The town square, usually a place for quiet gatherings and weekend farmers' markets, was now a cauldron of simmering fear and barely suppressed anger. The setting sun cast long, ominous shadows, painting the faces of the assembled townsfolk in hues of orange and purple. They were a mixed bag: a few defiant, many scared, some opportunistic, all unsettled by the day's extraordinary events and the silent, towering ultralink constructs that now stood as imposing sentinels at the town's center.
"Now listen here." a stout man with a thick, rolling cadence that spoke of the rural South pushed his way forward, his face flushed, a hunting rifle clutched in his hands. "We cain't just have some fella, superhero or not, takin' over the security of our town, now can we? That ain't right. That ain't the American way, I tell ya."
"He's right, you know!" another voice, sharper, with a clipped, no-nonsense New England twang, piped up from the back of the crowd. "We got a Second Amendment for a reason, people! We protect our own! Don't need no fancy-pants savior comin' in here tellin' us what's what, like we're children!" A smattering of affirmative shouts followed. "Today he's puttin' up these… these giant metal things without so much as a warnin'! Next, mark my words, he'll be comin' for our guns! And then what? We'll all be slaves in our own homes, that's what!"
A younger man, his voice cracking with a mixture of bravado and genuine fear, his speech peppered with the fast, clipped slang of the city, yelled out, "Yo, man's a straight-up dictator, that's what he is! Country's burnin', total chaos, and he's out here buildin' his own damn kingdom, no cap!" He punctuated his statement by recklessly firing his pistol into the air, the sharp crack making several people jump and scream. "Yeah! Get the dictator! Get him!"
Most of the crowd flinched at the gunshot, murmuring disapprovingly at the recklessness, but a volatile, angrier faction cheered him on, their faces contorted with a fear that was rapidly metastasizing into rage.
"And have you seen him?" a woman with a shrill, anxious voice cried out, her words tumbling over each other. "Playin' with the children all blessed day, those… those robots of his scannin' our whole town without a lick of permission! He's a predator, I tell ya! A child predator, no doubt about it!" Her voice rose to a near shriek. "He flew my little girl into the sky, gave her some tin crown—and we're supposed to call that heroic? That man ain't no hero! He's a creep! Get him out of this town! Send him to a maximum-security prison where he belongs!"
Several other women shouted in unison, agreeing vehemently, their voices a chorus of maternal fear and suspicion.
"Yeah, get him outta here!" another man growled, his tone thick with a guttural, simmering hate and anger. "The Rhino, that monster, he only came because of this so-called 'hero'! Our town, she never attracted no supervillains before! But the moment this fella shows his face, bam! Attacked! Our homes damaged! Next day, who knows? Maybe Doctor Octopus or that Electro fella will come knockin'! We should sue that so called superhero man for every dime he's got, for the damages, for the trauma!"
This pronouncement brought a rumble of agreement from a segment of the crowd, those whose properties had perhaps suffered in the earlier battle.
"And who in the blazes even is he?" a nervous-looking man in a slightly too-large suit demanded, his voice reedy. "We don't know his name! We don't even know his proper superhero name! We know nothin' 'bout him! For all we know, he could be a supervillain himself, just actin' all heroic to fool us!" He wrung his hands. "He needs to be put under control, proper-like! Only act when the Sheriff, or the Mayor, or us, the good people of this town, ask him to! If he don't, well, then he's goin' against our rights, our God-given rights, vested in us by the Constitution of the United States and the Superhuman Registration Act!"
This last sentiment resonated, bringing forth even more murmurs of agreement from the less informed, more easily swayed members of the crowd. The Sheriff, a weathered man with tired eyes, stood near the makeshift podium, his hand hovering near his holstered sidearm, his expression grim. The Mayor, a portly man named Anderson whose usual jovial demeanor was replaced by a sheen of nervous sweat, kept dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. A few prominent local businessmen stood near them, their faces unreadable, clearly weighing their options.
The man who had been rescued by Ranger, Leo's father, stood with his family, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. He'd quietly hushed Maya when she'd tried to speak up in Ranger's defense. Now was not the time. Maya, frustrated, followed her father's silent command, her eyes restlessly scanning the periphery of the crowd, searching for any sign of their enigmatic protector. Mia, beside her, nudged her arm. "Five more minutes 'til seven, Maya." she whispered, her usual flippancy tinged with genuine concern. "Hope he shows up fast and shuts these ignorant assholes down. This is getting ugly." Maya just nodded, her own anxiety a tight knot in her stomach.
The man kept his silence, but the crowd, emboldened by their numbers and their shared fear, did not. Fingers began to point directly at him. "It's his fault!" someone shouted. "He brought that man, that… that villian to our town! He brought the devil to our peaceful community!"
"Yeah! Before this, we were doin' just fine! But the day he and his fancy hero arrive, the whole town goes to hell! You're as guilty as he is, mister! Kick him and his whole damn family out of town!" another voice added, venomous and cruel.
The man's hands clenched into fists at his sides, so tight that Maya and Mia, standing close, could hear the faint creak of his bones. They looked at him, their expressions filled with worry. Maya reached out and gently touched her father's arm. He flinched, then visibly loosened his grip, his eyes finding hers for a brief, reassuring moment before returning to stare stoically at the town clock. He gave her hand a small, almost imperceptible pat. It's okay.
"Because of the stranger you welcomed." a woman near the front screamed, her voice cracking, "this whole town is spiraling out of control! Even this war, this whole damn mess the President was talkin' about, it might have his involvement somehow! He's a bad omen! My tarot cards are never wrong." The accusation, though irrational, fanned the flames of paranoia.
The Sheriff, seeing the mood of the crowd teetering on the edge of violence, seeing several more guns now openly displayed and aimed loosely in the father's direction, finally stepped forward, his hand now firmly on his weapon.
"Alright, that's ENOUGH!" he boomed, his voice cutting through the angry clamor. "Stop it! All of you! Do you really want to turn on an innocent man, one of your own, just because you're scared and lookin' for someone to blame? Stop this foolery at once! I swear, the next person who threatens him or his family, or discharges a weapon in this square, will be spendin' the night in a cell, and I'll personally see to it you face charges for incitin' a riot when the country is half a step away from hell! Now calm yourselves!"
The crowd, though still muttering and hostile, reluctantly quieted somewhat under the Sheriff's stern command, though the air remained thick with suspicion and the glint of openly held firearms.
The Mayor, seizing the momentary lull, stepped forward, mopping his brow again, his voice attempting a placating, mayoral tone that rang hollow. "Now, now, people, please, let's all just take a deep breath and remain calm. Violence solves nothing. We've all come here tonight to have a discussion, a civilized discussion, and a discussion we shall have. But." he spread his hands in a gesture of helpless appeal, "we can't very well have that discussion, can we, if the… esteemed individual in question… isn't present? And as I understand it, we have just under a minute left until the agreed-upon time of seven o'clock."
He gave the crowd a weak, ingratiating smile. "So, please, folks, I implore you, let's maintain peace and order. Let's just wait patiently until our… guest… arrives. Otherwise." his voice firmed slightly, a hint of his official authority finally surfacing, "I will be forced, most regrettably, to instruct the Sheriff to take necessary measures to ensure public safety, and that might involve some of you spending a very uncomfortable night in the county jail for rioting and disturbing the peace."
The people grumbled but largely kept their quiet, their eyes now flicking between the Mayor and the large clock on the town hall. Thirty-five seconds until seven PM. The tension was a palpable thing. Thirty seconds. A few nervous coughs. The shuffle of impatient feet.
And then, through the murmuring anticipation of the crowd, came a sound, distinct and rhythmic, that cut through the tension like a perfectly timed cue: a slow, deliberate applause.
Heads turned. The crowd parted slightly, their angry, fearful expressions shifting to ones of stunned surprise.
Ranger walked through them. With each measured step, a layer of his sophisticated light-bending camouflage seemed to ripple and dissolve, revealing the sleek, formidable lines of his default armored suit. He moved with an unhurried, almost regal grace, utterly unfazed by the hundreds of eyes, many hostile, now fixed upon him.
As he reached the center of the square, directly in front of the visibly relieved (and slightly terrified) Mayor, the last vestiges of his armor shimmered and dematerialized, flowing back into unseen compartments, leaving him standing there in his simple, dark civilian clothes, a stark contrast to the power he had just shed.
He offered the Mayor a small, almost unreadable smile. "A mighty fine speech you've delivered to your constituents, Mayor." Ranger said, his voice calm, carrying easily in the sudden hush. "Just enough rhetoric to acknowledge their fears, just enough implied authority to maintain a fragile order, and, if I'm not mistaken, just enough subtle deflection to ensure all their focus, all their anxieties, are now conveniently directed squarely at… me."
Ranger then turned, slowly, deliberately, to face the crowd, his gaze sweeping over them, calm, analytical, and utterly unyielding. The town hall clock behind him began to chime the hour. Seven PM.
"Well then." he said, his voice a quiet challenge that nonetheless silenced every last murmur.
A wave of heat swept through the crowd—turbo energy, silent and precise. Guns grew too hot to hold. One by one, they clattered to the ground. An Ultralink streaked from the shadows, seized the man who'd fired the handgun, and dragged him thrashing to Ranger's feet.
Ranger met the man's terrified eyes.
"Now, Let's begin the discussion."
"And before this night is over, you'll all know what I am—and what I am not."