Night swallowed the city.
Sam lay flat on a rooftop, the concrete cold against his ribs as red and blue lights washed the streets below in restless waves. Sirens drifted endlessly through the air. He kept the receiver pressed close to his ear, listening, waiting, always ready to move.
Above him, the stars burned faintly.
Whenever he looked at the sky, he thought of her.
Sam turned onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory away. Right now, survival came first.
By morning, he moved.
From his vantage point, he could see the construction site he once worked at—sitting right at the edge of the city, bordering the forest.
So close.
He descended a fire escape and melted into the crowd. Bandages hid half his face. A sweatshirt covered his plaid shirt. He hated that he'd taken it from a donation bin.
But he needed to live.
For nearly an hour, Sam walked carefully—head down, pace steady, never lingering long enough to draw attention. Then he heard voices.
Kids.
Three middle school boys had another pinned against a garbage bin in a narrow alley, fists and feet coming down without restraint.
"Quirkless trash," one laughed. "You should just die."
"Why are you even allowed in our school?"
"Jump off a building. Do a flip!"
They howled with laughter.
Sam's fist clenched so hard blood seeped between his fingers.
The boy on the ground wasn't crying.
His eyes were empty.
Sam stepped forward.
A kick came down—
Sam took it.
"What the—"
Smack.
The boy dropped instantly, screaming as he clutched his face. Before the other two could react, Sam slapped them both—hard enough to knock them off their feet.
They wailed immediately.
"Ow! Mommy!!
My tooth—!"
Only then did people gather.
Only then did they care.
Figures.
"You three," Sam said quietly, voice trembling with barely contained rage, "are going to apologize. And you're going to pray this kid lives his life."
The boys nodded frantically.
"Yes sir!!"
"Then get the hell out of my sight."
They ran.
Sam knelt briefly beside the boy. "Being quirkless isn't weak," he said softly. "Overcoming it is what's strong."
He stood and walked away—
A feather slammed into the pavement with a metallic clack.
"Sorry, pal," a relaxed voice said behind him. "Gotta ask you some questions."
Sam's blood went cold.
Hawks.
The hero hovered a few feet off the ground, wings half-spread, sunlight catching the red feathers like embers.
"How can I help you, hero?" Sam asked, forcing calm.
"I heard you slapped some kids."
"I slapped bullies telling a quirkless kid to kill himself. You're welcome."
A feather snapped shut in front of him.
"Yeah. Still can't let that slide."
Sam moved first. Not even giving him a chance to react.
His punch came fast—but Hawks turned, the blow slamming into his forearm with bone-rattling force.
"Damn," Hawks muttered. "Reports weren't lying."
Hawks surged forward, ripping Sam's hood back.
White hair.
Scar.
"Sam Suzuki. Surrender."
"Tch!"
Sam ran. He wasn't about to let this fucker catch him.
Feathers screamed through the air, slicing concrete and embedding inches from his feet. Sam twisted, vaulted a fence, knife flashing as he cut feathers mid-flight.
Hawks' smile vanished.
"Enough."
Sam skidded into an alley and pulled a pistol.
Bang.
Hawks twisted midair, the bullet grazing his jacket.
Bang.
Another shot forced him higher.
Hawks dove, a feather blade forming mid-fall.
The impact was brutal.
Metal rang.
The blade punched into Sam's shoulder, tearing flesh.
Sam screamed—but grabbed Hawks' wrist and snapped two fingers backward.
"Gah!"
Hawks tore free, blood spraying as he shot upward.
Sam staggered, vision swimming.
Hawks hovered above him now, eyes cold.
"You're not making this easy."
Sam fired again—again—until the slide locked.
Click.
He threw the gun aside.
Hawks dove.
Too fast.
Sam drew a second pistol.
Bang.
The bullet tore into Hawks' shoulder.
Bang.
Another hit his leg.
Hawks crashed hard.
Sam ran.
"Shit… I gotta end this."
He exited the alley and was running on the sidewalk. He knew hear the passerby's looking at him with shock and he started hearing cheers for hawks, letting him know the bird was on his ass.
He thought about how to proceed. He saw another alleyway coming up. He then had an idea.
Sam tore off his sweatshirt and hurled it upward.
Hawks, who was catching up to Sam, smashed through it and it stuck to his face.
He yanked it off quickly but by the time he looked back to where Sam was, he saw nothing.
"Impossible—"
Pain exploded in Hawks' back.
Sam drove the feather lodged in his shoulder into Hawks, dragging them both down.
After blinding Hawks, Sam climbed up to a rooftop with astounding speed, and got above the bird. The moment he face the spot he disappeared from, he jumped from the rooftop onto his back and drove his knife into the shoulder of Hawks.
But then came something Sam accounted for, yet found inevitable. He fell on a flying target, now that he hurt him, all they could do was fall.
Concrete rushed up.
Hawks hit first.
Sam slid, skin tearing.
Silence.
Sam was in pain, feeling some road rash, but luckily, Hawks cushioned the fall. He shakily got up and walked over to the downed Hawks.
Sam checked Hawks' pulse.
Alive.
He sighed in relief.
"You avoided lethal spots," Sam rasped. "So did I."
"You might get a scar. Welcome to the club."
Sirens wailed.
Sam limped away as the crowd screamed.
"He-he just beat Hawks!"
"Somebody call an Amberlamp!"
"He need some milk!"
Sam was hurting, but was already on the move.
"Just a bit further."