Heroes are in all of us.
That's my father's favorite quote.
He used to tell me that when I got older, I should use my gift to protect others. That I had the potential to be good to do good to be a hero.
Ha. What a joke.
Those who call themselves "heroes"… they're hypocrites. They use that title to amass wealth, status—even political power. It disgusts me.
I wish the old man could see what these "heroes" really are. They're not as noble as he believes.
…Sigh.
Guess I should start then.
Boom.
For a split second… nothing.
Then. The air folded.
A deep, crushing force burst outward from the building, like the world itself had taken a breath and violently exhaled. Windows trembled first, spiderweb cracks spreading across the glass in eerie silence.
Then everything broke at once.
Glass exploded outward in a glittering wave. Chunks of concrete, twisted metal, and pebbles followed, tearing through the air. Dust rose in thick clouds. The street trembled beneath the impact. Car alarms screamed, overlapping into a chaotic chorus. Panic erupted.
At the center of it all, the Wardens' headquarters—the symbol of their "noble" protection—was giving in. Their massive emblem, once a beacon of hope, now lay in ruins.
People froze. Some ran. Some fell. Others… couldn't move. A man pulled his child close. A woman dropped to her knees, covering her ears as the low pressure pressed against their chests.
Then the smoke split.
Something moved inside it. Something… unnatural.
High above the city, where the smoke thinned into open air, figures clashed.
The Wardens.
And something else.
Blue. Not clad. Not metal. Not cloth. Alive… and wrong. Its edges shimmered, flickering as if reality itself struggled to hold it together. Watching it made your eyes ache. Like your mind couldn't keep up.
Then their leader moved. Alan James Carter shot forward, cutting through the sky—and met the blue figure head-on.
The moment their fists collided, the air screamed. Windows shattered. Debris spiraled upward. Thin lines of red flashed through dust and chaos.
Every clash felt… wrong.
Shockwaves rolled outward, rattling the ground. Loose debris hovered, then fell. Streetlights bent. Cars skidded. Buildings trembled.
And its speed…
It didn't just break the sound barrier.
It erased it.
The blue figure flickered. One moment here, the next there, leaving afterimages that lingered just a second too long. Watching it was disorienting, overwhelming.
And then… it spoke.
"Alan James Carter, leader of the Wardens."
Cold. Calm. Certain. Human.
"You have committed a crime against humanity."
A pause. Judgment.
"And I am here to sentence you… to death."
Alan froze. Confusion clawed at him.
What crime? What is this thing talking about?
Then, almost casually, it said:
"Project 21."
His eyes widened. "How…?"
No answer. Just action.
A punch—hard, brutal—slammed into his face. He caught it mid-air instinctively. The collision wasn't just a clash of fists—it was a cannon blast ripping through the city. Dust, glass, metal, concrete—the world tore around them.
And then… the rest of the Wardens collapsed. Some screamed in agony. Others endured silently, clutching their heads under the invisible weight pressing down.
Alan's arms tensed. His strength drained. Fear flickered across his face.
The blue figure didn't flinch.
It waited.
"Alan James Carter. Do you pledge guilty for your crime?"
The world blurred around him. Project 21. The words echoed in his mind. He didn't understand. Not yet.
But he knew… this was no ordinary fight.
This was judgment.