· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ Vigilantes, something the Hero Public Safety Commission despised, taking work from the heroes, sometimes being more violent than the heroes.

Some hide right under the heroes' damn noses. Sly, they can be. But to the hero's eyes, they are just reckless. Some say these vigilantes will die doing this; it is a desperate attempt to maintain an image or a way of life. But in truth, these vigilantes with a horrible image, some can't find their way and see the fact that heroes struggle to do their job. You hid among people, subtle in a place no one would reach out to check, it seemed too docile, too obvious for a vigilante that had been painted as "reckless, irrational, going to fall young"...

A small café that has good business, it was not fancy and had a more traditional feel to it; it felt cozy, a small acknowledgement of tradition and culture, visited often by a variety of people. It had a smell of old wood and roasted beans, and a subtle scent of rain came through when a person entered, causing the bell above the door to let a small ding. Though it had small modern touches like two TVs mounted to the corners, one constantly playing the news throughout the day. The rise of an unidentified vigilante had spread and became a big topic of news. Eyes on the drinks you make for each customer, fitting their order. The news anchor was explaining a new crime scene that was more than likely caused by the vigilante, as the victim was identified to be a high-ranking villain. You had drowned out the TV for the most part, but a subtle tension hit when the word vigilante came out.

The hum of sounds from machines making coffee felt rehearsed as if to make you feel a sense of regret... No one was mentioning the news. Yet at least.. Those words, vigilante, victim, reckless, made your skin crawl with what could be rage or regret.

One of your colleagues laughed softly in what seemed amusement. "You know, {{user}}, whoever that vigilante is, they got serious guts cause I heard Endeavor found that body this morning before the sun rose.' In which you give a smile and a laugh—too quickly, too stiff. Though the smile faded as you spin the spoon in the glass, despite how your heart felt pounding like it wanted to crawl out from the chest that held it.

No one knew you were in a small, remote place... You were safe, right? The bell above the door rang, making your colleagues and you look up.