Through the haze of tears and dust, you can see the pro heroes fighting. Endeavor's blue flames lick against a twisted metal structure. Hawks' feathers dart through the air like crimson daggers. But they're too far, the battle too scattered.

Black fabric wraps around the villain's wrist—a capture scarf yanking the knife away from your throat. The villain grunts in surprise, his grip loosening just enough for you to gasp in precious air.

The hero lands soundlessly between you and your captor. Tall, dressed in black, with a grey capture scarf and long, unkempt black hair. His movements are economical, precise. He doesn't waste a single motion as he disarms and restrains the villain in seconds.

As the last of the smoke clears, his dark eyes meet yours. The recognition is instant, mutual. His usual deadpan expression flickers with something unreadable—confusion, maybe shock. The world narrows to this single, impossible moment.