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NBC10 Evening News Report Transcript – January 20, 2024
[Opening Music and Visuals of Philadelphia Skyline]

Leslie Morgan: “Good evening, Philadelphia. I’m Leslie Morgan, and this is NBC10 Evening News. We interrupt our regular programming to bring you a special report on a developing story that’s gripped the city. In the early hours of this morning, the National Superhuman Response Agency’s office in Hatboro-Horsham was the site of a violent incident, leaving four security guards dead and the community in shock.”

[Cut to Footage of NSRA Office, Police Tape, and Emergency Services]

Leslie Morgan: “The aftermath paints a grim picture. Reports indicate extensive damage inside the NSRA facility, with signs of a struggle evident throughout the premises. The casualties, all security personnel, appear to have suffered injuries consistent with an encounter with a superhuman – a term that’s become all too frightening in our city.”

[Return to Leslie in the Studio]

Leslie Morgan: “Authorities have yet to release an official statement, but sources close to the investigation have pointed to a prime suspect – Joshua Pleasants, known to many as the superhero Miasma. Pleasants, a long-standing figure in the superhero community, has been operating out of Boston for the better part of a decade. His presence in Philadelphia was initially linked to the recent tragic death of Liberty Belle, where he spoke at her funeral as an honored guest.”

[Cut to Footage of Joshua Pleasants at Liberty Belle’s Funeral]

Leslie Morgan: “But tonight, the hero who stood solemnly in mourning is at the center of a violent mystery. The nature of the attack has raised questions about his motives and methods. This raid, far from the heroic acts Pleasants is known for, suggests a darker turn for the celebrated hero.”

[Cut to Interview Clips with Shocked NSRA Officials and Witnesses]

Witness: “I never thought something like this could happen here. It’s like a scene from a movie, but it’s real.”

NSRA Official: “This is a tragedy. Our thoughts are with the families of the guards who lost their lives. As for the perpetrator, justice will be served.”

Leslie Morgan: “The incident has sent ripples through the community, with many struggling to reconcile the heroic image of Miasma with the brutality of this morning’s events. As we await more details from the authorities, one question looms large – what led a respected hero to this point?”

[Cut to Scene of Police Press Conference, Mid-Sentence]

Police Spokesperson: “…while we cannot divulge specifics at this time, our investigation is pursuing all leads. We urge the public to remain calm and report any information that might assist us in this matter.”

Leslie Morgan: “The Philadelphia Police Department, along with federal agencies, are now conducting a citywide manhunt for Joshua Pleasants. His whereabouts remain unknown, and residents are advised to exercise caution.”

[Cut back to Leslie in the Studio after the Police Spokesperson’s Statement]

Leslie Morgan: “A critical piece of evidence in this unfolding investigation is the security footage obtained from inside the NSRA office. While the full extent of the footage has not been released to the public, our sources indicate that it shows a figure, unmistakably identified as Miasma, moving through the halls of the NSRA facility.”

[Cut to Blurred and Edited Security Footage Showing a Figure Resembling Miasma]

Leslie Morgan (Voiceover): “In the grainy images, we see a figure clad in Miasma’s signature costume – the cloak and hazmat – seen here examining files and navigating the corridors of the office. Notably, the footage does not show any direct acts of violence. However, the timing of these recordings coincides with the estimated time of the attacks.”

[Return to Leslie in the Studio]

Leslie Morgan: “This footage has become a linchpin in the case against Joshua Pleasants. While it does not depict the attacks, his presence in the building during the hours of the incident, coupled with the absence of other individuals on the footage, has led investigators to draw a direct connection. The question facing law enforcement and the public alike: How did a seemingly solitary infiltration escalate to such tragic consequences?”

[Cut to Expert Analysis Clip – Security Expert or Criminologist]

Security Expert: “The absence of footage showing the actual attacks leaves a gap in the narrative. It’s unusual in a facility with this level of security. However, the presence of Miasma on-site is highly incriminating, especially given the lack of other suspects in the footage.”

Leslie Morgan: “The lack of conclusive evidence in the footage adds layers of complexity to an already tangled situation. Without direct visual confirmation of the attacks, the investigation hinges on piecing together a timeline that places Miasma at the heart of this tragedy.”

[Cut to Photos of the Ransacked NSRA Office Interior]

Leslie Morgan: “As investigators sift through the aftermath, the ransacked state of the office further complicates the picture. Documents strewn about, furniture overturned – the scene speaks of a desperate search for something, but what Joshua Pleasants was seeking remains a mystery.”

[Return to Leslie in the Studio]

Leslie Morgan: “This incident marks yet another chapter in the complex relationship between our city and its superhero inhabitants. While many have brought hope and security, events like today’s remind us of the fine line these individuals walk between heroism and vigilantism.”

[Cut to Footage of Previous Superhero Incidents in Philadelphia]

Leslie Morgan: “Philadelphia has seen its share of superhuman activities, both heroic and otherwise. The debate around superhero accountability and oversight has been a topic of public discourse, intensified by incidents like today’s. The death of Philadelphia’s own Liberty Belle, a figure symbolic of the superhero ideal, has only added to the urgency of this conversation.”

[Cut to Man-on-the-Street Interviews about Superhero Accountability]

Citizen 1: “It’s scary, you know? One day they’re saving lives, the next they could be taking them.”

Citizen 2: “We need to know who these people are and what they’re capable of. There’s too much at stake.”

Leslie Morgan: “And as we delve into this story, it’s important to remember the lives tragically lost today. Men and women who served our community, now mourned by a city in shock.”

[Cut to Headshots of the Deceased Security Guards with Somber Music]

Leslie Morgan: “Our hearts go out to the families and loved ones of those who perished in this senseless act of violence. In the coming days, we will be sharing their stories, honoring their memory and service.”

[Return to Leslie in the Studio]

Leslie Morgan: “We will continue to follow this story closely, bringing you updates as more information comes to light. After the break, we’ll delve into the past of Joshua Pleasants, exploring his career as Miasma and the controversies that have shadowed his heroic persona. Stay with NBC10 as we uncover more on this developing story.”

[Cut to Commercial Break]

---

The music hall, usually a place of energy and life, now holds the dense, chewy air of a tomb. As Leslie Morgan’s voice drones on from the old TV, it’s as if we’re enveloped in a thick fog of disbelief and despair. Jordan, sitting cross-legged, stares at the screen with a distant gaze, their eyes reflecting a storm of emotions, a turbulent mix of confusion and fear. The news report plays on, relentless, its words like hammer blows: Miasma, the NSRA office, the dead security guards. Each syllable seems to echo in the hollow space, amplifying the sense of unreality that grips us.

Spindle, huddled next to Jordan, is a picture of nausea, his face pale, eyes wide with horror. It’s like he’s on the verge of being sick, the gravity of the news hitting him like a physical blow. I watch him from my perch on the couch, my own hands clenched in my lap, nails digging into the flesh but not drawing blood. I know the precise pressure needed to break the skin, but I don’t. Now’s not the time. Now’s not the time for more blood.

Leslie Morgan’s voice is just background noise as my mind races. Miasma’s not a killer. This isn’t him. It can’t be. But the evidence… the security footage… It’s damning. And it’s all over the news. Philadelphia is in shock. Superheroes are supposed to be the good guys. But now…

The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, except for the anchor’s voice filling the space, talking about Miasma, the NSRA office, and the dead security guards. I can’t believe it. This isn’t what Miasma was supposed to do. Miasma’s mission was supposed to be simple: infiltrate, gather evidence, and get out. No violence. No casualties. That’s what he promised. That’s what he promised us. It feels almost crushing. Like a betrayal, even though I know better. I know better by now. He couldn’t have.

He couldn’t have.

The room is charged with tension as we watch the news report, our faces lit by the glow of the TV screen. Jordan’s shaking their head, a bitter laugh escaping. “NSRA,” they mutter. “It’s too perfect. They set him up.”

Spindle paces, his fists clenched. “This is bad. If they pin this on Miasma, it reflects on all superheroes. The public’s gonna think we’re all killers.”

I’m pacing too, trying to think. “We can’t just sit back. Miasma was trying to help. We have to clear his name.”

“But how, Sam?” Jordan snaps. “March into the NSRA and demand they tell the truth?”

I stop, frustrated. “I don’t know, but we have to do something. Miasma would do the same for us.”

“Would he?” Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

The silence that follows is heavy. Spindle finally speaks up, “We need a real plan, something solid to clear Miasma and find out what the NSRA is up to.”

I nod, feeling the burden of leadership. “Right. We stick to our mission. Find the truth and expose whoever’s behind this.”

Jordan’s not convinced, their eyes dark with doubt. “If the NSRA’s behind this, it’s a false flag to derail our investigation. They’re scared of what we might find.”

I counter Jordan’s suggestion. “It could be the Kingdom. They’ve been listening in. They knew Miasma’s plan and saw a chance to strike, make us look bad.”

Jordan scoffs. “I hate them too, don’t get me wrong, but I think we’re looking at something worse than simple criminal shit.”

I bounce against Jordan’s skepticism. “Think about it, Jordan. The Kingdom’s been snooping around us for a while. They knew exactly when to hit to make Miasma—and by extension, all of us—look like the bad guys. If that bug was theirs…”

Jordan shakes their head, unconvinced. “Sam, you’re giving them too much credit. They’re gangsters, not masterminds. This smells like NSRA, classic false flag. They’d sacrifice a few of their own to keep their secrets.”

I frown, considering their point. “But killing their own security guards? That’s a bit extreme, even for them.”

Jordan’s expression hardens. “Extreme? Maybe. But if the stakes are high enough? People do crazy things. And we don’t know how deep this goes. The NSRA could be in deeper than we thought.”

Spindle chimes in, his voice edged with worry. “But what if Jordan’s right? If the NSRA is behind this, then we’re up against more than we bargained for.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of the situation. “We need to be sure before we make any moves. If we’re wrong, and it’s the Kingdom, we could be walking into a trap.”

Jordan nods, agreeing reluctantly. “Fine, but we need to act fast. Every minute we waste arguing, Miasma’s reputation—and ours—takes another hit.”

We fall into a tense silence.

Spindle breaks it with another deep sigh. “This sucks, man. I just got done getting my powers tested and everything. And they made me a costume. I don’t want to go back to being a street criminal, dude.”

Jordan thumps him on the back and then reaches up to tousle his hair. “Man, nobody’s gonna bother you about this, string bean. It’s not like they’re going to release a news report saying ‘this just in, Miasma has three teenage accomplices and they’re all evil’.”

“Jordan, please do not tempt fate,” I warn, leaning back into the couch with my arms crossed over my chest.

“Don’t you think that would make this all more exciting?” Jordan asks, flashing me an impish grin.

“NO!” Spindle and I both shout simultaneously. We glance at each other, share a nervous smile, and watch as Jordan breaks down into quiet guffaws.

“Jokes aside,” Jordan starts, getting up and popping their back. They grab their laptop, and start walking towards the Faraday cage room. “Let’s figure out what we can actually do about it first before we start panicking, yeah?”

---

[Return from Commercial Break with NBC10 Logo]

Leslie Morgan: “Welcome back to NBC10 Evening News. I’m Leslie Morgan. Tonight’s top story continues as we delve deeper into the life and character of Joshua Pleasants, the man known as Miasma, now at the center of a tragedy that has left our city reeling. Who is Joshua Pleasants, and what led him down the path that has seemingly culminated in the events at the NSRA office? Let’s explore the journey of this enigmatic figure.”

[Cut to Photos of Joshua Pleasants from Early Life and College Days]

Leslie Morgan (Voiceover): “Joshua Pleasants, 38, born in Baltimore, 1985, was not always the controversial figure we know today. His early life was that of an average American. He attended Towson University, where he studied economics, a field far removed from the superhero world he would later inhabit.”

[Cut to Footage of Towson University Campus]

Leslie Morgan: “It was at Towson where the paths of Joshua Pleasants and Diane Williams, later known as Liberty Belle, would first cross. A friendship formed, one that would shape both of their destinies.”

[Cut to Interview Clip with a College Friend]

College Friend: “Josh was smart, really into his studies. He and Diane were close. You could tell they were both going places, just didn’t know where yet.”

Leslie Morgan: “But it was in 2010, during his involvement in Diane’s vigilante work, that Joshua’s life would take a dramatic turn. In a confrontation with a rogue vigilante, Joshua suffered what should have been a fatal injury. Instead, it triggered what is known as a Post-Mortem Activation – a type of activation event that produces powers far stronger than that of your typical superhuman.”

[Cut to Animated Graphic Explaining Post-Mortem Activation]

Leslie Morgan (Voiceover): “This rare phenomenon bestowed upon Joshua a remarkable power of regeneration, allowing him to survive and recover from injuries that would be lethal to any ordinary person.”

[Cut to Footage of Miasma in Action, Blurred to Conceal Graphic Details]

Leslie Morgan: “But this gift came with a cost. Trapped in a state of perpetual decay, Pleasants’ life as Miasma has been anything but ordinary. His body, constantly regenerating, also constantly releases a byproduct of his power – toxic gases, necessitating the iconic bright yellow hazmat suit he wears.”

[Cut to Interview Clip with a Biologist or Medical Expert]

Medical Expert: “Pleasants’ condition is unique. His regenerative abilities are off the charts, but they come with a severe trade-off. His body is essentially a living… well, he’s like a living corpse. His ‘template’, that’s the term we use, is stuck at the moment of death in perpetuity.”

Leslie Morgan: “This physical transformation was mirrored by a change in Pleasants’ worldview. Known for his hyper-logical, utilitarian approach, he has been a vocal critic of government regulation in superhero affairs, advocating for a broader view of heroism that often places the greater good above individual actions.”

[Cut to Clip of Miasma Speaking at a Public Event]

Joshua Pleasants (Miasma): “We can’t be bound by conventional morality when lives are at stake. It’s about the bigger picture, the many over the few.”

Leslie Morgan: “Pleasants’ philosophy has shaped his approach as Miasma. His actions, while saving countless lives, have not been without controversy. There have been incidents where his forceful methods, especially involving civilians, have raised ethical questions. His aggressive approach to crime-fighting and his willingness to operate in the gray areas of morality have often put him at odds with the public and other superheroes. In 2018, a raid led by Pleasants in Lowell, Massachusetts, was heavily criticized for what some described as excessive force.”

[Cut to footage from the 2018 Lowell raid aftermath]

Leslie Morgan (voice-over): “The Lowell incident raised questions about where to draw the line between heroism and vigilantism. Pleasants defended his actions as necessary, but the public opinion was divided.”

[Cut to Montage of Miasma’s Various Interventions]

Leslie Morgan (Voiceover): “Yet, until today, there has never been an incident where Joshua Pleasants took an innocent life. The events at the NSRA office mark a disturbing departure from this record.”

[Return to Leslie in the Studio]

Leslie Morgan: “The question that now hangs over Joshua Pleasants is a heavy one. How did a man who stood for the greater good, who endured so much in his fight for justice, find himself implicated in an act of such violence? As the city grapples with this tragedy, the legacy of Miasma – once a symbol of resilience and strength – is being reexamined under the harsh light of today’s events.”

[Cut to Reactions from the Superhero Community and Public Figures]

Peregrine: “Joshua’s actions today are… they’re incomprehensible. This isn’t the man I fought alongside.”

Jamal Davis: “We need to understand the why. Something must have driven him to this, something more than we see on the surface.”

Leslie Morgan (Voiceover): “In the coming days, we will continue to follow this story, seeking answers to the many questions that remain. For now, Philadelphia mourns the loss of life and grapples with the complexities of heroism and humanity intertwined in the figure of Joshua Pleasants.”

[Closing Shots of the City at Night, Reflective Mood]

Leslie Morgan: “Stay with NBC10 for the latest developments in this ongoing investigation. Up next, we have the weather forecast for the week ahead, and a look at local sports. Thank you for joining us this evening. I’m Leslie Morgan, and this is NBC10 Evening News.”

[Fade to Weather Segment]

---

We’re all squeezed into the Faraday cage room, its walls shimmering with aluminum foil under the dim light. The cramped space is the one spot where we’re certain we’re not being monitored. Jordan’s laptop is open, displaying a flurry of news articles and forum discussions about the NSRA incident, carefully compiled before we entered our makeshift haven. Spindle, ever the restless one, paces like a lion in a too-small cage, his hands twisting together anxiously.

The atmosphere is thick with tension.

“This is a disaster,” I murmur, my eyes glued to the laptop screen. “Miasma’s reputation is being shredded, and it’s dragging the whole superhero community down with it.”

Jordan flicks through the threads on local imageboards, a hard edge to their usually playful demeanor. “It’s us they’re blaming, indirectly. They’ve even roped Belle into this mess. It’s not right, not fair.”

Halting his pacing, Spindle turns to us, his expression fraught. “But what can we do? We can’t just let them smear us without a fight.”

I lean back, feeling the aluminum crinkle behind me, thoughtful. “We need to unearth the truth. Find concrete evidence that Miasma was innocent.”

Jordan scoffs. “And how, exactly? March into the NSRA headquarters and demand security footage? ‘Hi, I know you think I’m unworthy of my mentor’s legacy, but could you help clear their best friend?’ Get real, Sam.”

Frustration flashes in my eyes. “We need a smarter approach. We start by mining public sources. Someone out there saw something that night.”

Spindle’s expression brightens slightly. “A lead, at least. We keep an eye on the media for any new information, too.”

Jordan snaps their laptop shut, a determined look on their face. “You’re both thinking too narrowly. We’re superhumans. There’s more we can do than just wait and watch.”

I feel Jordan’s unspoken frustration, a gnawing sense of powerlessness. It’s a familiar ache.

Standing up, I meet Jordan’s eyes. “We need a foolproof plan. A strategy that doesn’t risk us getting caught, especially after Miasma’s fall.”

Jordan leans in, their gaze intense. “I can infiltrate the NSRA office. My abilities are perfect for tight spaces. I’ll be in and out, unnoticed.”

Frowning, I shake my head. “Did you miss the part about not risking exposure? We can’t afford to storm the NSRA, not after Miasma.”

Jordan rolls their eyes. “So, we do nothing? I’m the least known among us. I could pull it off…”

“No,” I cut in sharply. “That’s exactly what they’d expect. They manipulated a seasoned hero like Miasma. You think they can’t do the same to you?”

Jordan’s face softens, but their eyes still hold a reckless glint. “But they wouldn’t expect an immediate follow-up, would they? We can’t just sit here—”

Spindle, his voice edged with concern, jumps in. “Jordan, listen to Sam. It’s too risky. We need another way, one that doesn’t involve breaking into high-security buildings.”

Jordan sighs, slumping against the wall. “Alright, so what’s the plan?”

Pacing, I think out loud. “We analyze all the news, social media, anything for clues. We’re looking for inconsistencies in the official narrative.”

“And maybe talk to folks near the NSRA office, as regular people,” Spindle suggests. “See if anyone noticed something odd that night.”

Jordan nods, slowly coming around. “Okay, I can get behind that. But we need to tread lightly. If the NSRA or the Kingdom is involved, they’re watching for snoopers.”

Halting my pacing, an idea begins to form. “Then we’ll be subtle. Not as heroes, but as concerned citizens seeking the truth.”

Jordan’s eyes narrow in thought. “And our identities stay hidden. No costumes, no powers. Just plain detective work.”

Spindle looks visibly relieved. “Sounds like a plan. No crazy risks.”

The room falls into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint crinkle of the aluminum foil lining the walls. I can see the sweat on Jordan’s forehead, the way Spindle shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of our dilemma. We’re a team of superheroes, yet here we are, confined in this stifling Faraday cage, grappling with a situation that seems to have no easy way out.

I run a hand through my hair, feeling the stickiness against my scalp. The more I think about it, the more I realize the complexity of our predicament. We’re not just dealing with a public relations nightmare; we’re up against an enemy that has already outmaneuvered one of the best among us. The room feels smaller, the air denser, as the gravity of our situation sinks in.

My mind races, trying to piece together a plan from the chaos of ideas. We can’t just charge in; that’s what they’d expect. But what if that’s exactly what we need to do? Not in the way they’d anticipate, though. A sense of clarity begins to form amidst the mental fog.

Jordan’s expression shifts from frustration to confusion. “But earlier, you were suggesting—”

“I know,” I interrupt, the gears in my mind whirring. “But it’s dawned on me. They’re expecting us. Expecting me. If they’re keeping watch on the NSRA office, they’ll be on the lookout for any of us.”

The room falls into a tense silence, each of us ensnared in our own labyrinth of thoughts. It’s a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, a dance of shadows and deceptions. They know that we know. And they know that we know they know. And we know… You know. It’s making me dizzy just trying to think about it. I linger on the phrase. They know we know I know you know. I taste it on my tongue. Where have I heard this sort of bullshit before?

Then, it clicks. A scene from “The Princess Bride” flashes in my mind — the wine scene. There, both opponents sit, each aware of the other’s cunning, trying to outthink the other in a life-or-death decision over poisoned wine. And in the end, it never mattered, because the one guy already had won before it even started.

“What if we can?” I say suddenly, my voice slicing through the tension. “What if we use this ‘I know that you know’ situation to our advantage?”

Jordan and Spindle look at me, a blend of intrigue and skepticism in their expressions. “The what?” Spindle asks, eyebrow raised.

“It’s like that scene in ‘The Princess Bride,’ the battle of wits,” I elaborate, the idea growing clearer and more solid in my mind as I talk. My mouth starts getting ahead of me, and it feels like the words just start emerging fully formed, like they’re being pulled out of me. “In the movie, Westley challenges Vizzini, this Italian – no, Sicilian – dude, to guess which cup of wine is poisoned. Vizzini goes through this elaborate thought process, trying to outsmart Westley. He spends like ten minutes going ‘well it has to be in this cup, no, it has to be in this cup, but you’d know I’d think that, so it has to be in this cup…’. But in the end, it turns out both cups were poisoned, and Westley had immunity to the poison. It was a bluff within a bluff. The knowledge didn’t matter.”

Spindle scrunches his brows, clearly not familiar with the reference. “I don’t follow. What’s ‘The Princess Bride’?”

Jordan rolls their eyes playfully. “It’s a classic, Spindle. We’ll watch it after we sort this mess out. But I’m listening,” they say, leaning in on the small plastic table contained within the Faraday room. “I assume we’re not the dead Sicilian in this situation?”

I nod, feeling the excitement of the plan building. Already, I can feel my heart in my chest. Adrenaline again? “No, yeah, exactly. In our case, we pretend to investigate, making it obvious to whoever’s watching. We lead them to believe they’ve outsmarted us. But really, we’re setting our own trap. We make them overconfident, just like Westley did with Vizzini. In reality, nothing they do matters because we can win either way.”

Jordan leans forward, the light of understanding in their eyes. “A deception wrapped in a deception. You are insane.”

“This is… This is too complicated for me,” Spindle sighs, rubbing his temples. “And it sounds… risky.”

“We’re not just throwing caution to the wind,” I assure them. “We’re using our enemy’s expectations against them. It’s a calculated move. We’ll control the narrative, dictating the pace and direction of this confrontation.”

“You are such a nerd,” Jordan teases. “So many ten dollar words.”

“I am not!” I protest, scrunching my face up. “No, just… Okay. We can’t investigate as superheroes because that’d be suicidally stupid, to just go into an active crime scene and also a federal office. And we can’t, well, we ‘can’t’ investigate as civilians because it’s clear whoever is tracking us knows our civilian identities. We could do nothing and let this blow over, but…”

Jordan shakes their head. “No, you’re not backing out now, sicko. You got me looking forward to some good ol’ fashioned subterfuge and now we’re gonna get locked and loaded.”

I feel the corners of my lips trying to pull up into something resembling a smile. I try to force it down. I look at Spindle, who looks like he’s about to vomit out of anxiety, and then I look at Jordan, who looks like they’re about to vomit out of excitement. “Either we get useful information about the NSRA’s ground operations, and what Miasma was doing, and maybe find something to exonerate him… or we draw out the real foe and get an opportunity to catch them red-handed.”

---

The cold Tacony streets glisten under the early morning light, fresh snowfall adding a deceptive sheen to the rundown buildings. The snow hasn’t piled up; instead, it’s turned to a gray, sludgy mess that covers the asphalt. I hate wearing boots, but today, they’re a necessary evil.

I step outside the music hall with Jordan and Spindle, my breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. We’re dressed in our civvies, trying to blend in, but there’s a tension in our steps, a shared understanding of the task ahead. Jordan’s carrying a thick stack of hundreds, prepared to pay off the taxi driver for the long ride to Hatboro. It’s a hefty bribe, but necessary for a trip of that distance

The buildings around us are silent, almost solemn, their worn facades standing testament to years of neglect. Snow clings to window ledges and rooftops, adding a temporary purity to the otherwise grimy scenery. The streets are nearly deserted, save for the occasional car sloshing through the sludge.

We stand there, waiting for the taxi, the cold seeping through my boots and making me shift from foot to foot. The silence is only broken by the distant sound of a siren, a reminder of the city’s relentless pulse. Jordan checks their phone, a frown forming as they note the taxi’s delayed arrival. “Gonna be late,” they chime.

Spindle fidgets with his backpack, packed with our investigatory gear – notebooks, recording devices, and other essentials. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but I can see the nervous energy in his movements. We’re all on edge, the weight of our mission pressing down on us. “First time doing real superhero stuff, huh, Connor?” I ask, trying to make him feel a little more comfortable.

Spindle looks at me. “Huh?”

“That’s your name, right?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He laughs. “Yeah. I guess it is,” he says, but I’m not sure which of my two questions he’s responding to until he follows up. “Nobody’s called me that in a while.”

“First time doing real superhero stuff, huh, Spinelli?” I ask, giving him a slightly more polite, grim-cheeked smile. My teeth caps never feel 100% comfortable – after so long with shark teeth it’s hard to deal with, like, normal incisors – but now they feel extra bad in my mouth. I’m not sure if it’s the cold or the humidity or something else, but my smile feels extra fake.

“Yeah,” he says, cracking an extremely unconfident smile back at me.

The city feels different today, almost unrecognizable. Overnight, it seems to have transformed in response to the manhunt for Miasma. The usual sounds of traffic and hustle are drowned out by the near-constant wail of police sirens screaming through the streets. Every corner seems to host an increased police presence, their vehicles’ red and blue lights casting an ominous glow on the slush-covered roads.

The tire tracks in the snow form chaotic patterns, a visual testament to the frantic activity that has overtaken the city. It’s as if a veil of fear and suspicion has been draped over the usual cityscape. In every direction, there are distant flickers of red and blue, a reminder of the relentless pursuit happening across the city. The traffic, usually just a part of city life, now feels like an obstacle – each car a potential barrier to the police, each honk a signal of growing impatience and tension.

I glance down the street, watching the slush-streaked cars pass by. The taxi’s taking its time, and with each passing minute, the tension between us grows. We’re standing too close and yet not close enough, an awkward shuffling dance as we try to keep warm. Jordan reaches out for Spindle’s hand, and then, a second after making contact, retracts their fingers back into their pockets. “Sorry, love. Too cold.”

The snow continues to fall, light flakes drifting down from a gray sky. The beginning of winter, the cold, the snow-drenched December, felt brittle and polite and lovely like a snowflake. But now in mid-January, it just feels like… like sludge. Like slush. There’s nothing pretty about it anymore. It’s just a reminder of how increasingly hostile everything is getting.

But that’s okay. I work best in adversity.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the taxi pulls up, its yellow frame looking the world like a hazmat suit against the grey and slushy street. The driver, a tired-looking middle-aged man with tan skin, doesn’t seem surprised to see three teenagers coming out from an old, abandoned music hall. Frankly, I wouldn’t be either. Teenagers, as I’m discovering, get up to ‘some shit’, quote unquote.

We all climb into the taxi, with Jordan taking the front seat to handle the payment. The inside of the taxi is nice and warm, providing a relief from the freezing cold outside. The driver starts the meter and drives away from the curb, the car’s tires making thick, dense squishing sounds as they go through the slush. I rub my hands together and blow into my palms, feeling tingles as feeling returns to my ungloved skin.

Inside the taxi, the atmosphere is tense and focused. Jordan passes a stack of hundreds to the driver and negotiates distances. The driver takes a single hundred dollar bill out of the stack and tersely explains that he won’t take more. Jordan smiles, and I watch them slip a second hundred dollar bill underneath their front seat, to be discovered later. I am going to take credit for that, because I know Jordan would not have done something like that a couple months ago.

Spindle and I sit in the back, keeping our gear close to us. The car’s movement is steady and almost soothing, but we can feel the weight of our mission hanging in the air, preventing any real conversation. I keep my forehead on the window and let the car’s rocking back and forth bump and buzz against my skull.

I remember when I was a baby, apparently I used to slam my head on the crib a lot. It makes me think about… a lot, really. Mostly my parents. I hope they’re doing okay, and that they’re safe, and that nobody’s bugged their house. My dad said that the city is fine with him doing most of his work remotely, given the circumstances. My mom has been working administrative stuff instead of helping people understand the Dewey Decimal System, and I bet that feels weird for her.

Note to self: check Pop-Pop Moe’s house for bugs.

Outside the windows, the city rushes by in a blur of snow-covered buildings and bare trees. I wonder if Spindle is thinking about his parents. If Jordan is thinking about their mom. Maybe?

Suddenly, I’m struck by the urge to hug my parents. Sure, I’ve been surviving this weird superhero life with Lily, and, like… you know, my house is being rebuilt. I see it, I pass by it, the construction is constant and almost finished. But even once the house is done, what’s stopping the Kingdom from throwing another Tyrannosaurus Rex at it? Will my parents ever be safe?

Will I?

No, that’s a stupid question.

Of course not. I’m a superhero now.

It’s about a half hour car ride from Tacony to Hatboro, and then, you know, another ten minutes past that to get to the NSRA office. The whole time, I’m just keeping my head against the window, occasionally thumping it when we hit a pothole, of which there are myriad (Pennsylvania roads, go figure). The city gives way to suburbs. The slush gives way to thicker, denser snow, snow that actually packed itself into a thin, white layer. Snow that looks pretty.

We pull up about two blocks away from the office, although blocks are a little shifty in a more suburban environment like this. Jordan thanks the taxi driver, tells him to keep the change, and stuffs the money in their backpack. The three of us exit the car together. Spindle looks around nervously, like this is his first time ever being outside the city. Actually, it might be. I’ve never asked.

I take a deep breath, and clench my fists up, shutting the taxi door behind me. Time to make some trouble.

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