"Hey Jace, can you load those boxes into the truck for me? I've got a very important client waiting."
Jace looked up from where he sat, black hair tucked under a faded cap, blue eyes narrowing. He was of average height, lean but solid.
"You owe me a drink then," he muttered, standing up.
The guy didn't respond. Typical.
Jace sighed and walked toward the stack. "I clocked out already. Why the hell am I still doing this?"
He could've said no, if he didn't care about losing his job. Which, honestly, he kind of didn't. He hated the place. But he needed the paycheck.
The guy who barked the order was the boss's nephew. Never lifted a finger, always disappearing behind the excuse of "important clients."
Grumbling under his breath, Jace started hauling boxes into the truck.
He began loading the boxes. Some of them were heavier than they looked.
Jace liked to think of himself as just an average guy. In reality, he wasn't. He had top marks in technological sciences and biology, but without the money to study further, none of it mattered.
"Sucks to be me," he often thought. He used to imagine himself as a billionaire, surrounded by fast cars and beautiful women.
Who didn't?
After stacking a few more boxes, he stopped to catch his breath and pulled out his phone. He scrolled aimlessly, checking to see what was trending.
He unlocked his phone and saw a headline plastered across the top of his feed.
[Another City-Wide Crime Stopped Thanks to Our Guardian Hero]
Jace sighed and tapped on it.
The screen shifted to a live broadcast. A gorgeous news reporter stood roadside, her voice clear over the traffic behind her.
"Moments ago, a superhuman criminal known as Syndico was taken down in downtown Eastburn. Witnesses report yet another flawless takedown by the city's guardian, Ironfield."
Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted the stream.
The camera jolted, refocusing on a towering, robotic humanoid figure approaching from the smoke.
The reporter instinctively stepped back, visibly shaken, heels clacking, skirt catching the breeze.
As the figure stopped, a mechanical hiss echoed. The helmet split open with a smooth slide, revealing the face of a striking man in his early forties. Chiseled jaw, perfect stubble, piercing gray eyes.
"Ironfield…" the reporter breathed.
The hero turned to her with a faint, amused smile. "Syndico's down. I doubt he'll be a problem again." He gave her a once-over, his voice low and relaxed. "You alright? You look like you're about to faint on live TV."
The reporter flushed, clearly flustered. The way she looked at him now, she might've stripped on command if he so much as snapped his fingers.
Jace scoffed. "Of course," he muttered. Maybe he was bitter. Or jealous. Probably both.
He closed his phone as the stream ended. "That was Chicago news," he muttered.
Sliding the device into his pocket, he went back to work.
In this world, there were people called metahumans, humans born with superpowers.
They first appeared twenty years ago… the same year Jace was born. Sometimes, he wondered if he was a walking bad omen. A generational curse, maybe.
You'd think the rise of superheroes would be something to celebrate. But with heroes came villains.
Their very existence seemed to invite chaos. For every person who used their powers for justice, another used them for selfish gain.
Jace had always thought the same thing: no heroes, no villains.
It didn't matter to him either way. They didn't affect his life.
In his city, there were no caped battles, no collapsing buildings, no flashy destruction. Supervillains rarely showed up here.
They always attacked places where superheroes lived, which, honestly, made no sense to Jace. If you were smart, you'd avoid the people who could stop you.
But supervillains weren't exactly known for good decision-making.
Jace had always thought about it, if he had powers and decided to fight crime, he'd do it his way.
First, he'd want to get paid. Why the hell would he risk his life for free? Putting yourself in danger for strangers who wouldn't even remember your name? No thanks.
Second, he'd kill the damn criminals. Not slap them around and wait for the justice system to recycle them.
That was the problem. A supervillain shows up, kills a few people, gets beaten, tossed in prison, only to break out and do it all over again.
He wouldn't play that game. He'd end it for good. No more second chances. No more cycles.
Jace finally slid the last box into the truck and shut the doors with a dull thud.
He let out a long breath and stepped away from the van, heading toward the back office to clock out. A quick signature later, and he was officially done.
Outside, he walked over to where his old bicycle was chained to the rack. He unlocked it, mounted up, and rolled onto the road, ready to put another wasted day behind him.
The job paid well, he guessed. Still, it didn't stop him from hating metahumans.
Thanks to all the superhero brawls, buildings got leveled, streets cracked, and city blocks burned.
And who paid for the damage? Everyone else. Taxes went up, prices followed, and somehow the capes still got praised for "saving the day." Jace didn't see anything worth admiring.
As he rode his bike down the main road, something caught his eye, a car parked along the side.
It looked familiar.
Someone was bent over the hood, fiddling with something under it... and damn, they had some serious curves.
He eased off the pedals and rolled to a slow stop near the vehicle, curiosity taking over.
The woman straightened up, turning toward him, and Jace found himself staring at someone drop-dead gorgeous, now locking eyes with him.
Jace cleared his throat. "Y–you need any help?" He caught the stutter and covered it quickly, trying to play it cool.
The woman turned fully toward him, giving him a once-over. It wasn't flirtatious, more like she was sizing him up, deciding if he was actually useful or just another guy stopping to stare.
"Yes," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "My car broke down. I've been staring at the engine for ten minutes and... I'm not exactly a car expert." She offered a wary smile, half embarrassed, half hopeful.