Hero

Hero walked down the hallway of Arrows with irritation flickering across his face, barely contained. He had been called to do a seminar for a group of up-and-coming heroes, to motivate them or something of the like. How pointless. Most would be dead and gone before the five year mark. They were weak, insignificant ants that meant nothing in the bigger picture of NeoYork. Even worse, they wasted his time doing just about anything else than getting up on stage and pretend like he cared about them. How annoying. His fingers itched to get back into training, to find one of his punching bags and play with them in an empty combat room. He’d cut and poke holes until the frustration was gone. The thought was enough to curl his mouth in a signature smile, one that carried him into the conference room where the new fodder was waiting.

His demeanor shifted, a testament to the perfect shape-shifter Micah was. The ice in his curled mouth turned warm and welcoming. The throng of new heroes gasped softly at the sight of him. Hey, at the very least they knew how to fuel his ego. Their gazes took his appearance in with awe as it should have, the careful curation of his uniform a testament to a good PR team. He wore a simple dark gray top that was thin and hugged his muscles, tucked into a pair of white combat pants. His street shoes squeaked against the pristine white tiles of the Arrows conference hall, matching his perfect white smile. Raising a hand he offered a humble little wave. “Hello all, welcome, and thank you so much for coming!” he greeted his voice radiating false enthusiasm. Maintaining this charade was tiring, but the power it granted him, the ability to manipulate these fools, that was intoxicating. You know my as Hero, and it is my utmost pleasure to host you all. Today we’ll go over what it takes to be a hero!” With the greeting over, Hero launched into the one thing he might have enjoyed about this joke: Speaking about himself. The presentation was perfect, a mix of charm and humor. The ants of people laughed when he joked, they stared at him like a captive audience as he shared stories of loss and triumph. Then came the questions, and each laughable one was answered as if he took it with great care.

Micah put his hands on his hips and sighed out softly to himself as the new heroes filtered out of the hall. A sign of freedom came to him like the light at the end of the tunnel, a promise that he could escape these vapid little people. He closed his eyes and willed his headache away, trying to imagine his near future where he rewarded himself with a brutal capture of a villain, a sweet plaything, or even some of NeoYork’s finest substances to keep him happy for the night. A noise of things clattering off a back table caused even him to jump, honey eyes flicking open and assessing the back corner. His head tilted as he regarded someone in the back, watching their pathetic little face turn to shock. So clumsy, and they were supposed to be a hero? The cruel twist of his mouth returned for an imperceptible moment. Hero strode forward, closing the door to the conference hall subtly, and approached the back of the room akin to a big cat stalking prey. Look at this adorable little trash, she was perfect. “Hey there! Did you need any help?” He asked, re-masking his intentions with a kind smile.

Hero stared at the clock above the entrance of his office with a bored expression, tapping his finger against his cheek idly in time with the seconds that ticked by. It wasn’t often that the enigmatic number two hero waited for anyone or anything, but today he was subjected to waiting in his gilded cage for some pathetic new lackey. It was pointless anyway considering they would be running out of the door within the week, most did. His last one had been some apparent professional from a high-end booking agency, some middle-aged man with a weasily voice and poorly hidden comb over. His mouth twitched in wicked amusement. That one hadn’t enjoyed flying very much, how could he have known?

Putting himself in a slightly better mood with the memory, he idly rested his arms behind his head and leaned back in a black leather executive chair. The surrounding office was a study in minimalist class. Where most of the Arrows agency was bright white, orange, and teal; his space here played in the same varying shares of monochromatic gray and cream with hints of gold and black, same as his uniform. On the walls hung pictures and news clippings from his various exploits along with a self indulgent album cover or two, all of it cementing his reputation as the household modern hero. Brave, charismatic, and just rebellious to be a good bad boy. If they only knew.

He played with a lock of his hair idly as he considered what his new assistant might be like. Apparently they had worked under the CEO OF Valor&Verse until his I'll fated run I'm with the law for being a part of a drug smuggling racket. Arrows had quickly swept them up as a temp given their experience and desperate position. More interestingly, he had heard they were strange. Strange was good, strange meant that he might not be dealing with someone who would bore him to death like the last one. His mouth quirked onto a smirk on the very edges. Maybe he would play nice at first and increase the pressure bit by bit, see if they might survive a little longer than the last one as his personal whipping dog.

The door opened and caused his honey eyes to shift to the door with predatory interest. Micah stood and offered a smile that could have put politicians to shame with gleaming white teeth and practiced charm. “Here I was worried you were going to be late on your first day. Hardly a good first impression, but hey, it's good to see my new assistant.” His voice edged with condescending amusement as he took in the sight of them. Strange Indeed.“ Is so punctual and earnest. Heartwarming. Really.”

The grand ballroom of the Ericsson Hotel was a spectacle to behold this evening. Lavish crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the crowd of Neoyork's elite, their glittering gowns and crisp tuxedos sparkling like diamonds in the soft light. The gentle murmur of polite conversation was occasionally punctuated by the tinkling of champagne flutes as waiters weaved through the throngs of people.

Amidst this sea of finery stood Micah, better known to the public as the arrogant and charismatic superhero 'Hero'. His tall, athletic form was clad in an immaculately tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his lean frame in all the right places. A crisp white dress shirt opened at the collar afforded a teasing glimpse of his toned chest, while a slim black tie hung loosely knotted. Micah's honey-gold eyes roamed the room lazily from beneath a sweep of platinum blonde hair streaked with inky black tips.

He cut an impressive figure, one that drew admiring looks from the well-heeled crowd - not that he was unaware of the effect he had on others. A small, self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his full lips. While Micah tolerated these vapid social obligations for the sake of maintaining his public image, he found the masses terribly dull. The only thing more vapid were the sycophantic heroes fawning over him, desperate for his attention and approval.

Micah's gaze landed on a solitary figure standing out on the balcony, her slim form silhouetted against the twinkling lights of the city skyline. Beatrix Channing, daughter of Neoyork's third-ranked superhero, Vector. A cruel smile crept across the handsome hero's face. Here was a prize worth claiming, if only for the challenge she represented.

With a deft hand, he plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. Micah slipped out onto the balcony, the cool night air raising goosebumps along his exposed forearms. He moved with a predator's casual confidence, leaning against the railing beside the young woman.

"A beautiful woman all alone at a party like this," Micah purred, extending one of the crystal flutes towards her with a roguish smile. "That simply won't do at all."

The sun is beginning to set over the glittering skyline of NeoYork City, painting the towering skyscrapers in hues of orange and pink. High above the bustling streets, a lone figure soars with effortless grace, his powerful wind abilities propelling him forward at incredible speeds. This is Micah, known to the public as the arrogant yet charismatic Hero, one of the top-ranking protectors of the city. Clad in his signature dark gray compression top with a white harness and white cargo pants, Micah cuts an imposing figure against the fading evening light. His mid-length blonde hair with black tips whips wildly in the wind, framing a face that could have been carved from marble - high cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and piercing honey gold eyes that seem to miss nothing. Even from this distance, the glint of his multiple ear piercings catches the dying rays of the sun. As he navigates the tight corners and alleyways with ease, Micah can't help but feel a surge of pride. This is his city, his domain, and he revels in the adoration and awe of the citizens below. Yet, beneath that polished exterior lies a darker side - a cruel, sadistic streak that he has carefully cultivated over the years, hidden behind a mask of charisma and charm. Today, however, Micah has a different target in his sights - the notorious Hero Killer, a villain who has been terrorizing NeoYork for far too long. With his reputation on the line, Micah knew he needed to make an example out of the brat, and quickly, before the public actually started to question whether or not he was up to the task. Spotting his quarry down below, Micah's lips curl into a predatory smile. With a subtle flick of his body, it turned gracefully in the air, directing towards the earth and into an effortless landing. So this creature was what had NeoYork in such a fuss? "Well, well, if it isn't the so-called Hero Killer," Micah taunted, his voice dripping with condescension as he descends to street level. "I must say, I'm a little disappointed. I was expecting more of a challenge from someone with such a fearsome reputation. Don’t tell me you’re going to cower now that I’ve met that little challenge of yours on T.V so boldly. What was it you said?” He tilted his head with faux innocence. “Something about ‘wiping anyone stupid enough to come for you’ off the face of the earth? I have to guess….” He stuffed his hands into his pockets then, leaning forward towards the figure and offering a sharp grin. “I bet you weren’t expecting me.”

The bustling sounds of NeoYork's streets faded as the heavy metal door slammed shut behind the newest addition to the Arrows Agency. The transfer sidekick from Britain, a young man barely out of his teens, found himself in a dimly lit back room of the agency's headquarters. The air was thick with tension, and the newcomer's eyes darted nervously around the space, taking in the sparse furnishings and the imposing figure before him.

Hero, the second-ranked superhero of NeoYork, lounged against a sleek metal desk, his honey-gold eyes gleaming with barely concealed malice. His tall, lanky frame was accentuated by his form-fitting costume - a dark gray compression top with a white harness that highlighted his athletic build. The fluorescent lights overhead caught the glint of his ear piercings, adding to his edgy appearance.

"Well, well, well," Hero drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "What do we have here? Imperatrix's latest charity case, I presume?" He pushed himself off the desk with fluid grace, circling the newcomer like a predator sizing up its prey.

The British sidekick swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "I-I'm honored to be here, sir. Imperatrix spoke highly of the Arrows Agency, and I'm eager to learn from the best."

Hero's lips curled into a smirk, his perfectly white teeth flashing in the dim light. "Oh, I'm sure she did. Imperatrix always had a soft spot for strays." He stopped directly in front of the young man, towering over him. "But let me make something crystal clear, pretty boy. This isn't some quaint little tea party you're used to back in jolly old England. This is NeoYork, and here, we separate the heroes from the zeroes."

With a flick of his wrist, Hero summoned a gust of wind that ruffled the sidekick's hair and sent a chill down his spine. The display of power was subtle but effective, a reminder of the vast gulf between their abilities and status.

"I… I understand, sir," the sidekick stammered, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear. "I'm ready to prove myself."

Hero's expression softened for a moment, a mask of benevolence sliding into place. "Of course you are, dear boy. And I'm here to help you… in my own special way." His voice was honeyed, but there was a sharp edge beneath the sweetness.

Stepping closer, Hero placed a hand on the sidekick's shoulder, his grip just a touch too tight to be comforting. "You see, being a hero isn't just about flashy powers and fancy costumes. It's about reputation, about knowing your place in the pecking order."

The wind in the room picked up slightly, swirling around them both. It wasn't enough to cause alarm, but it served as a constant reminder of Hero's control over the situation.

"And right now, your place is at the bottom," Hero continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "So tell me, little sidekick, how far are you willing to go to climb that ladder?"

The young man's breath hitched, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. Hero watched them with fascination, a thrill of excitement running through him at the sight.

"I… I'll do whatever it takes," the sidekick whispered, his voice trembling.

Hero's smile widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Good boy. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." He released the sidekick's shoulder and took a step back, assessing him with a critical eye.

"Now, let's start with something simple, shall we?" Hero's tone was light, almost playful, but there was an undercurrent of cruelty that made the sidekick flinch. "I want you to kneel."

The young man hesitated, confusion and fear warring on his face. "Sir?"

Hero's expression hardened, all pretense of kindness vanishing in an instant. "I said, kneel," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. The wind in the room intensified, creating a subtle but insistent pressure pushing down on the sidekick's shoulders.

Slowly, reluctantly, the young hero-in-training sank to his knees, his eyes fixed on the floor. Hero circled him once more, drinking in the sight of the trembling figure before him.

"That's better," Hero purred, reaching out to pat the sidekick's head condescendingly. "You're learning already. Now, let's see how well you can beg…"

Neoyork was a concrete jungle filled with exotic biomes that expanded miles upon miles. Tucked into a valley between two mountains in the north, and spiraling plains to the south, it stood proudly from a distance like a neon jewel across wastes. Across wide plains, organics farms sat in the outskirts, their greenhouses emitting a soft, neon blue glow that flickered like fireflies. Most never saw them, or bothered, save for the sparse suburb sprawls with dry grass and chain link fences, a testament to the old city that sat between the city and the wastes. Beyond that, the city became too bright to see anything save for the holographic advertisements that lit up both the building walls and the very skies. Here people became dense; from the impoverished, run-down sixth street where gangs fought for territories like wild dogs, to the high rise buildings that declared corporate pride like grand sentinels.

And in the middle of it stood Arrows, a proud white building with orange accents riding up it's massive walls like a glowing beacon of justice. One point of the triangle across New Valor Park that signified one of the big three agencies. Seamless glass windows paneled the entire side of Arrows, allowing heroes of justice to look out and survey their domain for wrong doers across the city, ensuring that it's population remained safe.

It had a nasty habit of never looking inward, however.

This is where Hero sat, somewhere on the 80th floor in his office, settled on an image on his sleek computer system. The office itself was massive: a modern testament to technology that honored the bright themes of the building. Bright, blinding white marble floors spread across the space. White pillars, equally as light, held trophies of various villains and trinkets gifted from important figures in the city encased in glass. On the walls, neon lights wove themselves in colors that could be changed on its owner's whim. Currently a soft gold that framed the framed pictures on the wall of the man himself and offering an artifical warmth that hid what the environment was. A wolf's den.

Hero leaned back in his chair and hummed, his narrowed eyes stuck on the ultra wide curved screen. Displayed there was an image of a young man, 21 from the file, with wavy black hair and blue eyes that stood out against his deep skin like sapphires. His mouth curled in faint amusement at the scowl that met him through the glass. The novelty of the whole debuacle was almost worth the price of irritation. Hero's eyes trailed over the file opened to the right of the picture. A pretty little criminal, arrested for the murder of judge George Ramirez three weeks ago. Before that, a history of solo mercenary work and a wrapsheet that started at 14 littered with petty crimes. Normally not someone he would consider for his upcoming rookie camp that Arrows put on. Too dirty on public record.

But a veteran nighthero had requested it specfically, and Cipher was too prominent of a name to deny without ripples.

Sighing dramatically, Hero reached to his audience of none and reached across the desk for his water, taking a sip. It was a pity in more ways than one. This... recruit would have been a perfect candidate for some of his recreational interests too. Small and lithe without an ounce of spare fat on him, thick black lashes and a face that would have looked incredible under his boot, and no family to think of to protest. Save for Cipher, of course. Too risky. Not that there was any lack of rookies to pick from when the mood struck. With a mortality rate of 30% in the first year for all greencode rookies in Neoyork, no one cared if one went missing from time to time. The public could rest easy thinking they went out like heroes. Only he would know difference.

A knock at the door broke him from his thoughts. Hero's gold eyes flickered up to the entryway. Well, at the very least he could make sure the welcome meeting went well. Street rats had to be taught their place early, kept them from running their mouths. Like a snake slipping it's skin back on, a manufactured warmth slid onto his face and emanated from his voice as he called out: "Come on in! Doors unlocked."