I’m dragging myself down the courthouse steps, each movement sending jolts of pain through my battered body. The chaos around me is a blur of sirens, shouts, and the distant rumble of debris being cleared. I can see paramedics rushing to help the injured, their bright uniforms standing out against the gray smoke and dust. Riot cops are trying to establish some kind of order, herding people away from the scene like sheep. It’s a mess, but at least the Phreaks are down for the count.
I catch a glimpse of Multiplex and his copies in the distance, helping with search and rescue. Always the hero, that one. Me? I’m just trying to stay conscious long enough to get some medical attention. I wonder if Multiplex ever gets tired of being in multiple places at once. Like, does he ever just want to kick back and watch a DVD without having to worry about things? Does one copy get all the relaxation for the rest of them? Or is he like me, just always on, always thinking about the next thing?
As I limp towards the nearest ambulance, a paramedic spots me and rushes over. She’s got kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, which I appreciate. “Hey there, Bloodhound. Looks like you’ve been through the wringer,” she says, already assessing my injuries.
I try to shrug, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “Yeah, well, you should see the other guy,” I quip, but my heart’s not really in it. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the pain is starting to hit me full force. I wonder if I should start carrying painkillers in my utility belt. Maybe I could get a sponsor deal with Advil or something.
The paramedic helps me sit down on the back of the ambulance, and I finally get a good look at the damage. My armor is shredded in places, revealing bloody gashes and deep punctures. But it’s the hole in my thigh that’s really freaking me out.
I watch as my skin reaches for itself, my muscles twitching around the hole like it’s trying to knit itself together. I don’t usually get stabbed in places where I can see it, and knife wounds are usually sort of ‘thin’ anyways – this is just… Well, I can see down into it, into the layers, although they rapidly fill back up with blood.
The paramedic must sense my unease because she gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up in no time,” she says, already pulling out supplies from her med kit. “Let’s start with that leg wound and then we can clean up the rest of your smaller injuries.”
“You have experience with regenerators?” I ask nervously. It wouldn’t be the first time my body uncomfortably squeezed cotton out of a wound and I doubt it’ll be the last time, either.
“A bit,” she says, trying to give me a friendly smile.
I grit my teeth as she starts cleaning the wound, the sting of antiseptic making me hiss through my teeth. It’s not the pain that bothers me so much as the weird sensation of having someone else poking around in my body. I’m used to my own accelerated healing taking care of things, but this injury is beyond my short-term capabilities. Like, I’m probably going to be limping on this leg for at least a couple of weeks.
And with the adrenaline leaking out through the floor, the pain comes back.
The paramedic is thorough, cleaning out the debris and applying some kind of antibacterial gel that feels like it’s burning a hole through my leg. She then starts packing the wound with gauze, and I have to look away. It’s not that I’m squeamish, but there’s something unsettling about watching someone else’s hands disappear into your own flesh. I wonder if this is how those people in the magic shows feel when they get sawed in half. I clench my teeth up and grit my jaw, trying not to yell.
As the paramedic works, I try to distract myself by using my blood sense to scan the area for other injuries. With the area mostly clear, and my brain no longer in survival mode, the burning mass of red that existed in my mind’s eye has calmed down to dense splotches, localized in particular areas. It doesn’t go too far – around a city block around me in each direction. Most people are just walking around with minor scrapes and bruises, but there are a few that stand out like beacons in the night.
I spot a woman with a nasty head wound, blood pooling beneath her skull. “Hey, there’s a lady over there with a serious head injury,” I tell the paramedic, pointing in the woman’s direction. “She needs help, like, now. I’ll live.”
The paramedic nods, finishing up with my leg and signaling to one of her colleagues. They rush over to the woman, and I feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing that I could help, even in my current state. It’s what we do, us heroes. We look out for each other, and for the people we’ve sworn to protect. Plus, it’s a good way to rack up karma points, right?
As I sit there, letting the paramedics do their thing, my mind starts to wander. I think about Gale, and how she just disappeared after that last team meeting. I hope she’s okay, wherever she is. I think about my mom and dad, and how worried they must be right now. I should probably give them a call, let them know I’m alive. But mostly, I think about how much I want a cheesesteak. My brain glances off the fight like it’s a bouncy ball, like it’s already compartmentalizing it and shoving it somewhere irrelevant. Bottled up for some later meltdown.
The paramedic finishes bandaging my leg, and I tentatively try to put some weight on it. It hurts like hell, but I can stand, which is a minor miracle in itself. “Take it easy, Bloodhound,” the paramedic warns. “You may be a regenerator, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. I may be a hero, but I’m still human. Still vulnerable. It’s a sobering thought, but one that I can’t afford to dwell on right now. I’ve got work to do, people to help. And possibly a burger to eat.
I limp away from the ambulance, scanning the area for any sign of my teammates. I spot Playback and Spindle in the distance, looking just as battered as I feel. We exchange weary nods, a silent acknowledgement of the hell we’ve just been through.
There’s still so much work to be done, so many people to help. But for now, I allow myself a moment to breathe. To feel the pain, and the exhaustion, and the overwhelming sense of relief that comes with knowing that we’ve won. That we’ve made a difference, even if it’s just for today.
I take a deep breath, wincing as my ribs protest the movement. Yeah, definitely gonna need some painkillers after this. And maybe a long, hot bath. But first, I’ve got a city to help put back together. One limping step at a time.
An hour later, I’m still limping around the block, helping paramedics locate injured civilians buried beneath the rubble. My blood sense has been a godsend in the search and rescue efforts, allowing me to pinpoint the location of survivors who might have otherwise been overlooked. It’s exhausting work, both physically and emotionally, but it’s the least I can do after the chaos and destruction that just unfolded.
As I make my way back to the courthouse steps, I spot Playback and Spindle sitting on the edge of an ambulance, looking just as battered and bruised as I feel. They wave me over, and I hobble my way towards them, wincing with each step.
“Yo, Bee!” Playback calls out, his trademark grin plastered on his face. “You still in one piece?”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “More or less. What about you two? Heard you had a run-in with Pumice.”
Spindle nods, his lanky frame unfolding as he stands up. “Yeah, Joe’s no joke. Thought I was gonna end up as a human pretzel. We had a little help, though.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, arms folded over my chest.
Playback gives me a look that feels uncomfortably like a you don’t want to know, but Spindle continues on, blithely. “Some new hero in biker gear.” Jordan? No, wait, they’re dating. “Flew in, flung shit at Pumice like a cannon, and left.”
“Shame we couldn’t get her name,” Playback cuts in, a little too fast.
But I’m not stupid. “Good thing you had some help, huh?” I say, my voice taking on a slightly bitter edge.
“Yeah, that telekinetic really came through,” Playback says carefully, like he’s trying not to set me off. “Shame they dipped out before we could thank them properly.”
I shrug, trying to play it off like it doesn’t bother me. But the truth is, it stings. Knowing that Jamila was out there, fighting alongside my friends, but couldn’t even face me. I get it, things ended weird between us. But still, a part of me wishes she’d stuck around. Even if it was just to make sure I was okay. She couldn’t even give me that?
“Sam!” a voice calls out, and I turn to see Gossamer jogging towards us, her bright green costume standing out among the sea of emergency responders. “Thank goodness you’re alright. I was worried sick.”
I manage a small smile, touched by her concern. “I’m okay, Goss. Just a little banged up.”
She nods, her eyes scanning over my injuries with a practiced eye. “We should get you checked out by a professional. That leg wound looks pretty nasty.”
I wave her off, not wanting to make a fuss. “Already saw a paramedic. Now it’s just a matter of letting my body handle it. What’s the situation?”
Gossamer frowns, but doesn’t push the issue. She knows how stubborn I can be when it comes to my own well-being. “Just been helping the paramedics out. Not a lot of time to waste. Today was, uh… Bad.”
Playback looks at her with a pitying look, like the kind you’d give a dog trying to get a treat out of one of those puzzle boxes. “Bad. Yeah,” he repeats.
As more members of the Young Defenders and Delaware Valley Defenders arrive on the scene, I find myself drifting into a silent moment of introspection. I watch as Rampart and Crossroads coordinate the search and rescue efforts, their voices calm and authoritative amidst the chaos. I see Blink darting in and out of the rubble, using her powers to move debris and free trapped civilians. And I can’t help but feel a surge of pride, knowing that these are my people. My team.
But even as I watch them work, I can’t shake the feeling of unease that’s been growing in the pit of my stomach. The brutality of the fight with Deathgirl, the lives lost and forever changed by this senseless violence. It all feels like too much to bear.
“You holding up okay?” a voice asks, and I turn to see Crossroads standing beside me, his dark eyes filled with concern.
I shrug, not trusting myself to speak. Crossroads has always been able to see right through me, even without using his powers.
“It’s okay to not be okay, you know,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “What we went through today… it’s not something anyone should have to deal with.”
I nod, my throat tight with emotion. “I just keep thinking about all the people we couldn’t save. And the people who they fed the Jump to. Whatever they did to it… it’s…”
I swallow hard, feeling my entire body clench up. I don’t have any words besides mimicking Gossamer. “It’s bad.”
Crossroads sighs, running a hand through his braids. “I know. But we can’t dwell on that. We did everything we could, Bee. And we’re going to keep doing everything we can to make sure something like this never happens again. They’ve got Deathgirl, Pumice, and Chrysalis all wrapped up. Chimera is MIA. You did the right thing.”
I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear. I think about Liberty Belle, about the sacrifice she made for this city. I think about all the heroes who have given their lives in the line of duty, about all the ones who will continue to do so as long as there are people in need of saving.
“Yo, Bee!” Playback calls out, breaking me out of my reverie. “We’re gonna do one last sweep of the area, make sure we didn’t miss anyone. You in?”
I take a deep breath, pushing down the pain and the doubts and the fears. Because that’s what being a hero is all about. It’s about pushing through, even when it feels like the whole world is against you.
“Yeah, I’m in,” I say, my voice steady and strong. “Let’s do this.”
As I make my way through the debris-strewn streets, the sound of sirens and shouting gradually gives way to a new kind of chaos: the insistent chatter of news reporters and the clicking of cameras. They swarm the area like flies, thrusting microphones into the faces of shell-shocked witnesses and jostling for the best angles to capture the destruction.
I try to keep my head down, not wanting to draw attention to myself in my battered state, but it’s impossible to avoid the snippets of conversation and news reports that drift through the air.
“We’re coming to you live from the steps of the Philadelphia courthouse, where a shocking scene of destruction has unfolded. Just hours ago, the supervillain group known as the Philly Phreaks unleashed a devastating attack on the crowd gathered for the trial of alleged kingpin Chernobyl. But the real story here is the swift and heroic response from Philadelphia’s own superhero community. Members of the Delaware Valley Defenders and the Young Defenders were on the scene within minutes, working tirelessly to subdue the Phreaks and rescue civilians trapped in the rubble.”
I can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the mention of my team, even as my stomach twists at the thought of the lives we couldn’t save. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that even our best efforts couldn’t stop the Phreaks from causing so much harm.
As I round the corner, I catch sight of a familiar face: Kate Green, one of the most popular reporters in the city. She’s standing in front of a camera, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed despite the chaos around her, surrounded by police. “The question on everyone’s minds now is, how did this happen? How did the Phreaks manage to infiltrate one of the most heavily guarded events in recent memory, and what does this mean for the future of our city? I’m here with Commissioner Jack Faraday of the Philadelphia Police Department. Commissioner, what can you tell us about the security measures in place prior to the attack?”
I don’t listen to his response. I don’t really care.
If the authorities had any real control over the situation, the Phreaks wouldn’t have been able to get within a hundred miles of the courthouse.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I almost don’t notice the small group of reporters heading my way. They’re young and eager-looking, probably interns or junior staff, and they’re whispering excitedly among themselves.
“Hey, isn’t that Bloodhound?” one of them says, pointing in my direction.
I curse under my breath and try to limp behind a nearby ambulance, but it’s too late. They’re already rushing towards me, cameras and microphones at the ready.
“Bloodhound! Can we get a statement?” a young woman with a pixie cut asks breathlessly, shoving a microphone in my face. “What was it like fighting the Phreaks? How did you take down Deathgirl?”
I hold up my hands, trying to ward them off. “Look, I appreciate the interest, but I’m really not in the best shape right now. I just want to focus on helping with the cleanup and making sure everyone gets the care they need.”
But they’re not deterred. They press in closer, their questions coming faster and more insistently.
“Some critics are already questioning whether the Young Defenders are equipped to handle threats of this magnitude,” a middle-aged man with a goatee chimes in. “Do you think this attack will lead to a reevaluation of the team’s role in the city’s defense?”
I can feel my temper rising, but I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice level. “The Young Defenders have proven time and again that we’re capable of facing any threat that comes our way. Today was no different. We did everything in our power to protect the people of this city, and we’ll continue to do so as long as we’re needed.”
Another reporter, a woman with sharp eyes and a severe bob, jumps in. “What about the rumors that there was a breakout at Fairmount Penitentiary during the chaos? Can you confirm or deny that any supervillains escaped custody during the attack?”
I hesitate, not wanting to give credence to rumors, but also not wanting to lie. “I don’t have any information on that at this time. My focus has been on the immediate aftermath of the attack and helping with the rescue efforts. If there are any updates on the situation at Fairmount, I’m sure the proper authorities will inform the public.”
The reporters seem unsatisfied with my answer, but before they can press further, Crossroads appears at my side, his expression stern. “Alright, that’s enough. Let the kid breathe.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives the reporters a hard look. “Bloodhound and the rest of the Young Defenders have been through hell today. They’ve risked their lives to save countless others, and they deserve our respect and gratitude. If you want a statement, you can talk to me or one of the other senior Defenders. But right now, the focus needs to be on the victims and the cleanup efforts. Understood?”
The reporters mutter among themselves but eventually disperse, some of them casting resentful looks over their shoulders as they go.
I let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling like I might cry. “Thanks, Cross. I don’t know how much longer I could’ve held it together.”
He squeezes my shoulder, his expression softening. “Don’t mention it. You’ve been through enough today. Let’s get you out of here and somewhere quiet. The senior Defenders can handle the media for now.”
As Crossroads leads me away from the chaos, I can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that somehow, everything is going to get worse.
Anchor: Good evening, Philadelphia. We start tonight with breaking news on the devastating attack at the Philadelphia courthouse earlier today. For the latest on this developing story, we go live to our reporter on the scene, Kate Green. Kate?
Kate: Thanks, John. I’m standing here in front of the Philadelphia courthouse, where just hours ago, a shocking scene of chaos and destruction unfolded. The supervillain group known as the Philly Phreaks, led by the notorious Deathgirl, unleashed a devastating attack on the crowd gathered for the trial of alleged kingpin Chernobyl.
Cut to footage of the aftermath of the attack, with wrecked cars and numerous craters in the asphalt of the street. Slow pan towards the courthouse.
Kate: Eyewitnesses report that the Phreaks distributed a substance that caused violent mutations in those exposed, leading to widespread panic and destruction. The attack left dozens injured and several dead, with damage to the surrounding buildings estimated in the millions.
Cut back to Kate
Kate: But amidst the chaos, Philadelphia’s superhero community sprang into action. Members of the Delaware Valley Defenders and the Young Defenders were on the scene within minutes, working tirelessly to subdue the Phreaks and rescue civilians trapped in the rubble.
Cut to footage of the heroes in action, including brief drone shots of Bloodhound and Rampart fighting Deathgirl and Chrysalis respectively.
Kate: While the immediate threat has been contained, questions remain about how the Phreaks were able to infiltrate such a heavily guarded event and what the long-term implications of this attack may be. Commissioner Jack Faraday of the Philadelphia Police Department had this to say:
Cut to pre-recorded interview with Commissioner Faraday
Commissioner Faraday: We’re working closely with the Delaware Valley Defenders and the FDA to analyze the substance distributed by the Phreaks and develop a response plan. The public can rest assured that we will not rest until this threat is eliminated.
Cut back to Kate
Kate: As the city begins to pick up the pieces, one thing is clear: the bravery and dedication of our superhero community remains a shining light in the face of even the darkest adversity. Reporting live from the Philadelphia courthouse, I’m Kate Green. Back to you, John.
Anchor: Thank you, Kate. We’ll continue to follow this story as it develops. Coming up next, the latest on the search for the missing supervillain known as Chimera, and what his disappearance could mean for the city’s already strained defense forces. Stay with us.
The hours blur together as I make my way up and down the streets surrounding the courthouse, my blood sense guiding me to pockets of injured and trapped civilians. It’s a grueling, heartbreaking process, but I push through the pain and fatigue, knowing that every second counts.
At one point, I find myself digging through a mound of rubble, my fingers raw and bleeding as I claw at the debris. I can sense a faint heartbeat beneath the stones, a flicker of life that I refuse to let slip away.
“Hold on,” I mutter, more to myself than to the person trapped below. “I’m coming for you.”
With a final, desperate heave, I manage to shift a large slab of concrete, revealing the battered but breathing form of a young woman. She blinks up at me, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.
“You’re okay,” I tell her, my voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you.”
I help her to her feet, supporting her weight as we make our way to the nearest ambulance. She clings to me, her tears soaking through my tattered costume.
“Thank you,” she whispers, over and over again. “Thank you so much.”
I don’t have the words to respond, so I just hold her tighter, letting her know that she’s safe now.
As the day wears on, I find myself falling into a rhythm with the other heroes and first responders. We work in silent coordination, communicating through nods and gestures as we move from one crisis to the next.
At one point, I spot Rampart lifting a massive beam off a trapped family, his muscles straining with the effort. Nearby, Puppeteer is darting in and out of a collapsing building, using her strings to hoist people out when the lower floors are too dangerous to escape through.
Even Playback, usually so quick with a joke or a quip, is uncharacteristically serious as he works with Spindle to dig and search for survivors.
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the devastated streets, I find myself leaning heavily against the side of a building, my lungs burning with each breath.
“Easy there, Bloodhound,” a voice says softly, and I look up to see an older man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. “You’ve been going non-stop for hours. You need to rest.”
For a second, I’m fully prepared to challenge how he knows my name. But then I remember that, you know… people know me. People know who I am. I’ve been a superhero for basically a year now.
Weird.
I shake my head, pushing myself upright. “I can’t. There are still people out there who need help.”
The man reaches out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “And you’ve helped so many already. But you can’t help anyone if you run yourself into the ground.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips as a small group of civilians approaches, their faces streaked with tears and grime.
“We just wanted to say thank you,” a woman in the group says, her voice trembling. “To all of you. What you did today… it means everything to us.”
I feel a lump rising in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to compose myself.
“We were just doing our job,” I manage, but even as I say it, I know it’s more than that.
“No,” another man in the group says firmly. “You went above and beyond. You put your lives on the line for us, for this city. And we won’t forget that.”
The others nod in agreement, and I feel a swell of emotion rising in my chest.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “Truly. Your support means more than you know.”
As the group disperses, back to their loved ones, or to nearby paramedics, I take a moment to catch my breath, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes.
It’s been a long, brutal day, and I know there are still challenges ahead. The Phreaks may be in custody, but their legacy of terror and destruction will linger long after the dust settles. I just let myself feel the rest for… I don’t know. Just a second. Just a second is enough.
As the last of the survivors are whisked away to safety and the worst of the debris is cleared, I find myself being ushered into a makeshift command center set up in the lobby of a nearby office building. The space is buzzing with activity, with heroes and first responders coming and going in a constant stream.
In the center of the chaos, I spot Multiplex, Fury Forge, and Bulwark huddled around a table, their expressions grim as they pour over a stack of papers and maps. Crossroads is there too, his face etched with exhaustion and concern.
“Bloodhound,” Multiplex greets me as I approach, his voice strained with exhaustion. “Glad you could join us. We’re just about to start the debriefing.”
I nod, too tired to speak, and find a spot to lean against the wall as the other heroes gather around. I see Playback and Spindle, their usual banter replaced by a somber silence. Blink, Playback, and Gossamer all trickle in one after another. Rampart is… well, I see him lifting heavy objects outside, and I think he’ll probably stay doing that.
“Alright, listen up,” Bulwark says, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Today was a hell of a day, and I know we’re all running on fumes. But we need to talk about what comes next.”
He gestures to the papers on the table, which I now see are filled with names and addresses.
“These are the families and communities most affected by today’s attack,” he explains. “They’re going to need our support in the coming days and weeks. Not just with the physical recovery, but with the emotional toll as well.”
Multiplex nods in agreement. “We need to make a public statement, to let the people know that we’re here for them. That we’ll do whatever it takes to help them rebuild and heal.”
Crossroads speaks up, his voice heavy with concern. “What about the Phreaks? Deathgirl, Pumice, Chrysalis… what’s happening with them?”
I feel my brow furrow without my conscious interaction. Whenever Crossroads says something, I think it’s because he knows the answer and wants other people to hear it. So… that makes me a little worried.
Multiplex sighs, running a hand over his face. “They’ve been chemically sedated and are being transported to Daedalus in upstate New York for temporary holding. We need to figure out what to do with them, how to keep them contained and prevent something like this from happening again.”
I feel a twist of discomfort in my gut at the mention of chemical sedation and containment. It seems… extreme, even for villains as dangerous as the Phreaks. But I can’t quite put my finger on why it bothers me so much.
“Is that really necessary?” I find myself asking, my voice sounding small and uncertain even to my own ears. “I mean, I know they need to be held accountable, but… chemical sedation? It feels… wrong, somehow.”
Multiplex gives me a sympathetic look, but his voice is firm when he responds. “I know it’s not an easy decision, Bloodhound. But we have to prioritize the safety of the city. The Phreaks have proven time and again that they’re a threat, and we can’t risk them escaping or causing more harm.”
I nod, biting my lip as I try to quell the unease churning in my stomach. I know Multiplex is right, that we have to do whatever it takes to protect the people. But something about the whole situation feels off, like we’re crossing a line that we can’t come back from.
Fury Forge clears her throat, drawing our attention back to the task at hand. “There will be time to discuss the long-term implications later. For now, we need to focus on the immediate aftermath. The families, the communities, the public perception… it’s going to take a coordinated effort to address all of it.”
“What can we do?” Blink asks, her voice trembling slightly. “How can we even begin to pick up the pieces after something like this?”
Puppeteer puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We start small,” her says softly. “One family at a time, one block at a time. We show up, we listen, we help in whatever way we can. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s what we signed up for when we put on these costumes.”
Bulwark gives me a tired smile. “For now, get some rest, children. We will need all hands on deck in the coming days, but we are no good to anyone if we are running on empty.”
There are murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of determination settling over the group. I feel it too, a flicker of hope amidst the exhaustion and grief. I nod, feeling the exhaustion seeping into my bones. It’s been a long, brutal day, and the thought of sleep is suddenly more tempting than anything in the world. I’m about to add to the pile of feel-good affirmations before my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.
I pull it out, my heart leaping into my throat as I see my dad’s name on the screen.
“Dad,” I answer, my voice cracking with emotion. “I’m okay. I promise.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I think the connection has been lost. But then I hear my dad’s voice, thick with tears.
“Sam. Oh god, Sam. I was so worried.”
I feel my own eyes welling up, and I blink furiously, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Another pause, and then my dad says something that I never thought I’d hear from him.
“I’m proud of you, Sam. I know your mom and I haven’t always been supportive of this whole superhero thing. We were just so scared of losing you. But seeing what you did today… I think… Just promise me you’re not going to get in over your head.”
I’m crying now, the tears streaming down my face as I clutch the phone to my ear. It’s the closest I think I’ll get to a ‘we approve of your antics’.
“Thank you, Dad. I’ll be home soon.”
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