The rain hadn't stopped for three days.
Ronnie moved through the maze of neon-lit alleys with his coat collar turned up, pistol drawn, and eyes sharp.
His target: Kane Ferrik, a serial killer who had left six bodies in six nights, each one staged like some twisted ritual.
The precinct's intelligence had narrowed him down to this sector. Every shadow felt alive.
Officer in earpiece: "High Authority, we've sealed off every exit. He's in there with you."
Ronnie slowed, stepping over a discarded tarp. In the reflection of a puddle, a silhouette moved behind him.
He spun—but a figure lunged from the dark, blade gleaming.
Ronnie's arm shot up, lightning crackling from his palm, the flash illuminating Kane's pale grin.
Kane jumps towards Ronnie, piercing him in his chest, but Ronnie holds Kane's arm tightly—sending a load of electricity into Kane before punching him back into a wall. The killer hit the ground convulsing, knife clattering away.
Ronnie: "You're done, Ferrik."
He cuffed the man himself. The streets were a little safer tonight—but Ronnie knew there were always more monsters hiding in the dark.
Far from the flashing police lights, Elion moved through the slums with a small satchel against his chest. Inside, half a loaf of bread he'd swiped earlier—his mother needed the other half.
Turning a corner, he stopped.
There, curled against the wall of a shuttered shop, was a tiny girl, no older than four. Her clothes were torn and filthy, her bare feet blackened from the streets. She sat unmoving, her head bowed as if she didn't even have the strength to look up.
Elion crouched down.
Elion: "Hey… Are you okay?"
No answer. Her thin frame shook with each shallow breath.
Elion pulled out the bread, tearing off a chunk and holding it out. She hesitated—then snatched it with trembling hands, eating as if she hadn't seen food in days.
Elion (softly): "You're going to choke if you eat that fast…"
He sat beside her, breaking off more and passing it piece by piece until it was gone.
Elion: "What's your name?"
The girl looked at him for the first time—wide, wary eyes filled with something older than her years. Her lips parted, but no sound came.
Elion: "…Alright. Don't have to talk. But you can come with me."
He stood, offering his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she took it.
When they reached his small home, he gestured to the blanket by the heater.
Elion: "You can sleep there. I'll find you something better to wear tomorrow."
As she curled up on the floor, Elion asked one last time.
Elion: "So… do you have a name?"
A whisper, barely audible:
Elara: "…Elara."
Together, hand in hand, they walked towards Elara's new home.
Elion's small frame opened the door. The floor was dirty, the walls were broken, and the so-called bed was a half-stuffed mattress.
He brought Elara towards his mother.
Elion: "Elara, this is Mother. Mother, this is Elara. I found her half dead, and I thought we could maybe help her. I can get food for three; this is no problem at all."
Elion's weakened mother slowly rises from the bed. She takes a good look at Elara—hugging her as tight as her power allows her."
Mother (weak): "You have been through a lot, right, Elara?"
Elion: "Okay, I will quickly go out and get more food for us."
Just as Elion left, Elara's hand glowed slightly neon green.
Elion's mother slowly gained color, and her breathing slowly stabilized.
Her power also slowly came back, and her eyes lost their paleness and gained their shining back.
Mother: "Elara…this is your doing, right?"
Tears fell from her eyes as she took another good look at the small child.
Mother: "My child, you are safe here."
The city's skyline blurred in the early morning fog, but Ronnie's eyes were sharp despite the heavy shadows under them. He hadn't slept in seven days. The coffee in his system felt more like blood at this point.
For months, his task force had been dismantling the Vultures, Neoterra's most entrenched crime organization. Tonight—if everything went right—would be the final blow.
The war room in the precinct buzzed with activity. Digital maps lit the walls, showing red blips for Vulture safehouses. Ronnie leaned over the table, barking orders between gulps of bitter coffee.
Ronnie: "Units six through nine, hit the North Rail stash points. Unit twelve—you're with me at the docks. No survivors among the Vultures' leadership."
Hours later, under pouring rain, Ronnie led his team into the shipyard. The firefight was short but brutal—flashes of gunfire lit the crates, shouts echoing until only echoes of thunder remained.
Ronnie's body charged in blue electricity. And in a gigantic burst of lightning, the hordes of criminals were sent flying.
When the dust settled, the Vultures were no more. Ronnie holstered his blades, exhaling for the first time in days.
For the first time since taking the High Authority seat, the streets of Neoterra would breathe way easier.
In the dim but warm light of their cramped apartment, Elion pushed the door open with his free shoulder—a small bag of cheap groceries dangling from one hand.
Elion: "Mom? I'm back."
She was sitting up in bed, with color in her cheeks for the first time in months. The cough that had wracked her every night was gone.
Mother (smiling): "I think it's passing. Guess your cooking worked."
Elion (grinning): "Yeah, right."
From the corner, a soft laugh—Elara, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a small cloth doll in her hands. Her face was still quiet, but there was a light in her eyes now.
Elion tossed her a small packet of cookies from the bag.
Elion: "Share with Mom, okay?"
She nodded and scooted to the bed, offering one to Elion's mother before nibbling on her own.
Elion dropped to the floor beside her, pretending to grab for the doll, sparking a brief, playful tug-of-war that made Elara smile—a rare, fleeting thing that made the cramped room feel warm.