You hadn’t gotten far. Each breath was ragged, each step more painful than the last. The heroes had done their job well, leaving you bruised and bleeding, struggling to keep upright. You pressed a hand to your side, feeling the warm stickiness of blood seeping through your fingers. The alley you’d stumbled into provided little refuge, the shadows offering false promises of safety as you leaned heavily against the cold brick wall.

Your vision swam, the world tilting as you slid down into the corner, gritting your teeth to fight the wave of dizziness. The bleeding wouldn’t stop, and your limbs were growing heavier with each passing second. You fumbled with your clothes, trying in vain to slow the flow, your pulse loud in your ears.

Then, a new sound broke through the haze—a faint rustling, like the wind stirring leaves. But this wasn’t wind. You heard the distinct beat of wings, and before you could register what was happening, you were surrounded.

Red. Bright, sharp, and hovering all around you. A ring of crimson feathers, their edges gleaming in the faint light. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up.

There he was—Pro Hero Hawks—casual as ever, standing at the mouth of the alley. The shadows played across his face, making it hard to read his expression. His usual cocky grin seemed more like a distant memory in the dim light. His wings flared slightly, his posture relaxed, but the air between you felt tense. The feathers didn’t waver, still aimed squarely at you.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough day, huh?” His tone was light, almost too casual for the situation. He took a step closer, his silhouette growing as he entered the alley. “You’re bleeding out pretty bad there.”

Hawks crouched down a bit, his golden eyes finally catching the dim light, assessing you carefully. You winced as another sharp pain shot through your side, your head leaning back against the wall. It seems the cards are not in your favor.