- Ten years later -

The world outside was silent. A faint breeze whispered through the emptiness, brushing against the edges of a forgotten place. Metal frames, once purposeful, lay strewn in disarray, their surfaces dulled by years of rust and exposure. Tangled vines and patches of greenery crept over skeletal remains of cars and machinery, nature reclaiming what humanity had left behind.

The ground was uneven, littered with shards of glass and twisted metal, their shapes long divorced from their original purposes. Shafts of light filtered through fractured clouds, casting fleeting shadows across the wasteland. The air carried the sharp tang of rust and damp earth, mingled faintly with the scent of oil—a lingering echo of the past.

At the center of this desolation stood a sagging building, its structure bowed under the weight of time. Cracked walls bore the scars of neglect, their surfaces overrun with moss. Jagged remnants of shattered windows framed the darkened interior, and a rusted sign leaned precariously against its foundation, its letters long eroded by the elements.

A sound broke the stillness—a low, guttural grunt that carried through the quiet. It emanated from deep within the building, the sole indication of life in the surrounding decay.

Inside, the air was heavy and cool, untouched by sunlight. Dust blanketed forgotten tools and broken furniture, casting a gray shroud over the past. But in one room, faint light flickered, its glow animating the walls in restless shadows.

A man hung from a pull-up bar bolted to the cracked ceiling, his body rigid with effort. Shirtless, his muscles were sharply defined, glistening with sweat that dripped steadily to the floor. Heavy weights dangled from his waist, swaying with the controlled rhythm of each pull-up.

His grunts were steady, measured, and focused. Every rise and fall displayed the scars crisscrossing his body—thin lines, jagged streaks, and deep ridges that told of past battles and enduring pain. These marks, etched across his skin, spoke of survival, not triumph.

The man’s face remained obscured in the shadows, but his determination was unmistakable. Each movement was precise, born not of vanity but necessity. Around him, scattered tools, a threadbare towel, and a small radio emitting faint static hinted at the life he had built here—a life forged in solitude and perseverance.

As the light flickered and his grunts softened, the stillness returned. His effort wasn’t for show, nor a pursuit of perfection—it was the discipline of one who had fought, endured and survived.

The faint sound of a weight hitting the floor echoed in the room as the man released himself from the bar and landed softly on his feet. He exhaled, steadying himself, and reached for a rag to wipe the sweat from his brow. The scars caught the flickering light once more before he disappeared back into the shadows.

The hum of static broke the stillness, sputtering from a battered radio perched on a cluttered workbench. Its worn frame and scratched buttons bore the marks of age, yet it clung stubbornly to life. The static crackled unevenly, straining as if to find its voice.

The man paused mid-motion, his hand hovering over a towel draped across a nearby chair. His head tilted toward the radio, eyes narrowing as the static grew louder. With a faint pop, the signal cleared.

“This is Becky Bill with the latest on breaking news,” announced a sharp, urgent voice. It cut through the silence like a blade. “We’re live at the scene of a developing situation downtown, where authorities are responding to an ongoing bank robbery.”

The man’s brow furrowed as he moved closer, his movements deliberate. Leaning down, he adjusted the volume with practiced care, the radio whining in brief protest before settling into clarity.

“Multiple suspects are believed to be inside,” Becky continued, her tone tense. “They’re heavily armed and have taken hostages. Law enforcement has established a perimeter but cannot breach the entrance due to the high risk of casualties.”

The man froze, his hand lingering on the dial. Shadows flickered across his face, partially obscured in the faint glow of the lamp. His breathing slowed, every ounce of his focus drawn to the crackling voice.

“Negotiations are ongoing, but tensions remain high,” Becky reported. “Witnesses describe hearing gunfire earlier this afternoon, though injuries remain unconfirmed. Police are holding their position, awaiting heroes to resolve the situation.”

A creak echoed softly as the man shifted his weight, his gaze steady and unblinking. He said nothing, his expression inscrutable as the report filled the room.

“Stay tuned for updates on this developing story,” Becky concluded. The static returned briefly before fading into a low hum, leaving the room heavy with silence.

The man straightened, his eyes lingering on the radio for a long moment. Exhaling faintly, he reached for the towel and wiped the sweat from his neck, his movements calm but deliberate. An almost imperceptible tension hung about him, like a spring wound tight and ready to uncoil.

The silence deepened as his gaze drifted to a shadowed corner of the room. Whatever lay there was hidden from view, but it had his full attention.

The radio crackled softly, its static trailing off like a whisper in the dark.

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

- Downtown -

The roar of gunfire echoed through the streets, transforming downtown into a battlefield. Bullet casings clattered onto the pavement as masked robbers in tactical gear unleashed a relentless barrage. Smoke coiled around shattered police cars, their flickering red and blue lights casting fragmented patterns through the haze.

Team one of the robbers held their ground with precision. Overturned vehicles and hastily constructed barricades provided cover as their weapons barked in coordinated bursts. This wasn’t chaos; it was calculated. Each volley was deliberate, their movements honed by experience. These weren’t ordinary criminals—they were professionals with a clear objective.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Across the street, law enforcement officers crouched behind cover, their radios crackling with tense updates. A window shattered nearby, sending glass spraying across the asphalt. One officer cursed, ducking lower as debris scattered around him.

“Captain, we’re pinned down!” an officer shouted, sliding behind a dented cruiser to join his commander. “We need backup—they’ve got us locked tight!”

The police captain gritted his teeth, sweat glistening on his brow as he glanced toward the robbers’ line. “Hold the perimeter,” he ordered, his voice firm despite the chaos. “The heroes are on their way.”

Another volley of bullets slammed into the barricades, forcing the officers to hunker down. Hands gripped weapons tightly, their knuckles white with tension. The robbers showed no signs of letting up, their firepower keeping the police locked in place. The situation teetered on the edge of control, the air thick with urgency.

Then came a new sound—an engine’s roar, cutting through the din. Heads turned as a sleek, black SUV screeched to a halt just behind the police blockade. Its doors swung open with purpose, and a group of figures emerged, their presence commanding immediate attention.

The heroes had arrived.

Clad in vibrant costumes designed to inspire confidence, the group of five strode forward with purpose. Their outfits, adorned with bold insignias, stood out sharply against the muted uniforms of the police. These were C-class heroes—not the strongest, but far beyond the average officer or civilian. Their abilities, sharpened through experience, made them formidable despite their rank.

At the head of the group was a tall man with a commanding presence. His blue-and-white cape fluttered lightly in the breeze, matching the streaks on his suit. His sharp jawline and confident smirk made him instantly recognizable.

“Captain Leo!” an officer called, relief evident in his voice. “Thank God you’re here!”

Leo nodded, his expression calm but focused. “What’s the situation?”

The police captain stepped forward, his voice tight. “Two teams inside: one keeping us pinned out here, another looting the vault, and a third guarding the hostages. We can’t move without risking casualties.”

Leo’s gaze swept over the scene, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the robbers’ formation. “Understood. Keep your men back and maintain the perimeter. We’ll handle it.”

The police captain hesitated. “These guys are organized, Leo. They’ve got the firepower to keep us pinned, and we haven’t been able to get a clear shot in over an hour.”

“They won’t stop us,” Leo said firmly, loud enough for both police and robbers to hear. “We’ll break their line.”

Behind him, the other heroes stood ready. Each carried themselves with quiet confidence, their postures relaxed but alert. They bore no weapons—only the assurance of their powers.

“Team, split up,” Leo commanded, his voice rising above the din. “Push the left flank and draw their fire from the right. Keep it clean—minimal risks.”

“Yes, Captain!” his teammates answered in unison, fanning out with deliberate precision. Their colorful costumes glinted faintly as they moved into position.

The robbers noticed immediately. “Heroes incoming!” one shouted, redirecting his aim. A fresh volley of bullets erupted, focused entirely on the advancing figures.

Leo led the charge, moving low and fast. To his right, a woman in a crimson suit swung her arm, releasing a shockwave that knocked a robber off balance. A wiry man in green leapt over a barricade with practiced agility, dodging fire before delivering a precise blow that sent another robber sprawling.

Leo advanced confidently, dodging a spray of bullets as he closed the distance to his target. With a single punch, he sent the man reeling, his strength unmistakable but restrained.

The robbers regrouped quickly, their leader barking orders to counter the attack. The clash intensified, each side locked in a deadly stalemate of power and precision.

From behind cover, the police watched with bated breath. “Come on, Leo,” one officer muttered. “Show them what you’ve got.”

For a moment, it seemed the heroes had the upper hand. Leo and his team pressed forward, forcing the robbers to retreat behind their barricades. Encouraged, some officers peeked from cover, murmuring their relief as the tide appeared to turn.

Then came a sound—low, resonant, and unfamiliar.

It wasn’t gunfire or the crack of concrete. It was a deep mechanical hum, growing louder with each second. The heroes paused, their eyes scanning the enemy line.

From behind the barricade, a figure emerged—taller and more menacing than the rest. The robber leader stepped forward, his face obscured by a sleek, black mask with glowing red slits. Resting on his shoulder was a weapon unlike anything seen before—a massive gun lined with glowing coils that pulsed ominously as it powered up.

“Fallback!” Leo shouted, instinctively retreating. But the weapon discharged before he could act.

A deafening boom tore through the street, the shockwave lifting a police car off its wheels and flipping it with a metallic screech. Concrete shattered where the blast hit, shards flying like deadly shrapnel. The force sent the heroes sprawling.

Leo grunted as he hit the ground, his ears ringing. Dust filled the air, and he coughed as he pushed himself to his knees. His team fared no better—one clutched their side, another struggled to rise.

“Is that all you’ve got?” the leader taunted, hoisting the weapon for another shot. The coils glowed brighter, charging ominously.

Leo grimaced, trying to rally. “Stay together! We can—”

A second figure emerged, carrying a compact device glowing faintly blue. With a sharp crack, the robber activated it, releasing a powerful electromagnetic pulse.

The heroes froze mid-motion. Their powers faltered, their movements sluggish under the device’s field. Even Leo staggered, his confidence shaken.

The robbers seized their moment, advancing aggressively. Gunfire erupted again, driving the police and heroes back into cover. For the first time, the outcome seemed clear: the robbers were winning.

The air grew tense, every breath heavy with uncertainty. The police captain’s voice crackled over the radio, his tone laced with desperation as he called for reinforcements.

Then, everything stopped.

A faint hum rose above the chaos, barely noticeable at first. It grew louder, joined by a sharp whooshing sound that drew every eye skyward. Something descended rapidly—a figure, too small to make out, trailing twin streams of smoke like jet propulsion.

“What the hell is that?” a robber muttered, lowering his weapon slightly.

Heroes, police, and robbers alike froze, their gazes locked on the descending figure. It moved with purpose, vaguely humanoid but unrecognizable. The smoke curled behind it like tendrils, and the hiss of propulsion grew louder as it neared.

Before anyone could react, the figure shifted sharply downward, crashing through the bank’s skylight with a thunderous impact that shook the street.

A stunned silence followed. The robbers exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence faltering. The heroes, still recovering, stared at the shattered glass above, confusion etched on their faces.

“What... was that?” an officer whispered.

No one had an answer.

The street remained still, every eye fixed on the bank as the dust settled. Whatever—or whoever—had arrived, the balance had shifted.