The room was thick with smoke, the haze swirling like restless shadows in the faint light filtering through the shattered skylight. The robbers shifted uneasily, their weapons trained on the fog where the armored figure had last been seen. Tension crackled in the air like a storm about to break, each breath held, each movement slow and deliberate.

“Stay sharp!” barked the leader, his voice sharp but laced with unease. “Find him and take him out!”

The robbers fanned out, moving cautiously, their boots crunching on broken glass. Their rifles swung back and forth, their grips tight and knuckles white. For all their bravado, their confidence was cracking, eroded by the unknown threat lurking in the haze.

Then, suddenly, the first man squeezed his trigger—and nothing happened.

The click of a misfire echoed in the silence. Confusion rippled through the group as others followed suit, pulling their triggers in a panicked cascade of clicks and jams. One by one, their weapons failed, the mechanisms locking as if seized by an invisible force.

“What the hell’s going on?!” a robber shouted, shaking his rifle in frustration.

The leader snarled, his eyes darting around the smoke. “Keep trying! Don’t let up!”

But the weapons remained inert, their chambers unresponsive. The robbers exchanged uneasy glances, their grip on the situation slipping further with each passing second.

From the fog came a low, calm voice. “Your guns won’t work here.”

The leader froze, his head snapping toward the sound. The other robbers swiveled their weapons instinctively, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Who’s there?!” the leader shouted, his bravado faltering.

Above them, mounted to the ceiling, a faintly glowing device pulsed with rhythmic energy. Its crude, jury-rigged design hinted at its origin—a disruptor, built to neutralize firearms within its range. The robbers stared up at it, realization dawning too late.

“Now what?!” a robber hissed, his panic barely contained.

The leader scowled, reaching for a knife strapped to his belt. “We take him down the old-fashioned way.”

A movement flickered in the fog, a fleeting shadow that drew their attention. The leader pointed, and the nearest robber charged, his knife gleaming as he disappeared into the haze. A heartbeat later, a thwip echoed, followed by a startled cry and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.

“Stay together!” the leader barked. “We’ll flush him out!”

But the fog seemed to come alive, twisting and swirling around them as if conspiring to conceal the armored figure. Another robber swung a crowbar into the mist, the metallic clang of a missed strike ringing out before a glob of adhesive glue shot from the shadows, pinning his arm to his side. He stumbled backward, crashing into a table as the glue hardened, trapping him in place.

“What is this?!” another robber yelled, panic creeping into his voice.

The little girl watched through tear-filled eyes, her face pressed against her mother’s chest but her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her. She couldn’t see him—not clearly—but she felt his presence. He moved like a shadow, silent and purposeful, his every action a strike against the chaos that had gripped the room.

A grappling hook shot from the fog, snaring another robber’s ankle and yanking him off his feet. He cried out as he was dragged into the haze, his weapon clattering to the floor. The girl gasped, her small hands gripping her mother tightly.

Another robber flailed as a sticky bomb landed near him, detonating with a harmless but blinding flash that left him stumbling. The leader cursed, his eyes darting between the subdued robbers and the shifting fog.

“Cowards!” he spat. “He’s just one man!”

From the smoke came the faint clink of boots against the floor, deliberate and unyielding. The leader turned toward the sound, his knife raised. “Come out and fight!”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The fog thinned just enough to reveal a faint glint of light reflecting off the figure’s armor. The leader lunged, slashing wildly. The armored figure sidestepped, his movements precise and fluid. With a swift motion, he fired a grappling hook, snagging the leader’s wrist and pulling him off balance. A quick sweep of his leg sent the man sprawling.

The other robbers hesitated, their weapons discarded, their confidence shattered. One by one, they were subdued, their hands and legs bound by adhesive traps or knocked unconscious by calculated strikes. The room fell into silence, broken only by the groans of the defeated.

The fog began to clear, revealing the full form of the armored figure for the first time. His suit was patchwork but resilient, the metal scuffed and dented from countless battles. His visor glowed faintly, cutting through the dim light, and his tattered cape trailed lightly behind him.

The leader, now bound and struggling against the adhesive, glared up at the figure. “Who... who are you?”

The armored man didn’t respond at first. He moved deliberately, assessing the room as his helmet tilted slightly, its visor scanning the aftermath. Smoke still drifted in lazy tendrils, curling around the subdued robbers lying groaning on the floor. The faint sounds of shifting debris punctuated the otherwise silent room, a quiet reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

The little girl clung to her mother’s dress, her small fingers gripping tightly as her wide eyes remained fixed on him. She couldn’t take her gaze away—the way he carried himself, calm and composed, as though nothing could harm him. He didn’t speak or gesture, but there was something in the way he moved, checking each person without hesitation, his shoulders steady and unyielding.

He stopped near the old man who had been attacked earlier. The man’s breaths were slow and even now, his inhaler resting loosely in his hand. The armored figure crouched slightly, observing for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied. Then he straightened, his cape trailing lightly behind him, and turned his attention to the rest of the hostages.

The girl watched, her chest tightening as he stepped closer to the group. Whispers flitted among the hostages, some filled with awe, others with disbelief, but she couldn’t bring herself to join in. Her small hands trembled as he moved closer, his imposing form illuminated faintly by the dim light and fading smoke.

When his visor turned toward her, the girl’s breath caught. His steps were light but deliberate as he approached, the sound of his boots against the cracked floor quiet but unmistakable. Her mother’s arms tightened protectively around her, but the girl leaned slightly forward, unable to look away.

His movements softened as he knelt to her level, the scuffed metal of his armor creaking faintly. For a moment, he was still, as though waiting for her to speak. The glow of his visor reflected in her wide, tear-filled eyes, and the air between them felt impossibly still.

“You were brave,” he said at last, his voice low and calm. There was no grandeur in his tone, only a steady kindness that filled the words. “You stood tall when others couldn’t. That takes real courage.”

Her lips trembled, the weight of his words making her heart pound. “I... I was scared,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared,” he replied. “It means doing what’s right, even when you are.”

The girl blinked as tears slid down her cheeks. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the cool, battered surface of his gauntlet. The metal was rough, scratched and dented, but it felt steady—strong. She stared at him, her awe deepening with each passing moment. To her, he wasn’t just a man in armor. He was everything she thought a hero should be.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of wonder and hope.

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering her question, but before he could respond, the distant wail of sirens shattered the fragile stillness. The sharp commands of officers and heroes echoed faintly, growing louder with every second. The flashing lights of police vehicles began to cut through the haze, casting shifting reflections across the shattered glass and debris.

The armored figure stood abruptly, his head snapping toward the sound. The girl’s small hand dropped as she watched him take a step back, her heart sinking at the realization that he was about to leave.

“Wait!” she called, her voice cracking with desperation. “Please—what’s your name?”

For a moment, he paused, his form silhouetted against the thinning smoke. The air seemed to hold its breath as he turned slightly, his cape rippling faintly at his sides. The girl stared up at him, her chest tight with hope, but the noise grew louder, closer, and the first silhouettes of officers and heroes began to appear at the shattered doors.

He stepped back again, his movements deliberate but faster now. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the exit. The girl leaned forward, her small hand outstretched. “Don’t go!” she cried.

But he was already fading into the haze, his figure a fleeting shadow against the swirling smoke. His cape disappeared last, trailing lightly behind him like the closing of a door.

The girl’s chest tightened painfully, her small hands trembling as the sound of approaching footsteps filled the room. Police and heroes began rushing in, their voices urgent as they assessed the hostages and subdued robbers. Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace, whispering reassurances, but the girl barely heard her.

Her wide eyes remained fixed on the spot where he had stood, her heart pounding with something new—something unfamiliar but bright. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t even know where he’d come from. But what he had done... that was the kind of hero she wanted to be.

One day, she promised silently, she would stand like he had. Not for recognition or fame, but because people needed someone who would.

She whispered softly, her voice trembling but filled with quiet determination. “My hero.”