The morning sun crept through the broken blinds of Danny D. Worthy’s modest studio apartment, casting uneven stripes of light across the room. The space was cramped, littered with old takeout boxes and an alarming number of coffee mugs in various states of abandonment. A single cracked mirror above the sink reflected Danny as he shuffled through his morning routine. His worn sweatpants and faded t-shirt perfectly matched the apartment’s tired aesthetic.

“Another day, another dollar,” Danny muttered to himself, splashing water on his face. The weak pipes groaned in protest as the faucet dripped its last drop. He grabbed a ragged towel, patted his face dry, and sighed. His reflection offered no pep talk in return.

Outside, the streets of Greystone buzzed with life. Danny stepped out of his building and onto the sidewalk, pulling his cap lower over his unkempt hair. The air carried the faint tang of exhaust fumes and the smell of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery. His apartment building, one of many in a neglected part of town, stood in stark contrast to the shiny billboards towering over the city. Bright advertisements featuring The Junction’s most beloved heroes lit up the morning sky.

“Strength. Valor. Cleanliness. Be like Captain Pristine and keep your city spotless!”

Danny rolled his eyes at the tagline as he passed another advertisement featuring Captain Pristine—the spotless hero, known for fighting grime and promoting a dazzling smile. On another billboard, a glamorous image of Silver Star flashed, advertising her new line of energy drinks. Beneath it, a holographic display of Titan Blaster, The Junction’s resident tank, boomed his slogan: “Blow your limits away!”

The bus ride to work was uneventful. Danny sat near the back, slouching into his seat as he scrolled through his phone. News articles about yesterday’s monster attack filled his feed. One headline caught his eye: “Massive Excrement Fallout in Greystone: Residents Demand Answers” flashed across his screen. The accompanying image showed a reporter holding their nose while pointing at the extensive damage. Below, a brief interview clip played with an angry resident exclaiming, "It’s not just the smell! This stuff is everywhere—the streets, the parks, even the rooftops! Somebody has to clean this up!" Danny winced and scrolled further, avoiding the growing pit in his stomach.

His thumb paused over a bright ad featuring Captain Pristine striking a heroic pose with a mop in hand. "Cleaning Up Crime, One Swipe at a Time!" the tagline read, complete with animated sparkles around his dazzling smile. Danny groaned and quickly closed the app.

The city sanitation plant, Danny’s workplace, was a sprawling complex on the edge of town. Its front entrance boasted a cheerful sign: “Greystone Sanitation: We Handle the Dirty Work, So You Don’t Have To!”

As Danny trudged from the bus stop, he joined a slow-moving stream of workers, each with eyes deader than the last. Their hunched shoulders and robotic steps gave the impression of a procession of the damned, heading toward their daily grind.

At the front gate, a security guard leaned lazily in his booth, barely looking up as Danny approached. With a smirk, the guard drawled, “ID badge, Dungworthy.” The mocking emphasis on his last name made Danny’s jaw tighten, but he held his tongue, swiped his badge, and walked through the gates without a word.

The irony wasn’t lost on Danny as he swiped his ID and entered the building. Inside, motivational posters lined the walls, each with phrases like “A Clean City is a Happy City!” and “Sanitation Heroes: The Backbone of Greystone!” Danny snorted under his breath as he passed a poster of a cartoon janitor in a cape.

Danny’s coworkers greeted him with polite nods as he made his way to his workstation. His job was monotonous but straightforward: monitoring the flow of waste through the city’s sewage system and ensuring the pumps ran smoothly. The plant buzzed with machinery, the air thick with the smell of industrial cleaner and damp concrete. He slipped on his gloves and got to work, losing himself in the familiar rhythm of buttons and dials.

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By the time his shift ended, the sun was dipping low on the horizon. Danny joined the crowd of workers spilling out of the plant and into the bustling streets. The city was alive with noise and light, advertisements flashing above the shops and restaurants. Crowds moved like rivers, flowing in and out of subway stations and storefronts.

Danny stopped at a small convenience store, picking up a microwavable dinner and a cheap energy drink before heading home. As he walked back, he passed more billboards, their polished heroes beaming down at the city they’d sworn to protect. Danny’s pace quickened, and his shoulders hunched forward.

When he finally reached his building, Danny’s steps slowed. Something was off. A figure stood by the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. The man’s tailored suit and confident stance made him look as though he belonged in a magazine rather than outside Danny’s run-down apartment.

The man straightened when he saw Danny, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering streetlight overhead. His smile was warm but tinged with sadness as he took in Danny’s rumpled clothes and the plastic bag dangling from his hand.

“Danny,” the man said, his voice smooth and familiar. “I was hoping I had the wrong address.”

Danny froze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the man’s presence. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone guarded.

The man’s smile faltered, replaced by a pained expression. “Just… checking on an old friend. But, Danny…” His gaze swept over the building and back to Danny. “You deserve better than this.”

Danny’s grip on the plastic bag tightened, his jaw clenching. “Thanks for the pity, but I’m fine. Now, if you don’t mind…” He brushed past the man and unlocked the building’s front door.

The man didn’t follow but called out softly, “Danny, you can’t keep hiding forever. You’re better than this—you always were.”

The man opened his mouth as if to say more, but the sharp sound of Danny shutting the door cut him off. Danny paused briefly behind it, his head bowed, before trudging up the creaking staircase. Anger bubbled within him, his muttered words barely audible. "They don't get it. None of them do."

Reaching his apartment, Danny slammed the door behind him and dropped the plastic bag onto the counter with a thud. His eyes swept over the mess of his room—dirty clothes strewn about, dishes piled high in the sink. His jaw tightened as he rummaged through the chaos, tossing aside shirts and jackets until his hand brushed against something different.

It was the only clean thing he owned: his costume. The bright red and yellow fabric practically glowed in the dim light, folded neatly in the corner of the room. Danny picked it up, staring at it with a faint, bitter smile.

“Stupid thing,” he muttered. The suit had once given him pride, a sense of purpose, but now it felt like a mockery of everything he had become. He moved mechanically, almost ritualistically, dragging the suit to the center of the room. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer, the sharp chatter of a radio filling the silence.

“Captain Pristine and Silver Star have announced their team-up to tackle the Junction’s latest threat…” the voice droned. Danny ignored it, the scissors poised over the vibrant fabric. He hesitated, his hands trembling. The faint smile returned, this time softer, tinged with a sadness he couldn’t shake.

With a heavy sigh, he set the scissors down and clutched the suit tightly. After a moment, he stood and carefully donned it, piece by piece. The suit—ridiculous and embarrassing as it was—still fit perfectly.

"Breaking news," the radio announcer's voice cut through. "Authorities report a new threat emerging in Greystone. Early reports indicate significant structural damage and rising panic among residents. Heroes are en route, but the situation is developing rapidly. Stay tuned for updates."

Before heading out, Danny looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the sink, the faint glow of his costume contrasting sharply with the dim, cluttered apartment. For the first time that day, his reflection offered something close to reassurance.

Outside, the man stood frozen, his unfinished words hanging in the air under the flickering streetlight. Finally, he sighed and muttered to himself, “You were always the best of us,” before turning and walking away dejectedly. As he walked, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Answering quickly, he said, "This is ArmaMan. What's the situation?" The voice on the other end rattled off coordinates and a brief description of the escalating threat in Greystone. ArmaMan's gaze flicked back toward Danny's building for a moment before he disappeared into the city streets.