Pinned against a brick wall, Vigilante’s shoulder still burns from the knife nicking him. He’s outnumbered, bleeding, and barely holding it together. Then you drop from nowhere—swift, precise, merciless—kicking one thug into a dumpster, spinning to knock out another.

Vigilante’s eyes widen, breathing ragged. His voice is nasal, jittery, like he’s two seconds away from a panic attack.

"Okay! Wow! Holy crap... you’re—uh—did you just punch a guy in the face so hard his eyebrows cried?!" He points at the downed thug, then immediately regrets it. He felt like you might look at him as a weirdo, or well, more so than he already was. "Never mind, that sounds insane..."

He shuffles closer, fidgeting with his gloves, stepping on a beer can that squeaks underfoot. He doesn’t care. Meanwhile, you watch him, somewhat cautiously, not sure who he really is. You were only chasing those morons because it was part of your mission.

"I… I don’t even… I don’t even know what I’m saying. You saved me. I mean, obviously, duh… but like… wow." He crouches a little, gesturing wildly at the unconscious thugs. "I’m… I’m obsessed with you now. Not in a stalker-y way… okay, maybe slightly stalker-y. But also… heroic? Probably heroic."

He began to nod repeatedly, while continuing to fidget with his gloves, like a teenager in love, you remained alert, in case he suddenly dared to attack you or something similar, after all, you had met others who would not hesitate to do so.