Striker let out a grunt of pain as he was driven down, thankful that his blue armour took the brunt of it but still reeling as it struck his solar plexus. But, now he's gotten another chance to let his power play the hidden aspect to it.

He wraps his arms around his assailant and tries to shift for a brazilian jiu jitsu counter-grapple.

"Hmph."

Striker pressed forward to counter the jab with an anticlockwise swing. He dissipated his sword, before quickly raising his hands above, reforming the sword into something slightly blunt, and swinging it down upon Maiden.

Striker's grip was loosening as the spikes jutted and prodded into his armour. Not being able to take it any longer, he floats away 5 feet, clutching his chest.

His armour flickered grey for a moment, nearly adapting the form of Iron Maiden's get up, before returning back into Striker's iconic white and blue form.

"If you wanna play this sword and board game, so be it." Neptune spoke through ragged breath. He extended his right arm to the side, letting a 6 foot long longsword coalesce into his hand from blue energy. After performing a few practice swings, he charges.

He doesn't need range. He just needs to weaken that thick armour.

Striker closes his eyes and takes a gamble. He let the sword graze through his armour's shoulder piece and inflict a hollow gash into his skin, gritting his teeth. He was close now.

Neptune wraps his hands around Iron Maiden and attempts to perform a restrained brazilian jiu-jitsu tackle.

Striker's punch goes wide, and his eyes shoot up as he momentarily loses track of his opponent.

When the sword comes hurtling at him to his side, he gets knocked into the walls and leaves an imprint of his body into it. He grunts in pain.

When he got his bearings, he tries his best to shrug off the pang of hurt slowly reverberating across his body and flies straight at Maiden. He's keeping keen track of where she swings that thing next.

Striker doesn't say a word. He knows things are never that easy with these scuffles. He continues to bob and weave forwards, closing the distance with each brisk step. When he was in range, he'd throw the first punch aiming to get the villain straight at her chest.

Neptune shrugs, landing his feet on the ground and thickening his arms with heavy gauntlets made of blue energy. "I think I should've clocked out minutes ago with a chicken sandwich and a shake, but, here we are."

He shifts his foot and assumes southpaw. Striker weaves and ducks his body as he slowly approaches the Maiden

Striker was going about his regular patrols around Denver; taking selfies with awestruck bystanders, helping old ladies cross the roads, buying ice cream for a lucky school bus full of kids, and doing other sorts of altruistic acts to lighten up the mood once in a while. As he was flying back to HQ, he heard the comms for backup and chuckled.

'Here I thought I could go a day without fighting'

Neptune took the detour to the scene of battle where he received the call.

Upon making a quick glance over the scene of battle, Striker covered himself in light blue armour, before entering the fray.

"Tsk tsk, you shouldn't be cussing in front of kids" Neptune said, as he gently floated down with his arms crossed 14 feet away from Iron Maiden.

Spear and shield, a combo's he's been practicing with lately. An offensive and defensive mix. He's still rusty with this combo, and his entire power as a whole, which was the reason he was taking a few cuts and gashes.

But he wasn't going to be a complete punching bag. He would try to block with his shield and counter with a spear jab. He hoped the weakness would tear Rocksy down. He was probably going to be running on fumes from his own power soon.

When Striker wasn't able to pull at Rocksy, he could've sworn he did a cartoon gulp.

He saw the shadow of two fists hurtling at him and rolled, dodging just in time. However, his cape got ensnared by the fists. This affected his stride, causing him to clumsily tumble rather than roll away. He crashed into a garbage can.

Neptune got up and dusted himself. In a twisted way, he was proud that the child was learning. "You saw that coming! Nicely done. Don't let anger get to ya kid. The tunnel vision's gonna cost ya."

Striker re-armoured himself with his energy now, creating a construct of a spear and a shield along with it. Did he tussle with Rocksy back there for the requisite amount of time needed? He had to find out.

"...wait"

Striker, Karl, dug his nails into the asphalt as he tried to weakly claw his way towards Scorn. No point there though.

But, the creatures words rung to him. Death. Always at his doorstep. With thirteen years in this godforsaken career, he always wondered when he would bite the dust. What would it take to finally give in and go to the other side.

He figured that it was going to eventually come for him. There was no growing old for Karl.

Atleast if he went out, he hoped to make the lives of as many people as possible better.

He smiled.

The sounds of sirens wailing in the distance got clearer and clearer. Karl took his moment to collapse and sleep.

"Nepfune Shfriker. Or Karf" he said, giving Heather a friendly handshake, before activating his powers and having a blue hand pat through the kitchen sink until it found a cold enough water bottle. He brought it back to himself, hastily uncapped it, and glugged it down.

Once the bottle was empty, he ran his hand over his wavy hair and smiled. I cannot have the Ward think I'm a dork this early.

"Always bef....hydrafting"

"Leave! Now!" he shouted with a ragged breath.

He noticed Rocksy was absorbing his energy. Was this going to make life hell? No time to consider. If the child was going to be reckless, she would end up hurting people while trying to satisfy whatever misguided sense of justice she felt when pummeling Protectorate heroes. This wasn't going to pan out well.

He pushed back for four seconds and worked as hard as he could to extend it for three seconds more. If she wanted his energy, she could have it.

It was time to employ a wrestling maneuver.

Once he was certain there were no civilians behind him, he dramatically loosened his pushing force in the bullfight, using his arms to redirect Rocksy's momentum and quickly slipping behind her. He tightly grabbed her leg, forcing her to trip on her own.

Striker was prepped to catch one object. It's practically the reason why he stood still. One arm outstretched, his blue mechanical one, he captured the roof frisbee which got him to reel back while he was in flight. A cool shield, this would have to-...

His eyes darted around to track Scorn. She was missing. An asphalt particulate knocked his head before he realised what direction she was headed towards. Him.

Instinct screamed at him to put the shield up, which he did, and was immediately met by what felt like a truck violently colliding into him. He pushed back using every ounce of his simmering super strength. He felt his feet claw into the concrete as he pushed back, creating a small crater upon impact.

That's what it took to give in. His grip on his roof shield loosened and he fell on his back, rolling away several feet until he crashed into the side of the van he was trying to protect, leaving a dent in the progress. He attempted to get back up, gritting his teeth, whilst adopting a wobbly boxing stance.

He fell on all fours as his cape gracefully draped over his shoulder. Light-blue wisps simmered out of his body, making him 30% less muscular than he was in his powered form.

Shit.

His arms and legs collapsed under him, leaving him prone. One meagre hand still attempted to force himself to get back up. But it was futile. He was done.

"Oooo, you look like you took a hit there friend. Cookie?"

Striker set his plate of cookies down on the table and removed his baking mittens. He turned his power off, regular blue pupils returning to his eyes, as he grabbed a cookie and to take a bite for himself. He realised a bit later that the cookies were still too hot, but he didn't let out his panic just yet and gave the young lady an assured (but pained) smile.

Where did it go wrong for this child.

Neptune is left to wonder if a Protectorate hero had done her wrong somewhere down the line. He would have to look into it, for her sake.

But right now, she was bull-rushing without care. Straight towards....

Oh no.

Striker crossed his arms over each other and created a riot shield, which was burning brighter than any other construct he had created tonight. He charged forward, dauntless. She was going to hurt people. She needed to be stopped.

Neptune flew up 14 feet, shaking his hand. Even through his construct, landing that punch felt like striking at a wall bare knuckled.

There was a measure of anger in Striker when Rocksy's words finally clicked. "You do not get to judge who is a hero and who isn't. Until you've worked 36 hours non-stop to remove rubble after an Endbringer attack to save a crying mother and her son from being crushed to death, until you have to fight an A-class villain holding kids hostage in a maternity ward, until you have to survive having your throat ripped out by a terrorist Parahuman to stop them from tearing an entire city apart, until you know what the satisfaction of saving a life feels like while being content with throwing away your own, you are in no position to decide what makes a hero. What is a hero to you anyway?"

He exhaled, calming himself down.

"Wow, don't I sound so very self-aggrandising?" He chuckled and shook his head dismissively. "My apologies. Besides, if you wanted to murk someone, you already would have done it! Maybe there's some good in you there kid. You're definitely hero material, whether you realise it or not. No pun intended..." he smiled, readying himself for the next onslaught.

Her back was turned to the crowd. He bet on her being the showman gladiator type. He had seen so much of these capes that it made too much sense with all of her taunting.

Perfect.

Striker rotated his heel and kicked off from the ground, flying straight towards the debutant. If Rocksy turned, her face would be greeted by the construct of a big blue fist.

Striker got off the wall and brushed his shoulder pads. He sighed.

"Nah. I think I'm done for the day."

He began to walk away, whistling. His armour form was still on though, and one eye silently kept looking at his six.

Striker frowned. "Hey, language! Jeeze, kids these days don't know the art of banter."

First, Striker quickly clad himself with armour. He needed to. The kid doesn't know it, but that bade was definitely going to kill him if that landed.

Neptune didn't block or catch the blade, but simply ducked slightly below his larger opponents field of vision.

He immediately tried to follow it up with an uppercut across her chin. Though he avoided the blade with his uppercut maneuver, the hammer got him, sending him soaring into a wall.

He coughed, spitting out a bit of bile. Now that hurt like hell.

Damn, it did hurt.

But what hurt Neptune most was...

It made him drop his cupcake

And now it was mushed into smithereens.

Aw.

Striker folded his arms and watched with intrigue as he floated. Touch based changer depending on what she held on to. Durability was going to be an issue. Maybe the hidden aspect of his powers could hamper her down?

He's going to have to get up close.

As the roof hurtled towards Striker, he calmly stretched one hand out, and from it, a light-blue construct of a baseball glove matching the colour of his cape emerged, catching the roof mid air. He gently set it down.

"Hey! No littering!"

Striker sighed. One look at Rocky's eyes and it's the same look he's seen in close to, what, 13 years in the Protectorate? An angry child, looking for repose, and attempting to achieve it by taking it out on the rest of the world.

This job never changes.

With his hand already stretched out in his attempt to offer his cupcake, he impeded the trajectory of Rocksy's punch. A wild, untrained punch, fueled by anger. He saw that coming.

Still, she was moving, so he took the opportunity to add to the counter. The trick with punches like these is to use the opponents own momentum and weight against them. Brute Judo, as he liked to call it. Neptune shifted his footing to Rocksy's side, before pushing her with the right amount of super strength in him, and further directing that punch into the concrete. He quickly backed away, flying 8 feet or so above Rocksy.

It's been an alright week returning as Neptune Striker.

Yeah the PR stuff, the cape fights, and the incessant paper work was something he didn't quite miss. But, it was a lot better than cutting up trees in a random forest in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and being left to contend with a midlife crisis.

Coming back to it was like riding a bike. Much like baking cookies for his colleagues at the PRT Commons.

Neptune, for his part, was having a relatively nice patrol.

A flight around town, a couple of selfies for awestruck bystanders that wanted one with a hero, assistance with helping children cross roads...to quote a certain Cubicle of Ice: Today was a good day.

He reckoned he would end patrol with two vegan chocolate chip cupcakes. His treat to himself, given that it was a cheat day and he thought he'd deserve a nice treat once in a while.

He bit into half of the chocolate chip cupcake and was about to finish chewing when the rock clad parahuman dropped in to say hi.

It was going so nicely.

Striker held out one finger, telling Rocksy to hold on a minute, hurriedly attempting to swallow the contents of his cupcake. He then held aloft the other unopened cupcake packet towards her and smiled, his left cheek still crunching through a lump of the cupcake. "Would you like one?" he politely asked, mouth quarter full.

"Aw come on, don't go littering now!"

Striker flew up, flying in seemingly erratic patterns that would throw Scorn's aim off. Or actually...

"My flesh and bones are...relatively replaceable. I stand to lose more fleeing. And, it's not in me to give up. That's not Neptune Striker, that's not me. That was me, but not anymore!"

He holds still, hoping to catch one of the objects she throws at him.

With the mid-flight momentum and the lariat, he was yoinked away, being thrown across the street straight towards a wall. It took one fist scrapping the asphalt, one knee, and one foot to stop him from skidding into the wall and leaving a Looney Tunes imprint.

Striker got up, brushing away the dirt on his costume. He took a quick look at his forearm: the white sleeves were stained with crimson, which was spreading to the rest. Neptune tore the sleeve from his suit and used it to cover the wound, temporarily stemming the bleeding. He proceeded to create a construct that covered the span of his exposed arm—a mechanical-looking fist one would likely see in any generic sci-fi movie.

The jabs and backhands on his way to haymaker the creature had created bruises on his back that were slowly flaring up with sharp pain. Neptune clenched his teeth, hoping adrenaline and a bit of his determination will help him power through what he feels is going to be the final leg of this fight before either of them collapse.

"What's your name, my friend?" Striker asked, placing his hand on the side of his head and pushing it, causing an audible crack, before he started walking towards the Thing.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

The blade arched and scratched the dufflebag, until it curved and immediately went taut, forming a scythe.

Striker pulls the scythe towards him now, making sure the great Thing was in tow. He himself moved, using the distraction to slip off the tendrils around his body, and straight up fly at a full 18 mph towards the monstrosity.

Many would wonder why Neptune Striker had 'Striker' in his name. Clearly, he was a Brute, not a Striker. Neptune Bruter didn't exactly roll off the tongue either.

Using all the super strength left on his bleeding hand, Neptune launched a wild haymaker, as he hurtled towards the great Thing. Should it connect, the poor fella would definitely be bouncing on the asphalt. If he's gonna live up to his name, it would have to be today.

Striker’s grip was likely going to let go. He flinched with each bash, as he was slowly losing his grip. The tendrils around his waist weren’t helping in this regard either. Still, he was defiant. There’s gotta be something that’ll catch the Thing off guard.

Stretching his free hand towards the Thing, a sharp blade construct slithered out of his fingers, before shooting forward, straight at the great Thing with rapid speed.

Until it arched. Towards the duffle bags.

"...I've...still...got...it"

Neptune slowly stood up, his face contorted as he grit his teeth, holding on to the arm as tightly as he could. If this thing could rip off a car door and casually wave it around, it can certainly handle his grasp.

As the Thing attempted to pull its arm holding the door, the sharp bits of said door were piercing into his skin, causing him to bleed. Still, he doggedly held on. Pain's an old friend.

He tug at the arm, hoping to finally close the gap between himself and the Thing. He has to do it quick, the sharp agony on his hand would get unbearable the longer it went.

And connect it did, Neptune lept to avoid the first sweep, and let the second arm grab on to him to get pinned. Just before he could initiate the game of tug of war, he was too distracted to notice the incoming tendril about to slam him into the asphalt.

Though he didn't quite bounce, he found his armoured face imprinted into the asphalt, immediately dissipating the construct into 'glass'. Had he not armoured himself up at the start of the fight, he would've been knocked out cold right there and then. This thing hits.

His mind was all fuzzy and he was sure he was seeing doubles, which included a small vestige of the tendril that had his mug Hollywood'd into the asphalt. Just before the creature could withdraw its tendrils, he grabbed onto it tightly, not letting it go.

Punching it broke the constructs again, which irked Neptune. He held his breath and recalled his energy within, having it all stored inside of him.

Going too close would be the ideal way to knock it out, but the tendrils were going to be an issue. Striker has to figure out a way to deter their usage.

Neptune puts his arms up to his face and adopts a boxing stance. His upper body weaved and ducked with practiced grace, making his movements unpredictable, as he closed the distance between himself and the great Thing.

He layered himself with spikey blue constructs that would hook any tendrils that got on him. He'd have to bet on winning the tug of war.

Neptune's construct broke, which gave him time to recall the remnants of it back to his body.

"I've been told that about my positivity and optimism." Neptune said, just when he was about to get his bearings, he gets pelted with the initial barrage of asphalt, causing him to grunt in pain.

He creates two massive fists the size of his body, using it to block the barrage, as he walks towards the great Thing slowly.

"Gotta keep the glass half full. Gives me the chance to share a drink, especially if a friend is thirsty"

When he felt he was close enough, he shot the two fists forward, initially considering to have the Thing restrained with his fist, but deciding that it was probably not going to work, so he opted for the punching route instead.

Striker sighed. He'd need a spreadsheet to track the number of times he's* faced a mindless chaotic type. "I'm always willing to turn people around to do good. Even people like you, my friend. Maybe there is some good in there."

Neptune took a step back, well away from what he thought would be the Thing's landing spot. He waited until it got closer, darting his eyes several times to his right, making sure it was at a certain distance from him, before immediately turning his back and swatting the shield forming on him at the Thing - like batting away a fly with a newspaper.

Oh boy.

Neptune rotated his skull, audibly cracking, tensing his body for the confrontation ahead.

"Hey there! Have you not been told it's bad to steal private property. Unlawful even! Perhaps you can throw that away and maybe we can hang out for coffee and bagels. What say you my friend?"

As if that was going to work.

Striker, created a secret shield construct behind his back, preparing to position it in front of him to block him should the 'Thing' make a projectile out of the various bits of garbage it was holding on to.

Neptune takes quick notice of the commotion occurring around the armoured truck and darts towards it, encasing himself in light blue armour to better protect himself from what he surmises will end up being a cape fight.

He gently lands on the concrete and rushes towards the -NKS- ity employees, concerned about their well being. He would do well to have them move out as soon as possible, they probably shouldn't get caught in this crossfire. "Hey guys? You good? I'll call for medical attention immediately. Who did this?"

...789...790.

Striker hung upside down from a heavy metallic pole, his abdominals burning as he did his nightly warm-up crunches. He held on to the pole with his legs as tightly as he could knowing full well that the grip on the pole was what was separating him from a direct 40-story plummet to a faceplant into the concrete.

Once he reckoned he hit the sweet spot for activation, he closed his eyes, as he loosened his his grip on the pole, slowly slipping from the hold until he was free falling. The wind whipped past his face, his cape billowed out behind him, and he could hear the cries of people below as they pointed at him in amazement. Neptune found it odd that, amidst the free falling, there was a profound sense of serenity within him that flared out as he got closer and closer to the ground. The sort of sensation one gets when they are teetering at the edge of consciousness and sleep.

Just before he was about 20 feet away from facing the concrete, he kicked off, activating his power of flight mid air and leaving a small dust cloud behind in the process. He'd practiced this fall so many times in his career that he lost count. Ever since he could fly, he would always do this little ritual prior to starting a patrol. He wonders what will find himself contending with today in the city of Denver. Perhaps it'll be a quiet night?

Afternoons were horridly humid in the woodlands

Karl hated having to chop trees at this time. Early mornings were better in this regard because, at the very least, the lower temperatures in the morning offered him some respite from being burnt to a crisp. But now, with the summer heat reaching its peak in noon, combined with the humidity and the physical exertion needed for cutting down entire trees; it was the perfect recipe for getting drenched. Sometimes - much like today - he opted to go out on these expeditions shirtless, not worrying much about the injuries he could sustain from cutting wood and having several splinters embedded into his skin. Not much could cut into it anyways.

It was a…peaceful job. But he couldn’t deny that it was getting irritating as hell over the last couple of months. The wood he was legally permissible to cut was becoming scarce, making the search take longer than usual. The irritation was further amplified by the heat, and lately, with the chittering of woodland creatures around him. He’d run into way too many grizzly bears for his liking. He didn’t want to fight them, but fate seemed to always find a way to gravitate him towards combat. His old life can never seem to let go, even in retirement.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, momentarily dissipating the irritation boiling in him. No point being a short fuse here.

He had finally found a 40 foot tree before him that he might be able to take home. He made sure that the tree he chose wasn’t affected by insect damage, that there was a perfect cylindrical stem, with minimal taper, and that there weren’t many animals residing on the tree. Finally, he brought his phone out to double check his map app to ensure he was at a spot that his tree cutting permit allowed him to cut trees from, because the last thing he wanted to do was to take down the habitat of an endangered animal or tear down areas clearly marked as protected land. There was a whole complex routine to acquiring timber, though Karl was no stranger to routines. If anything, it provided him a modicum of reprieve from the ethical concerns of cutting trees down. At the very least, he wasn’t partaking in rampant deforestation. Plus, the work he did was necessary. Sometimes trees need to be pruned to maintain a relatively healthy forest environment.

Once he felt that the tree before him was clear for cutting, he grabbed his axe, and steadied his own centre of gravity. If he channelled his power right, he could have this done in one go.

Karl swung his axe to his back and froze, holding his pose for a few fleeting seconds. With his mind focused and muscles tensed, he propelled the axe forward, channelling his strength into the force of the swing.

The axe cut into wood, causing the tree to tilt, but it was a few inches short of completely getting knocked down.

He gritted his teeth.

Karl let out an enraged howl, arching his axe one more time and swinging it with animalistic ferocity. This time, the axe went all the way past the bark and was more than enough to have the tree knock down. However, the axe’s handle split into two from the force of the impact, causing the blade end to fly into the brushes.

He sighed.

Idly yelling “Timber!” to no one in particular, he tossed the broken handle of his axe and began to walk towards the direction the tree was slowly plunging into - situating himself so that the middle of the tree would hurtle directly onto him.

For a brief moment, the creaking and groaning of the plunging tree had evoked faint memories. He shook his head.

As the falling tree settled on his shoulder, his knees briefly buckled under the weight. He quickly regained his balance, wrapping his arm around the trunk and securing the lumber tightly to his body.

And now came the long trek back to his woodland cabin. It might have been easier to drive to his homestead, especially in the heat. A while back, these walks provided him moments of silence and tranquillity. A moment to reflect on himself.

Though, the walks have made him feel… restless, lately. He’d seen the same sights, the same corners, the same wide-eyed campers letting out gasps as they watched a man casually walk by with several pounds of lumber on his shoulder. While it was equal parts funny and refreshing, the novelty wore off, and retirement had brought about a sense of mundanity.

Careful what you wish for huh?

Once the cabin was in his sights, he set his tree down and exhaled, wiping sweat off of his forehead and brushing off the splinters and dust on his shoulder. He’d wake up tomorrow morning to have the tree transported to a mill, he’d get payment for his hard work, and then he would hope that the wood in the tree would be used for something constructive. Far more constructive than his previous occupation, ironically. Maybe the wood might become a rocking chair for a grandmother to sit on and tell stories to her grandchildren by the fire. Maybe it might be moulded into paper for a medical doctor to write ground breaking research on and eventually save lives. Maybe, it might be used to build a house for people affected by major natural disasters like earthquakes…or Endbringers.

He disregarded the thought, shaking his head dismissively.

He gunned straight for his cabin, wasting no time in setting the thermostat to cool at 60 degrees. After taking a shower, putting on some clothes and promptly sinking himself into the comfy crevasses of his modest living room couch, he closed his eyes to relax. Peace.

Just him.

The sounds of the AC wind blowing.

A few of the woodland creatures chittered outside.

Occasionally the roof of his cabin would thud lightly. Probably a bird or a small animal.

His own breathing.

…

That feeling of restlessness returned again.

He sighed.

Perhaps there could be something to watch.

“Alexa, turn the TV on.”

The screen burst to life, illuminating the room with a Spanish telenovela that greeted Karl with a nonsensical plotline about a husband entangled in a web of infidelity with his two wives and a third woman. Karl instinctively reached for his remote on the right, but it wasn’t there. It was resting on a shelf across the room, leaving him to wonder why he’d left it there in the first place. Lulled by a sense of indolence, he decided against walking over and instead pointed his hand towards the remote. A shimmering blue hand construct materialised, extending from his fingertips and gliding leisurely towards the shelf. The construct gently patted the surface until it detected the familiar texture of the remote, then gracefully returned to Karl's hand, remote in tow.

He began idly channel surfing.

…’~Ash-town friends bring us through the ends!~’...’-we’re bringing live updates on the devil fishing contest here in Lexington-Fayette, Kentuc-’...’-se bud: a new fragrance, a new you’...’-catch Belladonna: the super-villain seductress at 6pm EST’...

Karl covered his mouth and yawned.

…’-the rusty spotted-cat, the world’s tiniest feline’...’-the Dodge Charger is a popular American muscle car known for its powerful performance and aggress’...’-after adding two teaspoons of salt, we want to make sure to saute the chicken to a nice brown’...’-revisiting cities that have fallen victim to Endbringer attacks in the past. Many of the areas have all become largely inhabitable, though it hasn’t stopped many from still trying to call their destroyed cities home.’

I know this documentary.

‘Sarah Wellington and her three children- Jacob, 15, Will, 11, and Devin 3- had moved a year ago after dealing with a messy divorce, looking to start their lives anew. Holding a well-paying job and living near a respectable school district, Sarah had hoped her life for her children would be better. That is, until Leviathan struck’

Karl sat up straight, leaning towards the screen.

‘Leviathan had gunned straight for the Cold War era fallout shelter, repurposed to withstand Endbringer attacks. Parahuman teams were too slow to make it to the shelter. Leviathan wreaked havoc, collapsing major sections of it onto those seeking refuge from the attack; including Sarah and her children.’

He closed his eyes and looked away. He knew what came next.

Sarah came to the screen now, a little dishevelled, as if she had gone through several takes for this segment of the interview.

“I was hugging my kids as tightly as I could,” Sarah spoke, her voice dry. “I kept on telling them everything was going to be alright, that Mommy was here for them, that the heroes were going to beat the bad guys.”

She paused, closing her eyes and holding a choke, as she worked hard for the nth time that day to fight those tears back. Part of Karl thought it was horrid that the interviewers were making her recount her story like this. Part of him figured she wanted her story to be heard, and wasn’t going to stop until her children were remembered in some way.

“...right then, a massive wave of water gushed down and scattered us. It caused the whole ceiling to fall”

Her voice quivered, causing Karl to droop his head down.

“They pulled me out first, a-and I had to wait so many agonising hours to hear back for the rest… I-I lost Jacob and Will that day... My babies. God, I wish it was me instead of my sweet loving boys. I-…I-...”

She finally broke, tightly embracing the three year old on her lap, who sensed his mother’s sadness and hugged back, tears streaming down his eyes too as they shared in their sorrow together.

“We found him! We found him!” a familiar voice cried out.

His own.

‘It took the team 12 hours to recover Sarah’s youngest son, Devin, from underneath the rubble. Neptune Striker, seen here pulling at concrete slabs weighing more than 2,000 pounds, had worked 36 hours non-stop prior to reaching the fallout shelter. He is among the 30 other Parahuman teams that have been deployed to assist in the recovery and rescue efforts.’

Karl got a view of himself in that footage. His hair was a jumbled mess, his costume torn, and his eyes were terribly red. He very vividly remembered that day. It felt like it would never end. The countless dead bodies he had to pull out of the rubble, most strung together as family and friends desperately embraced themselves before the impact. It was among his first Endbringer deployments early on in his career. It had stuck to him ever since. No matter how many times he’d go through these rescue and recovery missions, he would never get numbed by the sight of the dead bodies he pulled out from the rubble.

It made it all the more special if he was able to recover someone alive.

The scene shifted, with Neptune Striker’s face now the focus of an interview. He was chatting and chuckling with the reporter as make-up artist teams touched his face up and adjusted the mic for him. He found it hard to believe that this was him.

“Thirty six hours, Mr Striker. Without a wink of sleep and a few stops just for food and water. Even for most parahumans, that is a tall order” the interviewer said, to which Neptune waved his hand dismissively.

“I only did what needed to be done.”

“Even still, several of your higher-ups told you to stand down and let other teams do their part. You and I both know you were reaching your limits back there, and yet you pressed on.”

“I just…I really couldn’t stop myself.”

“Are we talking physically?”

“Mentally, spiritually, you name it Jeffrey. I kept telling my Captain I would sleep better once I had managed to rescue as many people in that shelter as empirically possible.”

The interviewer laughed.

“That is all selfless and good Mr Striker, though one would think you’re just rehashing typical hero PR talk.”

Striker chuckled. “I know, I’ve been told I’m way too corny for a hero type and I should probably head back to the 80s. But, I really do mean it when I say I want to save lives and make a positive difference in the world, no matter how small or inconsequential it ends up being. I helped save a mother from losing all of her children that day… and that drives me. Granted, I do wish I could do a lot more with my powers like an S-class hero could. But, I am content with being enough.”

“I see. That does bring me to my next question. Do you think you can rally people into being that - as you say - difference maker in something like an Endbringer event? Or any bleak situation in the future, really. Do you see yourself encouraging people to ‘be enough’?”

He paused, considering his next words.

“Perhaps, though one day, I hope I might inspire someone to go above and beyond...to be better.”

Karl shut the TV off, letting out an exasperated sigh. It physically hurt him listening to the way his former self sounded so… idealistic, so damn naive. If only he could tell this wide-eyed rookie that he couldn’t save everyone. If only he knew that 13 years in the Protectorate was going to leave him riddled with night terrors and knee-deep in mind numbing medication that left him feeling like a zombie. If he only knew that he had fruitlessly kept on throwing his life away in a harrowing war against a society of broken super-powered people who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. There was no scope of being better, hell, there wasn’t any reason to be better. Any difference he thought he made, kept on cancelling out with a heinous act of depravity from a fucking 2-bit bastard villain that made him wish he could-...he could-...

He snarled, taking a hold of his table and - with a furious strength - flung across the room as if it were weightless. It crashed into his closet, splintering into several pieces and he roared with an intensity that made his throat raw. In a split second, he was barely a metre away from his closet, fully intent on following through with another destructive blow, only for his fist to freeze when light-blue glimmer on the floor caught his blurry sight.

A piece of fabric: thin, soft, light... his cape.

Strangely, after all these years, this was the only bit of him that remained untorn.

It was tiring. Tiring to be so helplessly desperate. Even in retirement, he couldn’t find solace. The words of his former self rung in his head as he rubbed the fabric of his cape with his fingers. ‘..To be better...’

Maybe it was time to be better.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hKPWrX85U8&ab_channel=OminousVoice

Though capes tend to flap horribly in the wind, Neptune’s was designed in a way to be less intrusive than one would think for it to be. It might have just been the weather, but strangely, it felt really good to be in that costume again.

i am wanted in 48 countries for my crimes against humanity