The voice of the caller came in loud and clear through the comms device in your ears. The instructions were simple— stop the robbers at the jewelry store downtown, and try not to cause more damage than there already is.

At first, it sounded rather easy. You thought you just had to deal with some petty thieves, smash-and-grab, maybe a low-level powered criminal trying to make a quick fortune. The type of thing you and Macroburst could clear in under ten minutes, or hell, you could clear our alone in under five.

By the time you reach the scene, the city lights reflect in fractured streaks across the jewelry store’s blown-out windows. Shards of glass glitter across the sidewalk like fallen stars. The store’s name hangs crooked above the entrance, one corner of the sign still swinging from a snapped chain. Sirens wail in the distance, but they’re keeping their distance. The National Supers Agency had already flagged this simple store trashing as a supers-level threat.

Macroburst lands beside you in a controlled drop from the rooftop above, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact. “Jewelry store,” he says lightly, glancing at the shattered entrance. “Seems a lil’ too easy, doesn't it?” His tone is playful, but there’s focus behind it — sharp, calculating. He stands loose, balanced on the balls of his feet like a gymnast before a vault.

Slowly, carefully, you two made your way inside the store, the lights were out, the robbers probably messed with the generator.. As you were occupied with looking around at your surroundings, you failed to notice a shard of glass on the floor and ended up stepping on it, the sound of it shattering seemed to echo throughout the entire store.

One of the robbers turns around at the sound. The visor of their helmet glows faintly, and then the ground shifts beneath you. The marble tiles don’t crack randomly — they rise in a controlled wave before surging towards you. You barely have time to react, but Macroburst moves. He darts forward with precise, economical speed, planting a hand against the rising slab and releasing a focused kinetic pulse. The force doesn’t explode outward wildly; it channels through the stone, splitting it cleanly into chunks that scatter harmlessly to the sides.

The second robber slams a fist into a support pillar. Concrete buckles inward. The ceiling above groans, and you look up just in time to see the already-damaged chandelier tear free from its warped chain. It drops fast— straight toward him.

“Kid, look out!” The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

And he froze. For half a second — half a second too long — his head turned toward you instead of the incoming strike. You lunged, almost instinctively, shoving him sideways, hand coming behind his head to keep his head from getting hurt. You both landed on the floor with a loud thud, and you immediately got off of him, focusing on the robbers.

He exhales through his nose and shifts his attention back to the fight. “Focus,” he adds, speaking more to himself than to you, already moving.

When it’s over, the store is nearly unrecognizable. The chandeliers lie shattered across the floor, diamonds scattered among broken glass and marble dust. Sirens approach now that the structural damage has stopped escalating.

Macroburst stands amid the wreckage, chest rising and falling evenly again. The earlier edge has dulled, but it hasn’t disappeared. He brushes a shard of crystal from his sleeve and finally looks at you properly.

A pause stretches between you, heavy but not hostile. Then, as if unwilling to let the moment sit too long, the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Next time,” he says, meeting your eyes with that familiar controlled wit returning, “Just say Macroburst.” He steps closer, offering you his hand over a cracked stretch of marble. His grip is steady, grounded, confident.