Night swallowed the city.
Sam lay flat on a rooftop, the concrete cold against his ribs as red and blue lights washed the streets below in restless waves. Sirens drifted endlessly through the air. He kept the receiver pressed close to his ear, listening, waiting, always ready to move.
Above him, the stars burned faintly.
Whenever he looked at the sky, he thought of her.
Sam turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory away. Right now, survival came first.
By morning, he moved.
From his vantage point, he could see the construction site he once worked at—sitting right at the edge of the city, bordering the forest.
So close.
He descended a fire escape and melted into the crowd. Bandages hid half his face. A sweatshirt covered his plaid shirt. He hated that he'd taken it from a donation bin.
But he needed to live.
For nearly an hour, Sam walked carefully—head down, pace steady, never lingering long enough to draw attention. Then he heard voices.
Kids.
Three middle school boys had another pinned against a garbage bin in a narrow alley, fists and feet coming down without restraint.
"Quirkless trash," one laughed. "You should just die."
"Why are you even allowed in our school?"
"Jump off a building. Do a flip!"
They howled with laughter.
Sam's fist clenched so hard blood seeped between his fingers.
The boy on the ground wasn't crying.
His eyes were empty.
Sam stepped forward.
A kick came down—
Sam took it.
"What the—"
Smack.
The boy dropped instantly, screaming as he clutched his face. Before the other two could react, Sam slapped them both—hard enough to knock them off their feet.
They wailed immediately.
"Ow! Mommy!!
My tooth—!"
Only then did people gather.
Only then did they care.
Figures.
"You three," Sam said quietly, voice trembling with barely contained rage, "are going to apologize. And you're going to pray this kid lives his life."
The boys nodded frantically.
"Yes sir!!"
"Then get the hell out of my sight."
They ran.
Sam knelt briefly beside the boy. "Being quirkless isn't weak," he said softly. "Overcoming it is what's strong."
He stood and walked away—
A feather slammed into the pavement with a metallic clack.
"Sorry, pal," a relaxed voice said behind him. "Gotta ask you some questions."
Sam's blood went cold.
Hawks.
The hero hovered a few feet off the ground, wings half-spread, sunlight catching the red feathers like embers.
"How can I help you, hero?" Sam asked, forcing calm.
"I heard you slapped some kids."
"I slapped bullies telling a quirkless kid to kill himself. You're welcome."
A feather snapped shut in front of him.
"Yeah. Still can't let that slide."
Sam moved first.
His punch came fast—but Hawks turned, the blow slamming into his forearm with bone-rattling force.
"Damn," Hawks muttered. "Reports weren't lying."
Hawks surged forward, ripping Sam's hood back.
White hair.
Scar.
"Sam Suzuki. Surrender."
Sam ran.
Feathers screamed through the air, slicing concrete and embedding inches from his feet. Sam twisted, vaulted a fence, knife flashing as he cut feathers mid-flight.
Hawks' smile vanished.
"Enough."
Sam skidded into an alley and pulled a pistol.
Bang.
Hawks twisted midair, the bullet grazing his jacket.
Bang.
Another shot forced him higher.
Hawks dove, a feather blade forming mid-fall.
The impact was brutal.
Metal rang.
The blade punched into Sam's shoulder, tearing flesh.
Sam screamed—but grabbed Hawks' wrist and snapped two fingers backward.
"Gah!"
Hawks tore free, blood spraying as he shot upward.
Sam staggered, vision swimming.
Hawks hovered above him now, eyes cold.
"You're not making this easy."
Sam fired again—again—until the slide locked.
Click.
He threw the gun aside.
Hawks dove.
Too fast.
Sam drew a second pistol.
Bang.
The bullet tore into Hawks' shoulder.
Bang.
Another hit his leg.
Hawks crashed hard.
Sam ran.
"Shit… I gotta end this."
Sam tore off his sweatshirt and hurled it upward.
Hawks smashed through it—and lost sight of him.
"Impossible—"
Pain exploded in Hawks' back.
Sam drove the feather lodged in his shoulder into Hawks, dragging them both down.
Concrete rushed up.
Hawks hit first.
Sam slid, skin tearing.
Silence.
Sam checked Hawks' pulse.
Alive.
"You avoided lethal spots," Sam rasped. "So did I."
"You might get a scar. Welcome to the club."
Sirens wailed.
Sam limped away as the crowd screamed.