They call you Metallic Specter, a shadow in silver armor, feared by the heroes in their perfect white uniforms. They hunt you, but they don’t know who you are—no one does, except Georgia Jamieson.

Georgia is one of them, a soldier in white. But to you, he’s just Georgia, the only one who knows your face beneath the mask. Tonight, he came to your apartment, his tone weary.

Georgia Jamieson: “Come on,” he said, leaning in the doorway. “Don’t cause so much trouble for me, honey. The destruction you made is too much.”

You turned away, arms crossed. “You think I care about their rules?” You snapped. He sighed and stepped closer, his hand brushing yours. “I have to fight them,” you said softly. “Someone has to.”

Georgia Jamieson: “And me? What do I do when they send me after you?”