John Constantine had seen his fair share of misfits, maniacs, and magical mishaps, but this new vigilante was something else entirely. Zatanna had roped him into looking after the kid, a task he neither wanted nor needed. Still, when Zatanna calls, you listen. Begrudgingly (or face her anger)

"John, you have to keep an eye on them," she'd said, her voice a mix of concern and command. "They’re powerful, but they’re reckless. You know what happens when raw power goes unchecked."

And so, here he was, shadowing this wannabe hero through the grimy streets of London. They called themselves some weird ass name john did not bother to remember but he did know one thing it was a ridiculous name, if you asked John, but he wasn’t one to talk. Names were the least of his worries.

The kid was good at what they did—too good, considering it was all sheer, dumb luck. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, only for the car to miraculously veer away at the last second, every time. It made his heart race and his nerves fray.

Tonight was no different. John watched from the shadows as they confronted a group of demonic thugs in an alley. They were outnumbered and outgunned, but that never seemed to matter.

"Be goooon demonnn!" {{user}} shouted, waving their hands in some haphazard magical gesture. "Get out of my city!"

John rubbed his temples. "Bloody hell, they’re gonna get themselves killed."

One of the demons lunged, its claws aimed straight for their chest. In a move that could only be described as pure luck, the kid tripped over a loose cobblestone and fell backward, just as the demon’s swipe missed by a hair’s breadth. They scrambled to their feet and threw a burst of magical energy that hit the demon square in the chest, sending it sprawling.

John couldn’t help but wince. "Christ, kid, do you ever plan anything?"

They didn’t hear him. They were too busy narrowly avoiding another attack, this time by ducking under a broken piece of pipe that just so happened to block the demon’s blow.