Back to the present—
Ryan slouched on the couch in Cal's apartment, his legs stretched out in front of him, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. The soft murmur of the TV filled the room, a news anchor's voice providing a backdrop to the quiet, sunlit space. Outside, New York was bathed in the warm light of a perfect spring day. But inside, the air felt thick and heavy, as if the world outside didn't exist.
"Lower Manhattan is still reeling from last month's first ever clash between an organized team of crime fighters and a group of villains. The course of history has shifted this year. A super human society seemingly on the rise while government officials scramble to pass legislation to quell the consequences. The SRA made their first public appearance as well, and possibly their last after a brutal encounter with the vigilantes."
Footage of the event flashed on the screen of the trio from outside the bank, the building burning down destroyed the cameras and footage from inside. A relief to Cal, who had lost sleep over the prospect that their identities could've been revealed from Amber's plan to pose as an employee as well as their masks and clothes being destroyed.
"Now named "The Aegis" as a team and even earning names of their own."
Again the trio flashed onto the screen. Showing Cal and calling him "Wrath" after his showcase of raw power. Ryan was named "Vanguard", highlighting his role as a shield. And finally Amber was given the name "Vesper", a name fitting for her quiet strength.
"The Superhuman Regulation Agency is also under intense scrutiny for their controversial policy of employing convicted felons as part of their enforcement teams. Public outrage has only increased following the recent incident at a boutique in Midtown, where another SRA agent, identified as a former convict with multiple felony charges of hostage-taking and official misconduct."
Ryan's jaw tightened as he watched, his fists clenching unconsciously. The SRA was a mess, had been for a while now. Convicts on their teams, little oversight—it was a recipe for disaster. And now, someone was dead. The screen showed a brief shot of the agent's face, smiling in a faded photo, before cutting back to the anchor.
The news anchor's voice was calm, almost detached, as she continued her report. The screen showed an image of a burnt, unrecognizable body—what was left of the winged SRA agent.
The footage shifted to the boutique the clawed agent had fought against Cal in—its glass doors shattered, shelves overturned, the aftermath of the chaos. Ryan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as they showed the destruction. The anchor's voice faded, replaced by a young woman's trembling voice as she spoke into a reporter's microphone.
"I was terrified," she said, her eyes wide, her hands wringing together. "He grabbed me and said he'd kill me if Wrath didn't back off. I thought I was going to die."
Ryan clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. He remembered how Cal had looked after that fight—barely holding himself together, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.
"But then Wrath showed up," the woman continued, her voice trembling but grateful. "He saved me. If he's listening, I just want to say thank you. I'd love to take him out for coffee or something, just to say thank you."
Ryan rolled his eyes and reached for the remote. "Cal, the brooding hero everyone loves," he muttered as he turned off the TV. "What's next? You gonna start wearing bright colored underwear over your pants? Maybe I should get myself a cape and be your Robin."
He shook his head, but a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. Still, beneath the humor, there was something darker, a gnawing frustration that was getting harder to ignore. He looked around the apartment—the cluttered mess of maps, newspapers, and makeshift equipment. It was their base, their war room, but right now, it felt more like a cage.
Standing up, he grabbed his makeshift costume from where it hung over a chair. It was something Amber had put together for him—tactical and practical, a helmet-like mask covering his head, leaving only his mouth visible. It was rough, but it worked. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling a pang of something like frustration. Amber had put so much care into Cal's suit, making sure every detail was perfect. His felt like an afterthought. It shouldn't bother him, but it did.
"I'm heading out," he called, slipping on the suit. The fabric stretched comfortably over his muscles, the helmet fitting snugly over his head. He looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting the suit. "Don't wait up."
He climbed out of the window, his boots landing softly on the fire escape. He took a moment to breathe in the fresh air, the scent of blooming flowers and warm asphalt filling his lungs. The apartment was on the fourth floor, a good height for someone who preferred the rooftops to the crowded streets below. He felt free out here, Vanguard felt like a different man than Ryan.
He leaped across the gap between buildings, his movements smooth and practiced. The city blurred around him as he ran, the wind whipping past him, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. He needed this, needed the release, the rush. The news, the burnt corpse, the look on that woman's face—it all swirled in his mind like a storm he couldn't quiet.
After a few blocks, he dropped down into an alley, landing with a soft thud. He took a moment to catch his breath, his heart still pounding from the sprint. He was about to take off again when he spotted a couple of thugs loitering near a corner store, hassling a man who looked like he just wanted to get home.
Ryan's eyes narrowed, a grim smile spreading across his face as he approached. "Hey, fellas!" he called out, his voice bright, almost cheerful. The thugs turned, their expressions shifting from annoyance to wariness as they recognized him. "Don't you know it's a beautiful day? What are you doing ruining it with your ?"
One of the thugs sneered, stepping forward. "Oh look, it's the Dollar Store Knight," he jeered, cracking his knuckles. "You lost, buddy?"
Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. "Dollar Store, huh? Guess that makes you guys the clearance rack rejects," he quipped, his tone light but with a sharp edge. He spread his arms, tilting his head mockingly. "Go ahead, take your best shot."
The thug hesitated, then shrugged and threw a punch aimed squarely at Ryan's jaw. Ryan didn't flinch. The impact landed with a sickening crunch, the thug's knuckles shattering against the unyielding surface of Ryan's invulnerable skin. He yelped in pain, clutching his broken hand as he stumbled back.
Ryan grinned, leaning closer. "Ooh, that looked like it hurt," he said, his voice low and mocking. "Maybe next time, try using your head. Well I guess you wouldn't want to break that either."
The other thug's face went pale as he took a step back, his eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. Ryan's grin widened, and he moved forward, his steps deliberate, almost lazy. "Leaving so soon? We were just getting to the good part."
The fight that followed was quick, brutal. Ryan moved with a grace that belied the sheer force behind his punches. He was grinning, making quips even as he drove his fist into the second thug's stomach. "You know, you really should try yoga or something," he said as the man doubled over, gasping for breath. "Great for managing stress."
With the thugs incapacitated, Ryan grabbed the first one by the collar, lifting him effortlessly. "You know, if I see you around here again, bothering people…" His voice dropped, his grin fading to something darker. "Well, let's just say it won't be a couple of broken bones next time, okay?"
The thug nodded frantically, his face pale with fear. Ryan released him, stepping back, watching as they scrambled away, casting terrified glances over their shoulders.
He exhaled slowly, the adrenaline still thrumming in his veins, the satisfaction of the fight mingling with something else, something darker. It was getting harder to keep it in check, that feeling like he was always one step away from crossing a line he couldn't uncross.
He continued his patrol, moving silently across the rooftops, his eyes scanning the streets below. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city, and the streets were starting to empty as people hurried home. He was about to call it a night when he heard voices—two women, talking in hushed tones as they walked down a side street.
"I can't believe they let him go," one of them said, her voice trembling with anger. "That man killed a child, and they just let him walk free because of some technicality?"
Ryan's steps faltered, his heart skipping a beat. He dropped silently to the fire escape, listening. He could see them now, their faces pale and drawn as they spoke.
"Yeah," the other woman muttered. "It's not fair. If there was any justice, someone would make him pay for what he did."
Ryan felt something dark and hot coil in his chest. He climbed down from the fire escape, landing softly behind them. "Excuse me," he said, his voice careful, measured. The women turned, their eyes widening as they saw him, his costume casting a long shadow in the dimming light. "Did you just say child murderer?"