Chapter 2: The Discovery.
The math quiz had been a disaster. Marcus stared at the red C- at the top of his paper, Mr. Davidson's handwriting spelling out "See me after class" in the margin. He'd been so distracted thinking about the new Detective Comics issue that he'd completely blanked on the quadratic formula.
"Marcus, you're a bright kid," Mr. Davidson said when the classroom emptied. "But your grades are slipping. Your parents are going to get a call if this continues."
The last thing Marcus needed was his parents getting involved. He mumbled an apology and promised to do better, then hurried out before Mr. Davidson could launch into a longer lecture about "applying yourself" and "reaching your potential."
The walk home felt longer than usual. Tyler Brooks and his friends had cornered him after lunch, nothing serious—just the usual jokes about his Batman obsession and speculation about whether he'd ever actually talked to a girl. But the humiliation lingered, mixing with anxiety about the failed quiz and the growing sense that he was drifting through life without purpose.
His mother was pulling a late shift at the hospital, and his father was at some work conference, so the house was quiet except for Emma practicing piano in the living room. Marcus grabbed a granola bar and headed upstairs, intending to lose himself in homework or comics—anything to stop thinking about how ordinary and forgettable his life felt.
But concentration proved impossible. He kept glancing at his window, watching the shadows grow longer as evening approached. Finally, he gave up on homework and decided to take a walk. Maybe some fresh air would clear his head.
Millbrook Heights was the kind of neighborhood where people left their porch lights on and knew their neighbors' names. Marcus wandered the familiar streets, past the Hendersons' house with its perfectly manicured lawn, past the playground where he and Emma used to spend summer afternoons, past the corner store where Mr. Kim always remembered to stock the latest issues of his favorite comics.
Without really planning to, he found himself heading toward downtown Millbrook—the older part of town where the buildings stood closer together and the streetlights cast harsher shadows. His parents had always told him to stay out of this area after dark, though "dangerous" was relative in a place like Millbrook. The worst crime in recent memory had been some teenagers spray-painting the library.
Still, as he walked down Elm Street with its narrow alleys and older buildings, Marcus felt a thrill of adventure he hadn't experienced in months. This felt like somewhere things could actually happen, where stories might unfold beyond homework and social awkwardness.
He was about to turn back when he noticed the alley between Chen's Restaurant (no relation, despite his surname) and an old antique shop that had been closed for years. Something dark sat propped against the brick wall, partially hidden behind a dumpster.
Marcus glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped into the alley for a closer look.
It was a briefcase—or maybe a small suitcase. The leather was black and expensive-looking, with metal clasps that caught the dim light from the street. No identification tag, no indication of who might have lost it or why it was sitting in an alley.
He should probably leave it alone. His parents had raised him to be honest, to report found items to the police or at least to adults who might know what to do. But something about the case called to him. Maybe it was the way it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, or the sense that discovering it wasn't entirely coincidence.
Marcus looked around once more, then picked up the case.
It was heavier than expected but not too heavy for him to carry. The leather was smooth under his fingers, and the metal clasps were cold to the touch. His heart pounded as he hurried home, the case clutched against his chest like stolen treasure.
Back in his bedroom, he set the case on his desk and stared at it for a long moment. Whatever was inside could change everything or nothing. It might contain someone's important documents, or old photographs, or absolutely nothing interesting at all.
The clasps opened with soft clicks that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
Marcus lifted the lid and forgot how to breathe.
Inside, nestled in custom-fitted foam padding, lay equipment that belonged in his dreams. A utility belt with compartments for dozens of specialized tools. Grappling hooks with lightweight but incredibly strong cable. Throwing weapons shaped like bats. Smoke pellets. Small explosive devices. A communication headset with technology that looked years ahead of anything he'd seen in stores.
And at the center of it all, folded with military precision, was a suit.
Not a costume—a suit. Made from materials that felt both flexible and armor-strong, colored in shades of black and dark gray that would render the wearer nearly invisible in shadows. The cape was lighter than it looked, and when Marcus held it up, he realized it was designed to glide, with careful engineering hidden in its folds.
His hands shook as he examined each piece. The boots were his size. The belt would fit his waist. The mask would cover his face perfectly, leaving only his mouth and chin exposed.
It was impossible. Cases full of vigilante equipment didn't just appear in suburban alleys. This was the stuff of fiction, of dreams, of stories about boys who discovered they were destined for something more than ordinary life.
But here it was, real and solid in his hands.
Marcus looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror—scrawny, unremarkable, the kind of kid who got C-minuses on math quizzes and ate lunch alone. Then he looked back at the suit.
For the first time in months, Marcus Chen smiled.