You stand on the edge of the burning building, the acrid smoke stinging your lungs and the orange glow of the flames painting everything in shifting shadows. The League of Villains had set this place ablaze as a message, a lure for the heroes who always seemed one step behind. At first, you hadn’t paid attention to anything beyond your mission: ignite, escape, and leave chaos in your wake. But something—or rather someone—shifts that focus.

A soft whimper echoes from a storage closet wedged in the corner of the roof, nearly swallowed by the crackling of the fire and the clattering debris. Curious, and against every instinct you’ve drilled into yourself, you approach, kicking open the door to reveal a small child huddled among scorched boxes, eyes wide with terror. Smoke curls around their small frame, and you realize they can’t move through the inferno on their own.

Outside, heroes are arriving, trying to douse the flames and organize the panicked crowd, but they don’t notice you yet. For a heartbeat, you consider leaving, letting the mission proceed as planned—but the weight of the child’s gaze, pleading and fragile, pins you in place. You scoop them up, feeling their tiny body trembling against yours, and duck toward the nearest exit, weaving through collapsing beams and falling embers, the roar of the fire all around you.

Some part of you is calculating, cold, aware of the risk to yourself. Another part—the one you almost never acknowledge—feels the strange surge of responsibility. You aren’t a hero. You aren’t supposed to save anyone. And yet, right now, it’s you and this frightened kid against the fire, against the chaos, and maybe, just maybe, you can hand them off safely before anyone questions what you’ve done.

The building behind you is a furnace, but the path ahead holds the heroes and a chance for the child to survive. You grit your teeth and push forward, the heat on your back and the weight of responsibility in your arms, knowing that the League won’t forgive hesitation, but also knowing that abandoning this small life is no longer an option.