Morning, the span of time between the stinging heat and the soothing humidity. The sun is already shining explicitly, but its light is still soft, reflecting off the glass of buildings that tower straight into the clear blue sky.
Life moves in an orderly and efficient rhythm on the streets, as if the entire city is regulated by the pulse of a perfect clock. People move quickly on the clean sidewalks, carrying the scent of expensive perfume mixed with the faint smell of curry and coffee.
City of Singapore lets out a collective sigh from a society immersed in their respective productivities on a workday.
Nine o'clock, that is what the giant hands show on the iconic old Clock Tower in the city, part of the Victoria Theatre and Concert Hall.
Above the elevated rail tracks splitting the city, the MRT train—Mass Rapid Transit—glides smoothly. The passengers in every carriage are enjoying their journey.
Some eyes are closed, enjoying the cool air conditioning caressing their tired skin. Others are absorbed in viewing the scenery of the highway with the multitude of city dwellers passing by, from those walking to those driving vehicles. University students are busy with small laughs and glowing phone screens, while professionals take care of their last e-mails.
"Next station, Jurong East. Jurong East. Please mind the platform gap when alighting."
The friendly automated voice sounds from the speakers above the passengers' heads.
Right after, the train conductor, in his neat uniform and dashing service cap, passes through the aisle of Carriage F. The passengers are greeted warmly by him, as he also checks their tickets one by one.
The conductor reaches the backmost seat, approaching a man in a thick black jacket. He briefly thinks the passenger might be sleeping due to his posture with his head bowed and most of his face covered by a wide hat.
"Excuse me, sir. Sorry to disturb your time," greets the conductor as he approaches the man. "May I see your tick—"
The conductor's words are cut off as his cheek is struck by a hard and rough fist from the passenger. The sudden sound of violence shatters the tranquility inside the clean and orderly carriage. The passengers are instantly shocked and look toward the incident.
The man in the black jacket and wide hat immediately rises from his seat, grabbing the conductor by the neck. With a large semi-automatic pistol he pulls from inside his jacket, he strikes the conductor's head until he falls unconscious onto the linoleum floor.
"Silence! Everyone stay where you are!" snaps the man to all the passengers, while aiming his gun at them.
Some passengers begin to scream in panic, but their cries are immediately cut off by a sharper threat. In an instant, four other passengers—who turn out to be the man's accomplices—stand up. They also draw weapons and hold up the people near them.
"On your knees! Hands on your heads! Now!"
One of them shouts, making the train passengers even more terrified. With no choice, all hostages kneel down, bowing their heads and placing their palms behind their heads, complying with their demands.
The man in the black jacket—who seems to be the leader of the criminal group—walks past all the passengers who are being held at gunpoint by his partners, heading toward the connecting door between carriages. He enters Carriage E, which reveals a similar scene.
Apparently, this is not only happening in Carriage F. Passengers in all carriages are experiencing the same thing. Terrorist groups in the other carriages have also begun their hostage-taking actions.
The atmosphere inside the Singapore MRT train quickly turns into one full of horror.
All carriages have been traversed, until finally, the criminal arrives at the driver's cabin door. He finds the door locked tight when he tries to turn the lever. Behind the small reinforced glass, the train driver can be seen trembling violently, pressing the emergency phone handle to his ear, trying to contact the command center for help.
The criminal steps back, aims the muzzle of his pistol at the locking mechanism, and fires. The metal lock shatters.
With one hard kick, the cabin door is forced open, hitting the inner wall with a deafening bang. He barges in, snatches the phone from the driver's hand, and rips its cord out with a single yank.
"Keep driving the train," threatens the criminal while pressing the hot muzzle of the gun against the driver's temple. "Don't touch the brake lever until I say so."
In Carriage F, time seems to stop. There is only the sound of weapons being cocked and the gasping breaths of terrified people.
"Take out all your valuables! Gather them in the middle, now!"
Hearing the order from one of the criminals, the hostages take out their phones and wallets. One by one, they are placed in the middle of the aisle until they pile up.
A middle-aged mother curls up trembling while hugging her son tightly, who is only about ten years old. On the mother's neck, an antique gem necklace sparkles, hit by the morning sunlight piercing through the train window.
One of the criminals notices the glint. His heavy footsteps approach, creating a threatening thud on the floor.
"You, old lady! Give me that necklace!" snaps the criminal while brandishing the muzzle of his pistol.
The mother's face goes pale. She holds onto the gem with fingers trembling violently.
"Please, Sir... Not this one. This is the only keepsake from my late husband," she whimpers in a pleading, hoarse voice.
"You think I care? Give it to me, now!" he snorts roughly and bends down to snatch the necklace by force.
However, before his hand touches the jewelry, the boy beside the mother stands up immediately. With tiny clenched fists and legs that are trembling but sturdy, he blocks the criminal's path.
"Don't bother my Mom!" shouts the child with reckless courage.
The atmosphere in the carriage freezes instantly. The criminal is stunned for a moment, then a cold laugh escapes his mouth.
"Playing a hero, huh?" he aims his pistol right at the boy's forehead. "Your father will be so proud when you meet him in a moment."
"No! I beg you, don't!" screams the mother hysterically, trying to pull her son back into her embrace. "Take the necklace! Take everything! But please don't hurt my son!"
The other hostages watching the scene feel a tightness in their chests. Pity and anger mix into one, but the muzzles of weapons targeting their heads force everyone to remain transfixed in fear. Death feels so close, just a trigger pull away.
CREAAK!
Suddenly, a deafening screech of metal is heard from the direction of the door at the end of Carriage F.
From the outside, through the door glass blurred by the speed of the wind, a pair of hands wrapped in red gloves can be seen entering the small gap in the middle of the sliding doors. With one powerful jerk, the hands forcibly slide both sides of the steel doors in opposite directions.
The electric motor locking the door loses completely. The hinges and door rails bent instantly as they are forced wide open by unreasonable strength. Strong wind from the elevated track immediately rushes in, messing up the hair of the passengers inside the carriage.
The terrorists are shocked, momentarily forgetting their weapons. Their heads are filled with confusion and fear as they observe the unknown figure standing in the open doorway.
A man in a red mask.
His mask looks like a ski mask made of spandex covering his entire head. Except for the eyes, where he covers them with dark-lensed ski goggles perched stiffly outside the layer of fabric, reflecting the shadows of the criminals standing transfixed.
His appearance looks like a strange blend between a construction worker and an amateur comic book hero.
"W—Wh's that guy?! How did he do that?!" one of the criminals wonders to himself in panic.
His partner continues, "How did he even get up here?!"
Trembling, they step back. Their brains fail to process the logic of how someone can stand there while the train is speeding over the elevated concrete.
Realizing his own awkwardness, the masked man begins to step inside the carriage.
"Um..." he raises his right hand slightly. "Hello?"
Instantly, the muzzles of four firearms aim simultaneously at him. The man hurriedly raises his left hand as well, now both his hands are in the air with palms wide open, in an awkward gesture of surrender.
"Whoa, please don't," he says quickly, though his tone remains calm. "I don't want any trouble."
"Who are you, freak?!" barks the closest criminal, his finger trembling on the trigger.
"Please, lower your weapons and release them," the masked man tries to persuade. "Oh, also, return their belongings—"
The masked man's words are cut off instantly by gunfire from the four criminals, fired repeatedly at him. The hostages scream, turning their faces away unable to watch the blood that is about to spill.
However, no body collapses.
He is still standing upright in his place. His right hand, which was raised earlier, is now clenched in front of his chest. Thin smoke billows from between the fingers of his red gloves. With a casual movement, he turns his hand over and opens the fist.
Six metal bullets that are already flattened fall from his palm, hitting the linoleum floor with a clear sound amidst the gripping silence.
The criminals' jaws drop. Their eyes bulge in disbelief, witnessing something impossible.
"Come on, just stop this," the mysterious man continues. "If you need money so bad, find a proper jo—"
"Shut up!" screams one of the criminals whose sanity has been eroded by fear, cutting off the man's words again.
The terrorist aims his pistol at the mother and child who are still hugging on the floor.
"Leave! Or their lives will fly away on the count of three!" he threatens in a high pitch.
"No! Please don't!" The mother tightens her embrace on her son, tears flowing heavily again.
The criminal begins to count, his finger shaking violently on the trigger. "One!"
Despite being threatened, the masked man remains standing undaunted. His voice changes to become very low and cold, contrasting with his awkward tone earlier.
"Don't do something that will make you regret for the rest of your life."
"Two!" The criminal begins to squeeze the trigger. The mother and son pair close their eyes tightly, resigned to awaiting death.
The figure in the red mask still does not budge from his position. But, thinking that the situation is unavoidable, the mysterious man finally decides to take action.
Just as he is about to move, the criminal's panic explodes.
"Graaa!!" The terrorist, before he can count 'three', fires his weapon blindly toward the hostages while screaming hysterically.
However, the pain the mother awaits never comes. She and her son slowly open their eyes.
Both the mother and child, as well as the criminal who shot and everyone witnessing the event, react the same.
Everyone stares wide-eyed witnessing the man in the red mask, who was originally in a far position, now standing facing right in front of the firearm fired by the criminal. He makes his own body a living shield for the mother and child.
Bullets hit his chest and stomach. But instead of piercing flesh, all the projectiles bounce off his skin before falling with a clink to the floor.
The terrorists' fear grows even more intense. They are now fully aware.
The person—or thing—in front of them, not only able move faster than bullets, but his body is also as hard as steel. The man is not injured at all, not even feeling the slightest pain.
Although his blue jacket now has several smoking holes.
There is no way that man is a human!
"That's... very not nice."
The masked man speaks in a flat but sharp tone. And the criminal, driven by pure terror, tries to reload his ammunition as fast as possible with trembling hands. But...
"Ugh!!"
In an instant, a red-gloved fist slams into his stomach. The criminal's body is lifted from the floor and flung crashing into the wall, before falling to the floor right in front of several hostages. He faints instantly with a frothing mouth.
His three partners, who are no less panicked, try to raise their weapons. But before their brains can send commands to their fingers, the man in the blue jacket has already moved. Only a red-blue blur is seen darting between them.
One by one, the bodies of the criminals collapse to the floor like puppets whose strings have been cut.
In a matter of seconds, Carriage F is cleared of threats.
After taking care of the criminals, the masked man looks down, staring at the condition of his clothes. Black holes from bullets decorate the chest and stomach area of his jacket.
"Great," he speaks sarcastically while letting out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping lethargically. "My savings aren't enough to buy a new one yet."
The tense atmosphere slowly melts. The passengers who were previously held hostage begin to dare to lift their heads. Sobs of fear turn into sighs of relief.
The man turns around and approaches the little boy. He bends down, leveling his height with the brave kid.
"Your mother is safe thanks to your courage," he says while giving a thumbs up with his right hand. "You are a great hero, Kid."
The boy, whose eyes are still wet but now sparkling, smiles widely and nods. "Thank you, Mr. Stranger!"
"Thank you! Thank you so much!" continues the mother, who is still embracing her child, to the man with full gratitude.
The masked man stands tall again and instructs all the passengers of Carriage F.
"Please tie them up with whatever is available, like ties or belts. And call the police immediately. This train is not fully safe yet."
He then turns to the connecting door leading to Carriage E.
"Well, athough maybe the driver has already contacted them," he mumbles to himself, with his legs starting to step toward the next carriage.
"Wait, sir!" calls one of the passengers, a middle-aged man in an office shirt, causing the masked hero to turn to him. "The other carriages... They are everywhere! Every carriage is guarded by armed men like them. It's too dangerous!"
The mysterious hero nods. "I know. I can see them."
His words make the man, and the other passengers, astonished. "You... can see them?"
"Yeah," he shifts his gaze back to the inter-carriage door.
From behind the black lenses of the ski goggles, both his eyes stare with focus. From the masked man's perspective, his vision penetrates the steel walls of the carriage as if the solid object is just sheets of clear glass. His eyes work like an X-ray machine.
Using his see-through vision, he scans the entire train series. Transparent projections of all passengers along with the criminals holding them hostage in every carriage ahead are spread out in his vision.
"There are still twenty people left," he says flatly. "Each of the five carriages ahead contains four people."
The passengers who hear that look at each other with pale faces. How can someone count the number of people in carriages hundreds of meters away just by staring at a wall?
Their astonishment piles up even more seeing another ability of this stranger.
"Hm? There's one more, holding the driver hostage in his cabin," adds the masked man after his see-through vision reaches the frontmost part of the MRT train and catches two more human figures.
"Alright then," he mumbles with full confidence. "Time to take care of them."
"Are you sure you can do it alone?" asks another passenger—a woman with blonde hair wearing a white shirt—hesitantly. "I mean... We know you are very fast and bulletproof. But..."
"I'll be fine."
The man in the red mask turns to the passengers of Carriage F once more, giving a small smile hidden behind his spandex fabric. "Thank you for worrying about me. You all take good care of yourselves."
With that, the hero opens the connecting door to Carriage E, leaving all the passengers in Carriage F staring at him in awe.
Inside the driver's cabin, the man in the black jacket and wide hat who is holding the driver hostage is now breaking out in a cold sweat. His breath is ragged, in rhythm with his heartbeat pounding against his chest.
With an expression gaping in full fear, his eyes are glued to the small CCTV monitor screen mounted on the left side of the main control panel, which displays the live feed from surveillance cameras in every passenger carriage.
On the screen displaying Carriage E, he sees a flash of blue and red shadows moving with unnatural speed. One of his subordinates on that screen is flung crashing into the door. Another subordinate is slammed into the carriage ceiling before falling unconscious.
After the blur figure stopped moving, he can see his stature. The mysterious figure in the red mask has cleared one carriage in just seconds, freeing the captives. Then he disappears from the Carriage E camera, and appears instantly on the Carriage D camera.
"Impossible...!" mumbles the criminal in the wide hat with a trembling voice. "What the hell is that...?!"
His hand holding the pistol becomes slippery with sweat. He watches the same scenario happen in Carriage D through Carriage B. The panic of his criminal colleagues, the shots that are ineffective, and in the blink of an eye, they are all lying unconscious.
How can his troops equipped with firearms be taken down easily like flies? Who exactly is that person?
The figure enters Carriage A. Not even a minute and he will arrive here soon.
"Stop the train!" shouts the criminal in the black jacket to the driver next to him. "I have to get out of here!"
The driver answers with a hoarse voice. "B—but we are on the elevated track! If we stop suddenly—"
The leader of the terrorist group cuts off his words by aiming his pistol right at the driver's temple, which makes him even more terrified. "Do it right now!"
Suddenly, the sound of a steel door lever breaking is heard behind the criminal and the driver. They both turn to the source of the sound. The entrance door to the driver's cabin opens.
He has finally arrived.
"Sorry about all the carriage doors, Mr. Driver. And your cabin door too," says the masked man to the driver with a slight laugh, before then staring at the criminal.
Enveloped by unparalleled fear, the body of the gang leader trembles even more violently.
"Don't come closer, you monster!" he threatens him by pressing the muzzle of the pistol against the driver's head.
"Monster? Don't you have a mirror at home?" the masked hero sighs. His tone remains calm, though his gaze is focused on the terrorist's index finger which is already on the trigger.
"Look. Killing won't change anything, other than making your situation much worse. Why don't we just stop all this and turn yourself in to the police? It's still not too late."
Panic takes over the criminal's common sense. He has no way out.
He knows that, even though he is already pointing the pistol at extremely close range, that person will definitely succeed in saving the driver. There is no point in taking hostages to threaten someone—or something—capable of reacting long before his opponent can flinch. Not to mention that he is bulletproof.
And the masked figure is also right. In the end, he will still end up behind bars. Even if he succeeds in shooting the driver, he will be sentenced to a much more painful punishment. Whether from the police, or—more terrifyingly—from that super-powered human.
"To hell with you!"
The growing fear makes him act recklessly. In a moment of madness, he aims his pistol downward, right at the instrument panel and the train control lever.
Three shots are fired at point-blank range. Bullets pierce the electronic circuits and destroy the brake lever. Sparks of electrical fire explode from the control console, followed by a puff of black smoke that stings the nose. The emergency braking system hisses loudly then dies completely.
Without wasting time, the man in the red mask moves as fast as lightning and lands a blow on the nape of the terrorist group leader. The criminal collapses instantly, fainting beside the driver's seat without having time to scream.
"Oh no... This is bad!" the driver is heard screaming hysterically so the masked man turns to him.
The driver pulls at the remains of the lever which is already loose. There is no response from the MRT train engine. A bigger problem has just begun.
"The brake system is broken! This train is only getting faster!" he is in a panic, then points forward with a trembling finger. "We are entering a track that is still under construction!"
The man in the mask and blue jacket looks out the front glass. Upon focusing his vision, he can see the condition the driver means.
His vision has reached more than one kilometer into the distance ahead. There is the end of a severed elevated rail. The concrete ends in the air, gaping over a busy highway intersection.
If this train doesn't stop, hundreds of tons of steel along with all the passengers inside will freefall onto the city crowd.
He briefly glances at the emergency door at the front of the cabin facing directly onto the track. Logically, that is the fastest access. But his observant eyes immediately analyze the existing structural risks.
"Talk to all passengers via the intercom!" orders the masked man firmly. "Tell them to hold on to anything as hard as they can!"
Without waiting for an answer, he turns toward the small emergency door on the right side of the cabin. He slides the door open, letting the strong wind roar in.
"What are you gonna do?!" asks the driver in horror.
"Doing my job."
He answers briefly and jumps out, gripping the edge of the cabin roof with his strong fingertips, then swings his body onto the roof of the MRT train in one smooth acrobatic movement.
Standing on the roof, he is immediately greeted by the strong wind outside the cabin, roaring wildly and hitting his body with full force. He can see the MRT train speeding, cutting through the air of the city of Singapore.
However, thanks to his physical endurance which is beyond reason, the wind pressure resulting from the train's speed does not affect him at all. He can stand balanced as usual. For the masked man, this gust of wind is nothing more than a mere breeze.
He walks a little until he is right at the very front edge. His ski goggles protect his eyes from flying dust particles.
In the distance ahead, the severed end of the rail has begun to appear as a thin line against the empty horizon.
"Here we go."
Without hesitation, the masked man throws himself forward, over the lip of the roof. He holds onto the edge of the roof only to direct the swing of his body, then lands with a low thud right on the sturdy lower steel bumper.
Now he is perched on the train's snout, right below the driver's glass. The rail track beneath his feet shoots past like a blurring gray shadow. Slowly he lowers his body to the track, but he doesn't immediately give full power.
He realized that stopping the train suddenly is just as dangerous as falling. Instant shock can cause the carriages to derail and give the passengers inside fatal injuries.
He knows he has to be a stable living brake. He has to absorb this giant kinetic energy gradually, not fight it all at once. He presses both hands against the front of the MRT train, simultaneously as his feet begin to step on the rail.
SKRRRAAAAAK!!
A screeching sound that is very painful to the ears explodes as the soles of his black boots touch the concrete track surface. Thick white smoke instantly billows, covering part of the view of the driver watching in horror from behind the front glass. Sparks fly wildly in all directions, raining down on the highway under the overpass like a blinding rain of light.
The masked man growls while holding the body of the train with two bare hands. The muscles of his arms tense behind the blue jacket as he begins to apply gradual pressure to the train body.
While doing so, he briefly feels relieved at his decision earlier not to exit through the front of the train, which is a thin aluminum panel designed for evacuation. If he had opened it, the front of the train would have lost its integrity. He wouldn't have had a surface that solid enough to brace against while holding the train's speed.
The sparks spewing from beneath the masked man's shoes are not just a technical flash, but an extraordinary spectacle for the residents of the city of Singapore down below.
At the busy highway intersection, the rhythm of orderly life suddenly stops completely. Drivers slam on their brakes, honk their horns, and get out of their vehicles with faces looking up. On the sidewalks, pedestrians who were originally busy with their phones are now frozen.
All eyes are fixed upwards, to the elevated rail track where an impossible phenomenon is occurring. They see an MRT train gliding toward the severed end of the rail with white smoke billowing furiously from beneath its snout. In front of the steel giant, a small figure in a blue jacket appears to be wrestling against the laws of physics, dragged but remaining standing firm.
The train's pace begins to feel heavy. That speed of death is slowly eroded by impossible strength.
Distance to the severed rail end is now only tens of meters. It is time to truly stop this massive vehicle.
The masked man plants his soles deeper, destroying the concrete surface until creating a deep trench along the track. He pushes his entire body weight forward, pressing against the train's steel bumper with high but controlled power.
Situation inside the train carriages turns into full of screaming. As per instructions shouted over the speaker, passengers curl up on the floor and hold onto steel poles with all their might. The sound of metal scraping against concrete sounds like the scream of a monster deafening the ears, making the whole train vibrate violently.
The middle-aged mother in Carriage F hugs her son tightly, closing her eyes while continuing to chant prayers. The child hides his face in his mother's chest, feeling the floor beneath them heat up due to the extraordinary kinetic energy.
Other passengers around them hold each other's hands, their faces pale and wet with cold sweat, waiting for the final moments before the train reaches the severed rail end.
The train's metal groans heavily as its understructure is forced to stop. The rail concrete crumbles into dust and gravel beneath his feet.
Five meters. Three meters.
With one final jolt that shakes the entire train series down to the last carriage, the masked man holds that momentum completely.
The shaking finally falls silent.
MRT train stops completely, only two meters away from the severed concrete end. Its front wheels stand right at the gaping threshold of death.
For a moment, total silence envelops the inside of the carriages. Passengers slowly open their eyes, looking at each other with disbelief.
The boy slowly releases his hug and looks out the glass window which now faces the empty sky at the end of the bridge. He realizes they are still alive.
Cries of relief break out in every carriage. The mother kisses her son's forehead repeatedly with tears flowing freely, while other passengers hug each other or slump weakly to the floor because their legs can no longer stand.
The train driver who has been watching that impossible action from behind the cracked front glass in the cabin can only gape. His mouth opens wide, but no voice comes out. His brain is unable to process what he has just seen, until finally his consciousness fades and he slumps fainting in his seat due to severe shock.
Silence returns to dominate the atmosphere, leaving only the sound of the engine hissing and hot steam coming out from the crevices of the mysterious man's clothes. He releases his hands from the train's snout, leaving deep palm prints on the thick steel plate.
The masked savior then looks down, staring at his feet which are still smoking. His shoulders instantly slump lethargically upon seeing the condition of his black boots.
Soles of his shoes have been totally eroded away due to extreme friction with the concrete, leaving charred and tattered material revealing the inside.
He sighs deeply, lamenting the fate of his equipment. Not only his blue jacket perforated by bullets, but his boots are destroyed as well. This material loss feels almost as heavy as the weight of the train he has just held.
"And now my shoes," he complains, sighing.
Under the overpass, the city view has become a sea of contrasting emotions.
Thousands of pairs of eyes stare at the rail with varied expressions. Most people are transfixed with their mouths agape. Their hands tremble while holding phones recording the impossible event.
"Who is that person?!"
"So strong!"
"No way it's a human!"
They cheer, applaud, and scream hysterically out of relief seeing a major tragedy successfully thwarted. They radiate a gleam of relief and sincere gratitude on faces witnessing hundreds of lives saved.
However, amidst the cheers, slips a different facial expression. Some people seem to step back slowly with gazes full of suspicion and horror. Their foreheads wrinkle deeply, viewing the figure up there not as a savior, but as a frightening anomaly. The existence of a figure capable of stopping the speed of hundreds of tons of steel with bare hands raises a cold sense of threat in their hearts.
The masked man realizes the change in atmosphere down below. He can feel the stares beginning to be filled with prejudice.
Not long after, the sound of sirens which initially sounded faint in his ears now turns into a roar surrounding all corners of the streets below the track. From the distance, beams of blue and red lights from the cars of Singapore Police Force are seen shooting through the crowd.
In the sky that was previously calm, the sound of helicopter propellers is heard beating the air loudly, carrying spotlights that begin to move wildly sweeping the train body and elevated rail structure.
The masked man stands tall at the end of the severed elevated rail, staring for a moment at the city horizon which is now noisy with the presence of authorities. He knows, in a matter of seconds, he will be the center of the largest siege operation ever in this city.
"I guess it's time to go back," he mumbles softly. His voice drowns in the roar of the wind and sirens, but his conviction remains firm.
The savior throws himself from the edge of the elevated rail, gliding freely toward the asphalt below. The crowd below screams suppressed, thinking the figure will be crushed upon hitting the ground. However, just before touching the street, he bends his knees to dampen the falling momentum perfectly, creating small cracks in the asphalt surface as he lands.
Without giving a chance for phone cameras or helicopter spotlights to lock on his position, the figure darts away.
WHOOSH!
The mysterious hero moves with speed so extreme it leaves only air distortion and a strong gust of wind sweeping dust on the street. In people's eyes, he looks like a blue-red shadow blurring between the gaps of vehicles and narrow alleys of skyscrapers.
In an instant, he moves thousands of meters away from the location of the event. He darts through the gaps of vehicle traffic, and disappears behind the thick foliage on the outskirts of the city.
He leaves the Lion City in an uproar that will never be extinguished.
・・・
The Pacific Ocean is just a blurry blue expanse beneath his feet.
The figure in the blue jacket darts splitting the sea surface, leaving a long trail of white foam that immediately vanishes swallowed by waves. His feet move so fast that the water doesn't have time to pull him under, making it as if he is running on solid ground.
The afternoon wind hits his body, carrying the scent of salt which slowly changes into the scent of wet earth and leaves.
The coastline appears on the horizon, enlarging in seconds. The man in the red mask, with his speed breaking the sound barrier, has arrived from Singapore to another island.
New Zealand, the country where he lives. His home.
He does not slow down. He continues running up the steep hill. City of Wellington is already before his eyes.
With speed that makes his figure very blurry until almost invisible, he weaves between lush trees. He heads toward a pair of buildings with Neo-Gothic architecture.
Victoria University of Wellington, a renowned college in that city.
At the main gate, a security guard is sitting relaxed inside his small post. His eyes are glued to a smartphone screen.
Suddenly, an air distortion darts past the open post window.
"Whoa!" the guard jerks in surprise and falls from his chair. Some log papers on the table scatter.
The security guard gets back up while fixing his service cap. He hurriedly sticks his head out the window, looking right and left in panic.
Silence.
The uphill asphalt road leading into the campus area is completely empty. There are no vehicles passing, no runners, not even a trace of anyone. Only dry leaves swirling slowly in the air, slowly falling back to the asphalt.
He rubs his eyes, confused. His forehead wrinkles deeply. He is sure he just felt something pass in front of him, but his logic rejects it. No one can move that fast without making engine noise.
"...must've been the wind," he mumbles hesitantly, trying to calm himself by sitting back down while picking up the papers scattered on the floor. "I think I watched too many weird videos today."
Entering the campus territory, the masked man traverses the streets where male and female students walk back and forth. The students are busy chatting with each other about their respective activities on campus or outside their studies, so no one notices the blur of blue-red color flashing through deserted areas.
Hunter Building stands majestically, as if welcoming the hero's return. The old building dominates the hillside with its distinctive red brick walls, looking glowing hit by the golden afternoon sunlight.
Its structure is elongated and sturdy, consisting of three main levels with rows of tall white-framed windows giving a classic and elegant impression. On the roof, small towers with copper domes starting to turn green due to oxidation rise piercing the sky, emphasizing the historical nuance in the middle of a modern city.
The masked man moving like the wind traverses the side of the red brick building, heading to the back area of the Hunter Building which is more enclosed and lush with fern trees. An area that is quite secluded and very rarely visited by students... Except him.
The strong wind remaining from his speed slams the bushes around him. He stands frozen while catching his breath. Steam billows from his entire body, especially from his boots which are already shapeless. His dark blue jeans and jacket, which are full of holes, are also crumpled due to the wind pressure caused by his movement while using super speed.
"You're finally back!"
He hears a voice calling him from behind.
After turning around, he finds two young men carrying backpacks running toward him. Their casual attitude when meeting him indicates that the two young men have known him for a long time.
"Left without telling us again? You are such a handful, Adam," scolds Morgan, who called him just now. He has thin hair, dark skin, and wears a gray shirt.
"You left this at the canteen," adds the other friend wearing a black jacket, blonde hair, and a slightly chubby body, Sam. He hands him a backpack that has been carried in his right hand all along, which turns out to belong to the masked man.
"Oh, I forgot! Thanks!" the man accepts his bag.
He takes off the red spandex mask and black ski goggles from his head in front of his two friends, revealing the face of a fine young man with blue eyes and a look that seems innocent.
Adam tidies up his black hair which is a bit messy. Both his red gloves are taken off and put into the backpack, along with the mask and ski goggles. Then he takes out reading glasses and puts them on.
His appearance changed from a super entity to an ordinary university student. Those reading glasses are Adam's daily attribute as a New Zealand citizen, making him look like a different person if seen by those who don't know him.
Adam's gaze radiates exhaustion but also satisfaction after saving many innocent lives.
"Listen, guys. I can explain."
"Oh, really? Then explain this," responds Morgan while showing his smartphone screen.
Adam is wide-eyed. He is presented with a Breaking News clip from the CNN page. A piece of news with a large blazing red headline.
'MYSTERIOUS SUPERHUMAN SAVES HUNDREDS OF LIVES IN SINGAPORE'
Shaky amateur video shows a figure in a blue jacket and wearing a red mask holding the snout of a smoking MRT train right at the threshold of a severed rail.
"No wonder you disappeared for about four hours," continues Sam while crossing his arms, making his black jacket look tight on his chubby body.
"Hey, you know yourselves I can't let those people be in danger!" he answers defending himself. He slings his backpack on his back. "Besides, I told you yesterday that I wanted to test how far my abilities go. Remember? When we went to Pihama Beach, after I found myself able to run on water until I arrived at the neighboring island before I knew it."
Morgan glares, he raises his phone higher as if wanting to shove the news into Adam's eyes. "You said you wanted to test your speed all the way to the coast near Sydney! How could you ended up to Singapore?!"
"Oh... I guess I—uh... went overboard," Adam laughs awkwardly. His right hand rubs the back of his head. "Well, at first, I did reached Sydney in less than thirty minutes. Because I felt it wasn't enough, I tried to go even further."
Sam and Morgan look at him full of astonishment.
"Um... How do I explain it?" Adam raises both hands in front of his chest, then slowly brings his palms close to one another. "The ocean felt so... small, when you move that fast."
Sam and Morgan are silent, their mouths slightly agape between awe and wonder. Their logic as normal humans seems forced to work extra hard to accept the reality that their childhood best friend has just crossed hemispheres in a time shorter than the duration of a theatrical movie.
Morgan shakes his head, still staring at his phone screen displaying the world map. "Let me get this straight. You went to Singapore—which is a dozen hours away by plane—became a superhero there for about fifteen minutes, then came back here again. And all that in just four hours?!"
"Dude, not just your speed, but your stamina is also crazy. Way too crazy!" adds Sam, scratching his head while wearing an amazed expression. "Every day there's just a new surprise from you."
However, Morgan's facial expression becomes serious again. He looks in all directions around them to ensure that there is no one else there besides the three of them.
"Alright. Besides all that, Adam, you have to be more careful. You leave traces. Sooner or later, you will be compromised. The world will find out who you really are. Whether through satellites or whatever. Technology is getting more advanced now."
Sam nods in agreement. "That's right. I almost forgot how many times Wellington City has become a national conversation because of news regarding sightings of a blue figure saving people from accidents, natural disasters, even stopping crimes in other cities."
"I know. I've been trying to be careful," says Adam. The thumb of his right hand points to the backpack on his back. "That's why I wear a mask. Though actually I don't really like it. Aside from not being my taste, it also feels uncomfortable. Makes it hard for me to get fresh air when running fast."
"And also, look at you," Sam points at Adam's appearance from top to bottom with a concerned gaze. "You look like you just came out of a battlefield. This time the damage is far worse than usual."
Adam looks down, noticing the black holes decorating his blue jacket. His facial expression becomes annoyed.
"They shot at me," Adam defends himself. "And stopping a train of hundreds of tons turned out to generate extraordinary heat. My shoes even burned."
"Fortunately, your mask is okay. Very risky if your face gets caught on camera even a little," adds Sam while observing the red mask in Adam's hand which is still intact.
Adam sighs deeply, staring at the remains of his boots which no longer have soles. "If only I had a unbreakable costume like in the comics."
"By the way..." Morgan looks at the sky which is starting to turn a bit reddish. "What time is it now? I feel like we still have another agenda."
Adam rolls up his jacket sleeve slightly to look at the digital watch on his wrist. The watch glass has a small crack, a remnant of the impact when he held the MRT train bumper earlier.
"Fifteen past four..." Adam mentions the number shown, but a second later his eyes widen perfectly. "Ah! We have a promise to submit the literature assignment to Professor Phillips!"
"Oh, no! Quick, to the Murphy Building!" exclaims Sam in panic, his chubby body immediately turning around.
"Wait, I can't enter class with a ragged appearance like this! I have to go to the locker first!" exclaims Adam. While starting to jog, he takes off his black boots which are already destroyed and carries them in his left hand grip.
The three friends dart hurriedly leaving the back area of the red brick building. They run through the campus path, heading to the Murphy Building located a few blocks ahead.
Under the afternoon shadows of Wellington, they look like ordinary students chasing a deadline.
...though, one of them has just made a transcontinental journey. And is now running barefoot.
"I forgot to bring spare shoes!!"