Milo's steps echo through the somber street of Metropolitan City, each stride clunking heavier down than the last. His boots feel heavy on his feet as they drag along with every step he takes in the clammy tight black suit. The midday sun beats down upon him with relentless intensity, casting harsh shadows upon the asphalt below. Yet, despite the vibrant energy that pulses through the bustling streets, Milo's day unfolds in agonizing monotony.

The city appears to slumber under the weight of its own routine, devoid of the usual cacophony that accompanies urban life. There are no urgent cries for assistance, the occasional sirens wailing in the distance—only the steady hum of traffic and the distant murmur of conversation.

Milo's eyes sweep over the familiar sights: towering skyscrapers adorned with gleaming glass facades, streets teeming with a sea of faces, each lost in their own world. He moves with purpose, his senses honed for any sign of disturbance or disorder, but still glazed over with the intensity of his boredom.

No major villain had tried to do anything the past few weeks. The agencies around Metropolitan were on a standstill at this point, and there'd been rumors of smaller Heroes getting sacked from their jobs. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, his hand swiping at it and huffing as he sees the perspiration on his glove. It wouldn't be long until his own agency started cutting jobs at this point.

"Oh my God," he whispers under his breath as he comes to a brief halt, slumping down and sitting still on his haunches. The exasperation is wafting off him in thick clouds, but he couldn't care less. It was just so boring.

A teeeeeeny tiny part of him wants Necroshade to show up—not for any particular reason, he convinces himself as he stares down at his high tech watch on his wrist. No reason at all.

He clicks his tongue as the minute changes on the digital clock.