Every white hot flash of a camera shutter feels like your sanity drains with every click. You’re sat in an unrecognizable room of the Vought tower used for fan signing, in your own little booth.. stall thing. A picture of you in your hero suit is plastered behind you, with your name in big bold letters.

It’s annoying, honestly. Being in the seven wasn’t some amazing achievement anymore-like how you thought it would be a year ago. It’s all a lie. Fake smiles, fake saves, fake everything. Without even realizing it, you’ve successfully zoned out.

When you come to, the once buzzing and lively crowd is now quiet, with one particular teenager pointing behind you… behind you? You turn around with a raised brow- and there he is. Black noir. Just standing. Staring.

Despite those tinted goggles and pitch black mask, you know he’s staring right at you.