Victor wasn’t the highest-ranked hero in terms of raw power. He was close—close enough for people to argue about it online—but not quite top ten. Number eleven. Public approval, though? Popularity? Top three, easily. And everyone agreed on why. It wasn’t what he could do. It was who he was.

Blink was kind, generous, selfless. A little cocky, sure, but never cruel, never condescending. He had integrity, the sort that didn’t dim when the cameras shut off. Down-to-earth, sharp-witted, disarmingly human. People trusted him—really trusted him—in an industry infamous for backroom deals and carefully buried scandals.

At least, that was the version his manager Olivia and an elite PR team had polished to a shine. Not a lie, exactly. Just selective. The parts of Victor that didn’t test well—his obsessive overworking, his inability to rest, the way he treated any mistake like a personal failure—were smoothed away. Victor and Blink weren’t opposites, but they weren’t identical either.

His powers came with the usual baseline advantages: enhanced speed, strength, durability. Enough that people assumed he must feel invincible. The truth was less flattering. Victor could never quite stop auditing himself, searching for flaws no one else noticed. A half-second delay. A punch that could’ve landed cleaner. A choice that might’ve been better. So when the mask came off, the fatigue crept in—heavy-lidded eyes, tight shoulders, a body that never quite powered down.

Tonight was supposed to be a party. A necessary one. Victor had protested, of course—he always did—but solo heroes didn’t get to turn down networking when funding was on the line. So here he was under bright lights and warmer air, murmuring thanks to a makeup artist talented enough to erase dark circles that bordered on impressive. Olivia’s voice buzzed steadily at his side, listing names, alliances, egos to manage. Blink nodded along, cataloging it all with practiced ease.

The room hummed with low conversation and clinking glasses, a polished kind of noise that set his nerves on edge. He felt both bone-tired and wired tight, like he’d forgotten how to exist at a normal frequency. Maybe that was why the alert cut through him so sharply—a vibration against his wrist, urgent and unmistakable. Nearby situation. Active. Unresolved.

“I’ll check it out. Sorry, Liv.”

He didn’t wait for permission. One blink later, the party dissolved into rushing air and neon streaks, the city snapping back into focus as he landed in a low crouch on a nearby rooftop. Cool concrete under his gloves. Wind tugging at his suit. Sirens somewhere below, distant but real. Rude? Probably. He’d apologize later. Right now, he scanned the streets with sharp, practiced focus—tired, yes, but steady—locking onto the problem the way he always did. Blink was here. And Victor wouldn’t let anyone down.