#startervig

His leg was already covered in a makeshift ruby armor, and he knew that the only thing stopping the hole on his shoulder from molding into a sword was the fact that he was holding it shut as he ran. He didn’t need River here, not now. Not when everyone was still on such high alert for vigilantes. If River showed up now then it wouldn’t take long for the public opinion of the nightly heroes to plummet even further.

The mother and her daughter that had unfortunately been caught in the middle of the confrontation didn’t need to see anything worse than one criminal’s death. Even then, Red had seen the little girl’s shock when he’d shot the man towering over them. He hadn’t been able to tell if it had been gratefulness or fear that had her eyes following him for the rest of the fight.

But the rest of the gunmen hadn’t been so easily scared off, and he’d taken a hit to his leg and shoulder, his vision blurring, and he knew that he was running out of time. Red wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten so careless. He knew that he’d managed to take out the second gunman before he’d bailed, sirens growing louder as he’d exited the building. The third gunman had been disarmed, his own pistol flung across the store in a desperate attempt to at least buy time for the police to get there.

He’d barely turned the corner when he heard one of the cops yelling orders to ‘freeze’, and Red just kept running.

Once he deemed himself far enough, he found an alley to turn into, slumping against the wall as he pulled himself into a tight ball, pressing himself into the trash can at his side in hopes of keeping himself out of sight.

He was out of breath, and he knew that the armor on his leg must have been drawing on some vital organ’s blood because he felt nauseous too, a good sign that River had been seconds away from appearing. Pause. Breathe. He tried to calm himself down, telling himself that there wasn’t a threat anymore, trying to coax the blood to return to him as quickly as possible.

Footsteps startled him into alertness, and he winced when his head knocked against the garbage can. There was no way that the passerby hadn’t heard. He held his breath, hoping that maybe they would just ignore the sound; but he knew that with his luck, the chance of the passerby just walking away was slim. He drew out his gun, hoping that he wouldn’t have to use it.

The hotel fiasco was only a few days ago, but even as Pitch, it was hard to block the nights events from his mind. He’d suited up and changed in the past in public when the need called, but this time felt different. He didn’t like how worried he was, and how much stake he had. Between, the coincidental acquaintances to the people he’d shared a deeper connection with, for the first time, in a long time at least, he felt that his actions were compromised. The proof was in the girl, Hannah... or Shutdown as he knew her, discovering who he was. He exhaled deeply through his nostrils, waiting for the stress of it to roll off of him before he drove himself crazy thinking again about something in the past he had little control over.

“If you’re here to ask for an autograph, I’ll leave that to Caspian.” Pitch uttered into the night air in response to the light footfalls he could hear approaching him from behind. “He was also there that night and did most of the work.” He didn’t turn his head right away, as he didn’t feel like he was in any danger - which was a reckless assumption considering his short burst of fame he was riding out. Despite his reason for coming out to clear his head more than punish the criminals roaming the streets, Pitch was happy for the welcome distraction.

Thalia had an airtight tactical plan for tackling the festival and all would be well had she actually managed to follow it. Rides should always come first due to the zero risk of throwing up any festival food & not having to worry about keeping prizes won or pretty things safe. However, she’d been so drawn in by the cute display of Etsy like crafts in the stalls at the entrance that within the hour she’d already managed to by more windchimes and knitted goods than she’d care to admit.

The city streets were quiet. It was past one in the morning, and the only sounds were the distant thumpings of underground clubs and parties. Everything sounded almost muted and otherworldly. Or at least that's what it felt like to Shutdown...if they were capable of feeling in their current state.

The vigilante hopped from rooftop to rooftop, keeping their eyes on the sky, knowing the city by heart. They had a destination, and they were getting there no matter what. It was their mission. Their movements were focused, determined...controlled. They landed on the roof of the stock exchange building, glaring down at it from above.

They raised their glove, and a 3D holographic image appeared above it. A map of the building, showing each layer, each room, and each security camera. The mask hid their smirk. He would get his prize tonight, and they would make sure of it. Their reward would be great.

They shut off the holographic map and flicked one of their fingers on the same glove. A small green laser pointer came out of it. They were at work in an instant, moving their finger along the glass rooftop, lasering an entrance in for themselves. Once it was near done, they shut off the laser and pulled the piece of panel out. They reached their hand out and shot quick green bolts of electricity to each of the visible security cameras on this floor, shutting them down one by one. Within a second they were all off.

Shutdown hopped down through the hole onto the ground. Time to work. They pulled the map up again and began looking through the rooms. The room they wanted was two floors down. They’d have to work their way slowly and carefully. 

They headed towards the stairs when they heard a noise. A footstep. This shouldn’t be on anyone’s regular rotation, not at this time. He wouldn’t lie to them about that, would he? No matter. They had work to do. They darted to the stairs. They needed that box.

This was not the Legacy that had been introduced to the world, the one who cracked childish jokes and flashed gold and silver in the skyline of the city.

Here, he lay in a fetal position, trembling, his head buried against his chest and wings guarding the span of his back and then some. His armor could be seen beneath the curtain of feathers around him, but it was dull and heavy looking. If one were to peer closer, they would find that claws — talons — had taken the place of human hands as they gripped the feathers that his hair had become, draping down his neck until it met with the base of his wings.

It has been said that fear can make a person do many things, but its unrelenting control does not stop there. A heavy atmosphere settled around the fairgrounds, one that hadn’t been present since the Unity attack. Just as Newhaven began to heal another catastrophe wrecked havoc but this time the blow was within. Groups huddled together keeping a watchful eye on their counterparts as minuscule amounts of people traversed the stalls. Among those who hid their sorrow in greasy food and nauseating rides stood a man so consumed with fear and worry from the backlash and hatred thrown at him by the citizen’s he vowed to protect, that he refused to participate in the protests he wished he could lead. Instead, he concealed himself amongst the crowd, gripping onto the hand of his youngest brother.

Dimetre couldn’t pull his gaze away from the group of protestors who readied their signs as he let out a shaky sigh, there was no point in looking if he was scared of those who may oppose him. He felt guilty hiding behind the protection that his little brother brought, no matter how many gifts or tickets he showered the boy with it didn’t mask the feeling that he was failing his family. And although Wesley may have been young he immediately understood that something was wrong, so he latched onto Dimetre’s arm with a wide grin and tugged him towards a stall selling ginormous funnel cakes.

“You wanna share one?” Dimetre looked down towards Wesley and rolled his eyes, “I don’t know why I asked that mom’s gonna kill me when she finds out how much junk I fed ya today.” He fished out his wallet and paid for two grease cakes with a bright, but fake, smile. As the two waited Wesley’s attention snapped towards an individual who began to approach the Darc brothers “Someone’s coming Dimmy.”

"YES!" Lyra exclaimed, jumping out of her seat and doing a fist bump into the air. Two hundred fifty-two thousand minutes (roughly translating into half a year if she was doing the math correctly) of pouring over her theory of levitation and finally--finally--she cracked it. She figured out how to do it. The possibilities were endless and all of the ways she could implement them into her Blue Bolt suit were making her eager to begin working on them, perhaps even adjusting their design so that she could run in them without as many issues.

In her excitement, she forgot that she was not in the safety of her apartment or even the hushed halls of the engineering building she worked at in the university. Every eye in the very crowded cafe was aimed at her, the hushed silence unnatural when compared to cacophony that was surrounding her only a few moments before. As the realization dawned on her, her arm quickly fell to her side. "Sorry," she said quickly sitting back down. Conversations continued where they left off, though many still stared and pointed at her. Doing her best to control her embarrassed blush, she focused back on her papers.

Max never really went out much, at least not for social reasons. Maybe he’d gotten used to secluded nights, hunched over his work desk drawing plans. Perhaps the more introverted side of him was starting to win over his ambiversion as he got older. Most conceivably though, and Max felt fully aware of this, he was letting his more inconspicuous activities get to him. It was weighing him down, as much as he hated the accurate pun. So, damn it all, he deserved a drink.

His feet lead him to the Beacon; it was already getting rather late, and the last thing he wanted was to catch a scrap in Oldhaven. Frankly, Max felt too damn tired for that tonight. So he made himself comfortable on the bar stool, ordered a whisky: straight, light on the rocks. Simple.

Maybe he was turning into a bit of a curmudgeon, but Max nearly relished in the momentary solitude in a crowded place, liked his ability to just sit and sulk. That was, of course, until someone decided to sit directly next to him at the bar.

He bristled, took a deep breath so that he didn’t push the bar stool he was sitting on into the floor. This was a stranger. Annoyingly, he had to be at least a little polite. “Mind giving a guy some room?” He asked, trying his damnedest to keep his voice even. “Unless you get off talking to strangers,” he tacked on, sotto voce.