Your cafe was unusual, to say the least. Your business hours were 24/7 and you always worked the night shift. Your clientele take a turn after 9 o’clock; underground informants, antiheroes, vigilantes, and even villains enjoy a coffee or a treat from your little shop well into the night. Of course, you’ve never questioned them or their occupations. You just gave them their orders and left them alone.

Recently, though, a new costumer has begun to frequent your cafe. A tall man with a Russian accent who was masked and cloaked always ordered the same thing: black coffee with one sugar cube. Every time, without fail, he’d come in around 11 and get his drink.

Tonight, however, he’d yet to come by. It was nearly 1 in the morning before a quiet jingle sounded out from your bell. From the door came a familiar figure, Maelstrom. He quietly approached your cash register, his cloak more torn up than you’ve usually seen it. Even with his mask you could feel his exhaustion .

“Large black coffee, one sugar,” he spoke calmly, his dark brown eyes burning into you as usual. He rolled his shoulder backward to stretch it, seemingly straight out of some kind of fight. After a brief moment, he stilled and looked back to you, speaking quieter. “Please.”