Clark arrived at the docks, expecting to find a hostage situation—another routine rescue. Instead, he found something else.

A masked figure stood surrounded by the bodies of the criminals who had taken the civilian hostage. They were dressed in black tactical gear, their movements sharp and efficient, taking down each attacker without hesitation. It wasn’t the restrained justice Clark was used to. It was raw and violent, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

The civilian had already escaped, rushing toward safety, but the vigilante remained, their posture tense and ready for more. Clark landed softly on the wet pavement, his cape swirling behind him. The figure didn’t flinch, only turned slightly, eyes narrowing beneath the mask.

"I’m not here to stop you," Clark said, his voice calm, but firm. "But this... brutality isn’t the way."

The vigilante’s voice was low, gravelly. "People like them don’t learn from mercy."

Clark’s eyes flicked over the fallen criminals, some still twitching, others silent. "Mercy isn’t weakness," he said quietly. "It’s what makes us different."