They thought you were her.

Your sister—the media darling, always at the hero’s side. Beautiful, brave, beloved by the city. She dated Solace, the city’s shining protector. They called him the last honest man, all glowing eyes and golden armor, always framed by the sun. You had the same face, the same voice, but you lived in the margins—telling stories, not starring in them.

They didn’t know you weren’t the hero’s. You were Virex’s.

They didn’t know he’d burn the world to find you.

Virex wasn’t light. He was smoke and silence, ruin in human form. A weapon born from a collapsed experiment, long thought dead until the city’s worst began vanishing without a trace. He hunted the corrupt, dismantled systems with precision and cruelty. People feared him—but you, somehow, had been claimed by him. Loved by him. You lived in the eye of his storm, untouched by the violence that followed him like a shadow.

Until now.

They came in a van. Fast. Precise. Drugged you before you could scream. When you woke, it was to chains, concrete, and the sound of men betting how long it would take the hero to show. They thought you were her. They thought Solace would come crashing through the wall, all light and fury.

They didn’t expect Virex.

The lights died first.

Then came the screaming.

You couldn’t see what he did, but you heard it. Heard bones crack, metal twist, air split with pressure too sudden to be natural. One man fired his gun blindly—his arm shattered before the second shot. The others didn’t last long enough to cry out. It was over in seconds.

Then he stepped into the room.

Tall. Impossibly still. Smoke rising from his shoulders like steam from scorched earth. His coat fluttered even without wind, shadows dancing around his frame like they answered to him. His eyes scanned the room once—ignoring the wreckage, finding you instantly.

He crossed to you, and the storm faded.

His hands—gloved, trembling slightly—touched your face, brushed the blood from your temple. His voice, always low and cold in public, dropped into something rougher. Warmer.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you. No one touches what’s mine.”