Twelve years ago, Nathan Morgan's life went up in flames.

It was supposed to be a good day. His birthday. But Pyrebreaker decided to rob a bank, and Apex, the city’s golden boy, stepped in. They fought in the sky, trading punches like gods. Downtown burned. By the time it was over, half the district was gone.

Nathan’s parents and sister? Gone with it.

Pyrebreaker vanished. Apex got a parade.

Revenge burned bright. Still did. But Nathan knew better. Heroes and villains weren’t just people. They were storms. Forces of nature. No amount of training or rage would stop someone who could disintegrate him with a sneeze.

So he did what the powerless do. He cleaned up after them.

* * *

Nate knelt in the rubble of a shopping district. Sweat streaked through the grime on his face. His gloves were shredded, his back shot to hell. He hauled another chunk of concrete aside and swore.

The city called it “damage control.” He called it “standing in the splash zone.” Every time heroes and villains decided to brawl, Nate and his crew showed up to pick up the pieces.

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The job sucked. Low pay. High risk. But he didn’t have many options. Most days, it was crawling through unstable wreckage, hoping to find survivors. Or bodies.

On the side, he taught martial arts. A way to stay sharp. To scrape together a few bucks. But really? It was training. For the day he got his shot.

* * *

A sound cut through the air. Muffled, faint. Someone shouting.

Nate paused. Tilted his head. A survivor.

The noise came from deeper in the rubble. A jagged tunnel yawned open, concrete slabs balanced on splintered rebar. Black shadows stretched into the guts of the collapse.

He hesitated.

Didn’t look safe. Hell, it didn’t look survivable.

The cries got louder. He clenched his teeth and swore. “Of course. Always the weak ones who pay for this crap.”

He crawled in. Moved slow, careful not to shift the balance of the wreckage. Shadows closed around him. He muttered as he went. “Villains start it. Heroes make it worse. And who to clean? Me. Just a guy with a shovel. Just once, I’d like to see one of them down here. Digging with their bare hands.”

The tunnel opened into a pocket of space. Small. Cramped. His eyes locked on something immediately: a hand sticking out from under a boulder.

“Hang on!” he called.

He scrambled over. Dug his boots in. Gripped the edge of the boulder. Pulled. His muscles screamed, but the stone shifted.

The hand came free.

It wasn’t attached to anything.

Nate froze.

The hand twitched. Then it melted, black and liquid, and lunged for his face.

He stumbled back. Tried to dodge. His boot caught on a chunk of concrete.

The ground tilted.

His head slammed into something hard.

* * *

Darkness.

Suitable host found.

Neural link established.

Initiating Damage Control System.