safety of the city. The Phreaks have proven time and again that they're a threat, and we can't risk them escaping or causing more harm."

I nod, biting my lip as I try to quell the unease churning in my stomach. I know Multiplex is right, that we have to do whatever it takes to protect the people. But something about the whole situation feels off, like we're crossing a line that we can't come back from.

Fury Forge clears her throat, drawing our attention back to the task at hand. "There will be time to discuss the long-term implications later. For now, we need to focus on the immediate aftermath. The families, the communities, the public perception... it's going to take a coordinated effort to address all of it."

"What can we do?" Blink asks, her voice trembling slightly. "How can we even begin to pick up the pieces after something like this?"

Puppeteer puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We start small," her says softly. "One family at a time, one block at a time. We show up, we listen, we help in whatever way we can. It's not going to be easy, but it's what we signed up for when we put on these costumes."

Bulwark gives me a tired smile. "For now, get some rest, children. We will need all hands on deck in the coming days, but we are no good to anyone if we are running on empty."

There are murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of determination settling over the group. I feel it too, a flicker of hope amidst the exhaustion and grief. I nod, feeling the exhaustion seeping into my bones. It's been a long, brutal day, and the thought of sleep is suddenly more tempting than anything in the world. I'm about to add to the pile of feel-good affirmations before my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.

I pull it out, my heart leaping into my throat as I see my dad's name on the screen.

"Dad," I answer, my voice cracking with emotion. "I'm okay. I promise."

There's a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I think the connection has been lost. But then I hear my dad's voice, thick with tears.

"Sam. Oh god, Sam. I was so worried."

I feel my own eyes welling up, and I blink furiously, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"I know, Dad. I'm sorry."

Another pause, and then my dad says something that I never thought I'd hear from him.

"I'm proud of you, Sam. I know your mom and I haven't always been supportive of this whole superhero thing. We were just so scared of losing you. But seeing what you did today... I think... Just promise me you're not going to get in over your head."

I'm crying now, the tears streaming down my face as I clutch the phone to my ear. It's the closest I think I'll get to a 'we approve of your antics'.

"Thank you, Dad. I'll be home soon."