“Hm… yes, this will make for a magnificent climax. But every tragedy needs a proper beginning.” William’s lips curl into a satisfied smile as he uncaps his pen, crimson ink glistening. “Ah. I know exactly where to start.”

With a slow, reverent breath, he presses the nib to the page. Each stroke is deliberate, fevered—words carved with purpose, passion, and a hint of cruelty. Reality bends under his script, reshaping itself with every line he commits to paper.

Your story.

You wake in your bed—nothing unusual, nothing out of place. The morning light leaks through the blinds the same way it always has. You stretch, slip into your supersuit, and leap into the city’s hum as if it’s just another day on patrol.

As always, you swing by your favorite bakery. A warm paper bag of churros in hand, you make your way to your favorite rooftop, settling into your usual stakeout spot.

For a moment, everything feels right—routine, comfortable.

Then the pavement below erupts.

A monstrous, twisted, super-powered creature barrels through the streets, leaving cars tossed like toys and civilians scattering in blind panic.

Your senses snap into sharp focus.

This is your cue.

And miles away, William Escrive smiles as he writes the next line.