▸── concrete jungle

Finn reached for Ingrid’s book as she joked about him needing to wear a mask in public from now on. He gave an easy laugh thinking about just how true that statement rang. It was part of the reason he loved being Night Wing. Finn Myers got to fade into anonymity. The public loved Night Wing and Dove and Lynx, he guessed, because of what they did for the city—what they did for the people. They protected them. And the three of them expected nothing in return for their actions. No one was able to call him out for the things his family has done. No one accuses him of only doing good to help with his father’s reelection. Finn liked doing good just because he liked helping people. Also being a superhero was pretty badass.

“Maybe a mask wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he agreed perusing through the annotated pages. There was a piece of Ingrid pressed in every page, marked in nearly every margin. It was endearing. “I definitely will not ignore it,” he laughed, flipping immediately to the Mr. Elton drawing in question. “Honestly, from what I’ve read of this you’re spot on. This is substantive literary criticism,” he joked waving the drawing for emphasis.

He placed the book carefully back on the table as he got up to get his coffee. Finn wasn’t sure what was more troubling at this point, his lack of a consistent sleep schedule or his inane caffeine addiction. He took one last look at his phone and the growing number of notifications before switching it off and stuffing the thing in his pocket. As he waited in line one, then two, then a stream of people started running past the windows of the coffee shop—very obviously running away from something.

The other patrons in the shop shifted nervously, but full-blown panic hadn’t quite set in when Finn made the hasty excuse to lock himself in the bathroom and make the transformation into Night Wing. As he struggled with pulling himself out of the window and into the ally, the lights in the building went out. He cursed, already having a pretty decent idea of who was behind that particular outage.

Night Wing landed beside his partner in…fighting crime. How she made it here before him was a mystery as he had been mere blocks away. “And nice of you to wait up for me,” he responded, flat out grinning as he stepped up beside her. Night Wing stilled for a moment as she sarcastically apologized for interrupting his nap. For a brief moment, he panicked that she had somehow discovered his identity—had seen the twitter post of him asleep on the bench in the park. But he ruled it out quickly. Dove would surely mention something if his identity had been compromised, if only to call him out for being careless.

He had tried to figure out her identity once. Had spent a long weekend in a Google spiral as he clicked through image after image of her—sometimes next to him, as Night Wing anyways. He’d been certain that there had to have been something that she’d slipped up on that would have revealed a morsel of information pointing to who she really was. But that search had been a fruitless one. It had been disappointing at first, before he recognized that it was probably best if they didn’t know each other’s identities. It kept them both safe that way. And that was one thing he wasn’t willing to compromise—her safety.

When she winked at him, his smile appeared back nearly as quickly as it threatened to slip away. “Good thing I woke to a dream then.” He cringed inwardly. God, he had it so bad. It was like every smooth or charming thing he could say in any given moment slipped just out of reach the moment she’s around. He very rarely found himself frazzled by anything, but he found that Dove had that effect on him.

Night Wing tore his attention away from his partner and surveyed the scene before them. The orb was peaking out from between two buildings up ahead, already having grown in size since he’d landed on the roof. It was sucking power directly form the square. They’d dealt with an attack like this before. Hunt was drawing mass amounts of energy for something big, but none of them had been able to figure out for what. Thankfully, they’d managed to stop him quickly before. Hopefully they would get that lucky this time. He turned back to Dove and watched as the wheels turned in her mind, formulating a plan. When she finally asked him to cover her, he simply nodded. “Always.”

He watched as she took a running start and flung herself off the roof, not a shadow of a doubt that she would fall. Her grappling hook shot out and Dove used the momentum of her swing to catch the air under her wings. Night Wing admired the fluidity of her movements, of the sure way she carried herself, and yes, definitely the way that she looked in that suit. Damn, he had to get ahold of himself. He shook his head, as if clearing the mental fog that always came when she was around and launched into movement behind her. She’d asked him to cover her, and he would not let her down.

He could feel the presence of the orb as they moved closer to the square. The feel of all that electricity in the air was eerie and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The streets near the orb were nearly empty now as people ran in mobs away from the fight that was bound to ensue here. Night Wing scanned the scene for any sign of Hunt, but all he managed to spot was Lynx picking herself up from the ground. That wasn’t a good sign.

His eyes shifted back to Dove just in time to watch a flash of darkness knock her from the sky. She’d been a breath away from grabbing the orb out of the sky, but that wasn’t what he was concerned about now. Night Wing didn’t even look to where Hunt had landed. His every thought narrowed in on his partner as she fell through the sky.

Flapping once, he gained the speed he needed before tucking his wings in close to his body and sliced through the air until he caught up with Dove. Without a thought, he pulled her to his chest. “I’ve got you, Birdie.” He tried to backflap his wings hard enough to keep them from colliding with the ground at a break-neck speed. But he wasn’t fast enough. At best, he’d merely managed to keep them from splattering against the pavement.

Night Wing wrapped his wings around the two of them and shifted his body so it would hit the ground first. The cement bucked slightly beneath them, making a small crater in the center of the square. If that hadn’t hurt like a bitch, he would’ve thought it was cool. He groaned after the impact, realizing that he still had Dove pulled tightly to him.

“You okay?” He wheezed, still catching his breath. “Because truthfully, that sucked for me.”

The scrape of Hunt’s claw underneath her chin sent a shiver down Lynx’s spine. She was well-versed in intimidation tactics, and his wouldn’t work on her. She’d never once balked from him—she wouldn’t start now. Though that didn’t stop every muscle in her body from screaming at her to run in the opposite direction. He was lethal. That much was clear in the way he prowled toward her like a predator sizing up his prey. Good thing she had claws too.

Lynx rolled her eyes and merely lifted her chin higher when he told her she ought to come up with a better nickname for him. “I am so sorry, Fido,” she said. “I’ll try to be more creative next time.” Hunt did manage to get a chuckle from her when he told her he’d be a better date than whatever she had planned. “Unfortunately for you, I do have some standards. Although the guys on Hinge aren’t munch better, to be honest.”

Her eyes slid to the orb still floating in the square. “Your obsession with electricity is starting to border on kinky, you know.” The first time she’d seen it, it hadn’t been much of a threat at all. But now, it looked ominously large as it drained the buildings of power, and she couldn’t help but wonder what the hell that thing was for.

The feeling of him still so close had her body on high alert as she thought of how to attack in a way that wouldn’t cause that claw to slash at her throat. She saw movement behind Hunt’s shoulder as a familiar figure flew into the square. Dove was—surprisingly—alone as she entered the square. Lynx’s eyes flicked back to Hunt. “Are you ever going to have that canonical villain monologue where you tell me what the hell you’re up to? I’m going to ruin your plans either way, but I have to say—I’m getting curious.” She had to keep him busy long enough for Dove to grab the orb and get the hell out of dodge.

Hunt wasn’t taking the bait though. Maybe he’d seen her look behind him and simply guessed who else had made an appearance, but as he tried to turn around Lynx grabbed the wrist that was under her chin and twisted it. Her foot connected with his chest, sending him flying back. She took a defensive stance. “Sorry, I thought a saw a flea,” she shrugged.

After that it was a flurry of movement. Lynx let her muscle memory take over as she dodged, parried, and struck a few well-placed hits when she saw the opportunity. He was bigger than her—stronger than her—the only way Lynx had ever been able to hold her own in a fight with Hunt was the fact that she was fast, and she played dirty. Although sometimes, she wasn’t fast enough. This was one of those times.

Hunt had managed to catch her foot mid-kick. Lynx struggled to get out of his grasp but he twisted her ankle causing a sharp pain to shoot up her leg, and she fell. The sight of him above her was much more fear-inducing than when he’d first approached her in the alley. He had a predator-like stillness to him, a killing calm. She tried to pull herself back up, but his foot on her middle kept her down. He then grabbed her by the throat, yanked her back up until her feet were barely brushing the ground.

She clawed at his hand, but he didn’t even flinch. Lynx tried not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic, but she was gasping for breath. Finally, he looked over his shoulder—Dove was so close to the orb—muttered under his breath, and threw her against the wall of the alley.

Lynx groaned at the impact and rolled on to her knees just to grasp at her throat and wretch. She could have died. He could have killed her. But he didn’t. Lynx knew not to confuse the act for mercy, or kindness, or humanity even. Sure, she’d had a few brushes with death before in this job, but she’d never had that close of a call. Lynx would have to consider that current personal failure later. She still had a job to do.

Ignoring the ache in her body, Lynx pulled herself back up to her feet just in time to see Hunt tackle Dove out of the sky. For two heart-stopping seconds, Lynx thought she was going to watch Dove hit the ground. She broke into a dead sprint, knowing full-well she wouldn’t make it in time to reach her, but she didn’t have to—someone else did.

Night Wing must have been following from above because as soon as Dove took the hit he tucked his wings and shot toward her. Once he grabbed her, he tried to flap his wings hard enough to keep them from hitting the ground but he didn’t have enough room, he’d only managed to slow their descent. Both of them hit the ground in a plume of dust and broken asphalt.

Lynx managed to cross the square in record time and slide into a crouch beside the two who were still untangling themselves from their fall. “Glad you’re not dead,” she said by way of greeting. She was, actually. Lynx generally liked the other two that she occasionally worked alongside—well, she liked Dove. Sometimes Night Wing could be a bit…much. “You two grab the orb, I’ll keep our little canine problem busy.”

All she had to do was keep him away from the orb. Hunt had proven earlier that when it came to a battle of pure strength, she didn’t stand a chance. So, the best she could do was tire him out enough to get in a few, precise, blows and send him running back to whatever hole he crawled out of. Should be easy enough. “Am I not enough of a fight for you?” She sneered at him. “I’m offended. I really thought we had something.”

There it was – that easy, light smile that always seemed to work its way out of her whenever he came about. Sure, inside of her mind, Ingrid was worried shamelessly if her breath smelled too strongly of coffee, or if her perfume was too floral for his liking. Though, yet again, he thankfully didn’t seem too concerned about the little attributes she constantly second guessed, for surely trending on Twitter seemed to take the cake. Though, she couldn’t say she was surprised.

“You’re going to need to start wearing a mask at this rate, Finn,” she teased, though her confidence once again diminished quickly as he passed her that signature, boyish grin. The one that nearly made her pink painted nails drop precious Austen right into his lap. As he began to thank her profusely, Ingrid merely shook her head, brown waves of her hair dancing across her shoulders. “It’s, um…” she cleared her throat and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she leaned in. “It’s no problem at all. I would read the woman’s grocery list.” A nervous giggle escaped her lips as her ears began to turn red due to his close proximity. God, he smelled delightful. Crisp, clean, with a hint of something woodsy.

As his attention drifted from her to her thoroughly annotated copy of Emma, she felt even more exposed. Surely, her entire face must have been beet red by now. Allowing anyone, especially Finn Myers, to delve into her inner thoughts about one of her favorite novels was an act of intimacy she had not prepared herself for. It was a side of herself that she rarely voiced aloud. As he suggested swapping materials, she attempted to laugh it off, though her pitch was slightly off kilter. “Yeah, yeah – I’d like that. You’ll just have to ignore my doodle of Mr. Elton in the back.” It was true – she had drawn devil horns and a preposterous mustache on the fellow. Though, she thought he deserved it.

Hearing his offer for coffee, Ingrid snapped her head up to Finn’s rising frame and shook her head once. “Oh, no thank you, I’m good.” She nodded to her still untouched coffee. As if she were able to feel Jules’s prying gaze, she took a sip before smiling as her study partner headed towards the register.

Jesus, Ingrid, keep your cool.

Her eyes locked in on her book, on the fluorescent pink scribbled across the pages. If only she had the confidence of Emma Woodhouse… Surely she would know how to handle and address a man, other than the pathetic… whimpering she was doing around Finn.

However, her lack of faith wasn’t able to sink in too deep, for a scream outside cut through her inner turmoil. Snapping her head towards the grand window she was seated next to, Ingrid’s brows furrowed as her eyes scanned the flowing streets of New York. Another scream followed, and then another, until multiple bodies were sprinting past the coffee shop and down the sidewalk. Their faces were painted with dread. Horror.

No, no, no, not now. Please, not now.

As the throng of terrified bodies began to grow, Ingrid rose out of her chair at the exact same time Finn turned towards her – his face a mirror of her own. Shock nearly riddled her motionless as he quickly blurted out an excuse to leave before rushing towards the bathroom at the back of the shop. It being New York, most of the patrons in the shop hadn’t had the desire to escape quite yet, though a few customers were surely intrigued at what was occurring outside.

Not even able to give Finn a nod of departure before he slunk away, she swallowed the thickness in her throat before eyeing her book and backpack. It was only when another scream erupted that Ingrid quickly tossed the book in her pack and threw it over her shoulder before rushing towards the bathrooms, as well.

She ran into the women’s bathroom – thankful that there were no stalls, only a single toilet and a sink along with a gaping window and smudgy mirror. Tossing her backpack under the sink, reminding herself to come back for it later, she glanced at the silver watch strapped across her wrist. A gift from her parents.

And then pressed the hidden, white button on the side, which allowed Dove’s suit to slide across her body like a second skin as she peeled away her street clothes. Bundling up her normal, day to day wear, Ingrid was left in nothing but the slick, ivory sheath of her suit right before the white mask weaved its way across her face, shielding the area around her brown eyes. Outside of the bathroom, she heard frantic, chaotic movements, alerting her that things had gotten progressively worse outside. A new wave of confidence slid over her, just like the suit.

She was no longer the shy, timid literature major – but a warrior. A soldier to protect humanity at whatever cost. A smile spread across her face as she shot towards the window, opened it up with ease, and slid out into the alley as her fingers finished braiding her locks to the side. As soon as her feet graced concrete, she shot her grappling hook that was attached to the belt at her waist onto the top of the building. With one signal flap of her wings, she propelled herself into the air, the hook then springing free and sliding home as she soared before landing nimbly on the flat roof.

Her gaze quickly slid to the pedestrians below, most of them sprinting away from the center of the thrall, right in front of a towering skyscraper.

Dove then saw the orb and knew exactly who she was dealing with. Her teeth bared in a silent snarl as she prepped herself to leap from the roof and fly towards the center of action…

Right before a familiar, cocky voice echoed from above, announcing the arrival of her infamous partner in crime. The shadow to her light, the one who she had offhandedly been waiting for, though she would never admit that to Night Wing as he passed her that same, charismatic smile so many of the citizens of New York had fallen for. Well, except for one.

At the nickname, she scoffed and rolled her eyes before standing upright. Pursing her lips, cocking a hip out, Dove eyed him. “Nice of you to join me. Though, sorry to interrupt your nap, Bat.” She passed him a sardonic smile, along with a wink before turning back and assessing the situation. No sign of Hunt, but she was sure Lynx had him taken care of. But that giant ball of energy was growing too powerful, though as for why Hunt was still so dead set on stealing the power of the city, she wasn’t certain. Regardless, wherever the wolf trekked, danger followed. And so would she.

“No sign fo Hunt, but I’m sure the dog is around here somewhere.” It was a clear shot to the orb from her position on the roof, if she gained enough speed and height, all she needed to do was fly herself over the road and snag the orb without alerting Hunt. Easy.

“Cover me?” she asked Night Wing, giving him a small twiddle of her fingers before leaping off of the roof, her hook shooting and connecting to a nearby building. Her wings shot out and carried her through the city while wind whipped at her face as her expression turned less playful. Determination etched its way in. Closer and closer the orb grew as her lithe frame flew through the buildings, the ecstatic whispers and squeals of the citizens below only heightening her desire to steal the object.

She could feel its power, her hair began to rise the closer and closer she grew to the ball of energy that was sucking the life out of her city. Dove reached out a gloved hand, teeth gritting and ready to cut Hunt’s plan short today.

Right until a solid, dark force barrelled into her, knocking her from the sky and sending her tumbling towards the asphalt below. Dove only managed to glance up at the sky where Hunt had landed onto the top of a traffic light beam and rose to his full height. The wolfish smile he wore was nothing short of lethal. Knowing better than to make prolonged eye contact with him, because of his predatory stare that could force her body to freeze, she closed her eyes.

And continued to fall.

Finn was weaving in and out of pedestrians on the sidewalk as he bee-lined for the coffee shop he promised he’d meet Ingrid at. He had fallen asleep sitting up on a bench in Washington Square Park, of all places. The long days and longer nights were finally starting to catch up to him. Juggling his schedule required something to give, and lately, that something had been his sleep.

As he navigated the busy street, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. When the screen lit up, he saw a text from his sister, Margaret. It was a screenshot from a Twitter post made half an hour ago of him passed out on the park bench with the caption, at least Finn Myers isn’t losing sleep over his father’s new tax proposal. Finn groaned and rubbed the back of his neck as he noticed the post already had over ten thousand retweets. All his sister said was, incoming. And like clockwork, his father’s face appeared on the screen—incoming call. He briefly considered answering it, but as the sign for the coffee shop came into view, Finn decided to silence it instead. A moment later, another message appeared. His father merely wrote, call me. Two words that nearly always sent Finn into a panic spiral. But he could put out that fire later.

The coffee shop wasn’t as packed as Finn had thought it would be, and it was easy to spot Ingrid’s small frame at a table in the back corner. He put on his best my-dad-totally-isn’t-going-to-rock-my-shit-later smile as he approached the table. He’d met Ingrid in one of his gen-ed classes last semester, and he’d liked her immediately. She’d seemed genuine and kind, if not a little shy. And she wasn’t one of those people who followed him around just because of who his family was, which he found refreshing. Finn had been happy to see her in another class this semester and had even sat next to her on the first day.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m late,” he started, throwing himself into the seat beside her and rummaging through his bag. “Long story short, the benches in Washington Square Park are surprisingly comfortable and I might be trending on Twitter.” He was trying to bring some humor to the situation, despite the fact he felt like he could throw up.

Finn nearly resorted to emptying his bag on the table when it became abundantly clear he had come to their study session without the one thing he needed—their book. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, giving his bag one final pass before he was definitely sure it was tucked in there somewhere. A slightly lopsided smile cut across his face when Ingrid offered to share her copy. He nodded a scooted his chair a little closer to hers.

“I would be eternally grateful,” he joked. “And truthfully, I struggle with Austen a bit—I appreciate you helping me out.”

The bright pink highlighter and messy scrawled notes in the margins of her book called Finn’s attention from Ingrid’s face down to the pages. “I thought I was the only one who went crazy annotating my books,” he laughed, flipping through a few more pages. He’d be almost embarrassed to show her his copy of Livy’s work. Nearly every sentence was underlined or highlighted or had some comment or question about it. Apparently, Ingrid was as fanatical about Jane Austen as he was with the Ancient Romans. “We should swap sometime,” he suggested. “You can show me what the hype is about Austen,” he teased. He didn’t hate Jane Austen, he’d just never really connected with her work before. Obviously not like Ingrid had.

“I’m going to grab a coffee before we get started. Want anything?” He asked, pushing back his chair and stretching lightly. Finn had checked his phone while waiting in line to find another missed call from his father as well as another text from his sister. Just lay low. Let him cool off a bit. Margaret was the only one who bothered to warn Finn about their father’s moods. Their brothers were too busy with their own blossoming political careers to care much about anything Finn did. Don’t have to tell me twice. He texted back, stepping up to the counter and ordering.

He’d been so distracted by his own shit that Finn hadn’t even noticed the screaming and commotion going on outside until he watched people streaming past the windows of the coffee shop—running from something. Every nerve in his body went on high alert. He threw several bills on the counter and spun around to Ingrid. “I’m going to—um—run to the restroom, really quick, I’ll be right back,” he mumbled under his breath, nearly pushing people out of his way. Finn didn’t even want to think about how his speedy exit had been interpreted.

The lock on the door snapped into place as soon as it shut behind him. Thankfully, there was a window high up in the bathroom wall that led to an alley, which meant that he would be able to make his escape from the restaurant without his cover being blown. This was not the strangest place he’d shifted from Finn Myers to Night Wing. At the very least, he had a locked door between himself and potential onlookers.

The only thing Finn had ever wanted to be growing up was a superhero. When it was evident that wasn’t going to pan out, he settled for a historian. He loved history and studying the classics, but this is what he really loved. Helping the people of the city—making a real difference. Something he didn’t think he would ever achieve with politics. Though as he was trying to wedge himself through the window, it wasn’t seeming like the most glamorous gig. Night Wing had to tuck his mechanical wings in tight to his body and use a cracked slab of concrete to give him the leverage to pull through it.

Once his feet were firmly planted on the ground again, he extended his wings and flapped once—hard. Night Wing shot into the sky. He didn’t want to join the general commotion on the street, and getting a bird’s eye view of the scene before diving headfirst into it seemed like the smart move.

Speaking of birds.

Dove had beat him to the punch. She was perched on a nearby rooftop, already trying to get a read on what was happening below. He and Dove had met soon after he’d assumed the role of Night Wing and they had worked together ever since. Which had suited him just fine. His partner was capable, brilliant, and not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. Yeah, no one would catch him complaining about that. Unfortunately for him, Dove didn’t give him the time of day. Though that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Hello, Birdie,” he told her, dropping effortlessly to his feet beside her. “Miss me?”

He stared down at the city below, his face as hard as the concrete beneath his feet and just as impenetrable. However, standing here, in the armor of someone who could take back what this city had deprived him of, a small glimmer of desire sat behind the mask. Behind the dark brown eyes that belonged to the boy who desired the world, and the alias that could grant him it.

It was not Samuel Turner that toed the edge of the grand apartment building in East Village, centimeters away from falling to his demise.

No, it was Hunt.

And that is why he smiled fiercely as he took a step off the edge, falling from the building without a lace of fear – only retribution. The charcoal colored suit flew effortlessly down and down and down, the wind shooting through his brown locks, mussing them. Closer and closer drew the heavy traffic and flashing lights, a city that was so familiar to him, and yet one he held no love for. It was a gruesome, unforgiving place, which is exactly why Hunt had no problem destroying it. Brick by fucking brick.

A bus rolled right underneath him and a ferocious smirk pooled across his face as he landed right on top of the vehicle, smashing the roof inwards with a mechanical groan releasing from the bus. He could already hear the gasps emanating from the pedestrians o the sidewalk – how one could fall from such heights and not only destroy a city bus, but do so without a scratch. Hunt rose from his crouched position smoothly, ignoring the terrified screams from the passengers inside of the bus below him, as well as the pause in the world that seemed to erupt around him.

Good. Let them watch.

In the small belt strapped around his waist, Hunt reached inside a hidden compartment, unsheathing a silver orb, smaller than the palm of his hand. His master, Slade, had given him the object nearly a year ago in one of his infamous, ominous messages. Sending a raven or leaving packages at the bookstore, even though he had no formal address. At first, he was terrified of the encounters. And yet, as Slade promised him nothing but power and revenge, allowing him to unleash his pent up rage against a system that failed him time and time again, well, it wasn’t that hard of a gamble. Sam had nothing to lose and yet, working with Slade had now given him everything.

Unveiling sharp, white teeth with a feral grin, Hunt tossed the Orb in the air a few times, as if he were playing nothing but a game of catch, before sending it flying upwards with all of his strength.

The device grew three times its size. And began to glow. When he first started with Slade’s mission, the ball had been small, weak. With every one of his attacks, the power infiltrating the device caused it to grow and grow.

Soon. So, so soon will his work be done, and Slade will rise, and Hunt will get what he had always wanted.

Static filled the air as the Orb unleashed itself, beginning to suck the power from every building nearby, but its main target was the massive skyscraper Hunt glared at. Glowing streams of buzzing electricity stemmed from the buildings, the longest and thickest one coming from the skyscraper. The air grew thick with the zing of the electricity coursing through the Orb, and it began to swell as it drank in every piece of power it could.

Securing that the Orb was uncompromised, Hunt then allowed himself to gaze at the scrambling pedestrians – to see how they looked at him with fear in their eyes, and how he, like the Orb, seemed to feed off of their energy. The city was nothing but mobs of people running through the streets, out of the subway stations, and doing everything in their power to put as much distance between themselves and him. Unfortunately for them, he felt like stirring the pot just a little bit more.

He jumped from his position on top of the bus and landed smoothly on the road. Casually, Hunt began to weave through the now motionless cars, eyeing those in the driver’s seat’s that were too petrified to move. The skyscraper grew closer and closer with every step, the buzz of the electricity from the Orb loomed above. A glorious, promising sound. He only needed a few more minutes to let the device drain this part of the city of complete power before he could move along to the next. Planting his feet a few yards away from the base of the building, Hunt flexed his hands, his sharp claws highlighted by the ethereal glow from the Orb.

Just as he was about to latch onto the building, to put his gloves to good use, movement flickered at the corner of his eye. Subtle, and yet far too recognizable.

“Kitten,” he smirked, slowly turning his head to face the slight divet in the wall, a disturbance in the shadows. Hunt cocked his head as her voice drifted from the darkness, the movement more predatory than anything. Slowly, she came into full view in her usual, nonchalant stance. His eyes darkened at the sight of her white and grey suit revealing itself to him.

“You really ought to come up with a better nickname, don’t you think?” He stepped forward, relishing in the fact that Lynx refused to back down, remaining glued to her position against the wall. Always the defiant little thing. It was what made their little game of back and forth so… alluring. He was close to her now, a little less than a foot away and yet she still refused to balk at his advances. With a sly smirk, he raised a hand before drawing a sharp claw delicately under her chin.

“Cancel them,” he said lowly, though not without intensity. “You know I’m the better date.”

She was running late. Very late.

It was a feeling that Rory was growing accustomed to. Between school, her competitive law internship, and fighting crime under the guise of an alter-ego—she had her hands full.

Rory’s class had let out late, and she was hauling ass from the East Village trying to get all the way to the Upper East Side to the law office she was interning at. Her mentor—and boss—had promised to let her sit in on an initial meeting with a new client at a detention center north of the city. It was going to be the first time she’d get to actually sit in and watch him work rather than be his wildly underpaid secretary.

But that meant getting to the office before he left for the meeting, which, in turn, meant Rory was basically running down the sidewalk shoving a bagel in her mouth (because she’d forgotten to eat all day) trying to catch her train.

That is, until she heard someone scream.

Rory stopped dead in her tracks, causing someone to bump into her shoulder and give her a vulgar gesture before moving along. She muttered an apology under her breath, but remained standing there. No one had so much as turned their head toward the scream—it was New York City after all, weirder things have happened. Rory looked down at her watch and bit down on her already too-short thumb nail. It could have been nothing. A kid playing. Or someone turning the corner and running head first into another person. She’d done that before. She could ignore it. Could move on with her day, get to the office on time, and make a good impression with her boss—something that could eventually turn into a job offer once she graduated from law school.

More screams joined the first.

Without a second thought, Rory shoved what remained of her bagel into her bag—because she was still a college student after all, she couldn't afford to waste it—and ran toward the sound. She weaved through the crowd of people, running against the flow of foot traffic, and earning herself a few curses and grunts of annoyance along the way, before finally ducking into an ally out of sight from onlookers.

Every time Rory transformed into Lynx, it felt like she was shedding the skin of who she was and who she had to be day in and day out. She felt lighter. Lynx knew who she was, and what she stood for. Everything was black or white. Right or wrong. There was no middle ground. She wished that she could be like this all the time. Which, of course, was impossible because, unfortunately for her, crime fighting didn’t pay the bills. But for now, she was Lynx, and that was enough.

Her suit was white and grey, but was shifting and shimmering slightly as it tried to get a read on her surroundings—a handy enhancement that allowed her to blend into any space, something that had saved her ass on countless occasions. Lynx checked that her mask was securely in place before she jumped and grabbed on to a fire escape handle several feet above her head, hauling herself up on to the platform. Another perk of this gig, she didn’t have to pay for a gym membership.

New York City looked different from the fire escapes and rooftops that Lynx used to traverse the city blocks than it did when she took them by foot. It looked smaller, somehow. More manageable, less claustrophobic. Like she could take a deep breath for the first time all day.

The cry had come from nearby. Close enough that she had been able to hear it on the street. Granted, she did have better senses than the average person, but it still meant that it hadn’t come from very far. Lynx scanned the streets, the alleys, the rooftops, for anything amiss. When she saw an arc of electricity, her stomach dropped. It had only been a moment of bright light, gone as quickly as it appeared. If she had blinked, she might have missed it. But she hadn’t. And she knew exactly who was responsible.

Hunt had been a perpetual thorn in her side since she’d decided to take on a second life. He’d been a consistent player in the criminal dealings throughout the city in the last several months. But one thing she would admit is that he was good at it. Hunt was a good fighter, more powerful than she cared to admit when it came to his abilities, and he was smart. At least, smart enough to not get caught by her and two other heroes she sometimes found herself in league with—Dove and Night Wing.

Lynx slid down a rain gutter and dropped soundlessly into an alley near where she saw the arc of electricity. She pressed against the brick wall of the building to her left—her suit shifting to match the color of it—inching along the alley until she was in sight of what, exactly, was happening.

The entire city block had gone dark.

It was a flurry of movement as pedestrians scrambled to get away from the darkly clad figure in the center of the square. More screams had joined the first few as Lynx spotted the source of the electrical current she had seen above the buildings moments before. A small orb of what appeared to be pure electricity was hovering ominously, guarded by none other than Hunt.

She was getting real sick of this asshole.

The orb seemed to be siphoning power from a skyscraper. The building towered over every other one on this block and was home to some mega-corporation that seemed to have their logo on everything from groceries to electronics. It felt wrong for any part of New York City to be completely without electricity. The billboards were black, the windows were dark, and with the amount of people running out of the subway entrances, Lynx guessed the power outage was effecting even the station below her feet.

Lynx pushed off the ground and climbed the building to her left once more. She balanced on railings as confidently as a cat who knew she would land on her feet as she picked her way carefully, quietly, toward the building Hunt was siphoning electricity from. She had never bothered to ask him why electricity, and he had never been the type to monologue about his reasoning behind it—but she was curious as to what he was planning. What was his long game?

She dropped to the ground beside the building, her suit shifting to match the shadows behind her, and she leaned against the wall. Hunt was intimidating in that suit, and the way he held himself made it clear that he would not hesitate to end anyone who got in his way. Good thing she wouldn’t either.

“Don’t you ever take a day off, wolf-boy?” She asked, hoping to see him flinch at her sudden appearance. He didn’t, of course. Lynx inspected her nails nonchalantly. “Can’t you just run off with your tail tucked between your legs, like always? I have plans.”

Ingrid had a knack for falling prey to the things that took her away from the world.

Books were her first discovery, even before dancing. As a child, she had lugged around a well-loved and pink copy of Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland everywhere she went, well before the young girl could even read. The whimsical pictures of cats that weren’t quite cats and queens that weren’t quite queens captivated her, causing Ingrid to become more friendly with the thin, flimsy pages than other children her age -- the one’s that spent their childhood pretending to be pirates and superheroes. And Ingrid didn’t want to pretend.

She wanted to live it.

And that’s where it started, how her one book collection blossomed into a personal library. Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland turned into Jane Eyre or The Picture of Dorian Gray. Her idols changed to Jo March and Hermione Granger and not whoever graced her television. Ingrid grew up believing that there was more than just one world to live in. And that maybe she had been put in the wrong one.

It was also why her parents had placed a six-year-old Ingrid in dance classes. Her mother and father were good, genuine people. They fueled her literary addiction, buying her exclusive editions of her favorite stories as well as reading those favorites to her without any hesitation. Her parents praised her individuality and desire to not follow the crowd, for both of them had always marched to their own drum as well. But, they were concerned, as any parent had the right to be. Ingrid grew up on a street filled with other children in her class, and yet not once had she come across the desire to join them in their adventures. She had no friends at her school and every attempt in making one led to exactly the same thing...

The fact that she had nothing in common with any of them.

“I found my best friend through dance,” her mother had told her on the way to her first class as Ingrid had shimmering clips in her hair and light pink tights that itched. Right before class, she had scoured her shelves for any character that danced, only to find none. Desperately trying to cling to something that still felt familiar while she explored something completely out of her comfort zone. Small, six-year-old Ingrid was filled with nothing but anxiety and practically begged her mother to take her home as they stepped into the studio. “Imagine you are the main character,” her mother had whispered in her ear with a smile as she ushered her daughter into the room, where Ingrid was met with a wall full of mirrors. “Write your own story.”

So she did. She kept up with dance until she had finished high school, right before she left for NYU, declaring her major in Literature. It wasn’t that she hated dancing throughout the years -- it was an escape for her, just like books. But she couldn’t hide on stage and wade back into the shadows where she felt comfortable. Dance was filled with spotlights and vulnerability and Ingrid didn’t want there to be yet another thing she didn’t have in common with someone, especially when performing was something her parents held so dear to their hearts. She preferred to dance when no one was watching. In an empty studio, her room, or even through the back shelves of the library where no one dared to wander. She did feel like the heroine she had always wanted to be when she danced alone -- it was the crowds and stages and routines that took her fear and thrived on it.

Dancing alone was how Dove was created, how she was able to be the Ingrid she had always strived for without the repercussions of it.

“Ingrid… Ingrid!”

She jumped, her knee banging underneath the small table and nearly spilling her coffee. Ingrid blinked wildly and readjusted herself in her seat, brushing a stray piece of mousy-brown hair behind her ear and scooching her book closer to herself in hopes to brush off her outburst. She did it again… Drifted off and away from reality, taking solace inside of her head. “Sorry… I, um --”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jules, her usual server and friend, cut her off, giving Ingrid’s untouched coffee an accusatory glance. Ingrid could only give her an apologetic shrug at that -- she wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, no matter how much Jules had tried to coax her into being one. She was already on edge on a regular basis, if she added caffeine to that mix then she might be the one to turn the city into shambles instead of saving it. “Is he late again? That Finn boy?”

Ingrid tilted her head down to hide her smirk.

Finn Myers. He had everything that she never wanted. Attention, money, charisma -- to Ingrid, he was practically a household name at this point. She swore that there wasn’t a student on campus that hadn’t heard about his family, or swooned over them, for that matter. He was kind and seemingly trying to live a normal life, despite his family’s reputation. Still, with the looks and a following like the Myers had, it was next to impossible for them to blend in and, after spotting him in one of her general education classes, it didn’t take Ingrid long to join the following he had. To others, Finn may be the most unknown sibling out of the Myers family, but to her, he was the only one who really stood out.

She adored him. He made her heartbeat race and her chest feel warm, as well as her tongue feel ten times too big and her long legs turn into stilts. Nearly every time she had run into him on campus she had made a fool of herself. You would think that dancing for over ten years would grant someone a tiny bit of coordination… But, like everything else in her life, Ingrid defied the odds and once again crept out of the mold.

If only she could speak to him as Dove and not the meek, timid literature fanatic with a habit of inhaling words on paper, but falling short whenever they actually came out of her mouth.

A clatter behind the counter snagged Ingrid’s attention, only for her eyes to land on chocolate curls and a state she didn’t normally see Finn Myers in...

Flustered.

She immediately stiffened and diverted her eyes back to her book, attempting to act as aloof and relaxed as possible. Although, she couldn’t help but peek out of the corner of her eye as he strolled up to her table, taking the open seat next to her. Ingrid felt his gaze land on her, but refused to meet it, not trusting herself to be able to look away if she did so.

Ingrid did, however, watch him as he started to rifle through his backpack, clearly looking for his copy of Emma. She had brought her own from home, filled with colorful pen marks and random doodles and scribbles near her favorite lines. For example, her book was cracked open on one of her favorite parts inside of this chapter: "If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty.” Ingrid had highlighted that phrase in a bright pink, not even caring that it had bled through to the other side.

“You could share mine?” she started, not even registering she had spoken until the words tumbled out of her mouth. Her eyes grew wide, as if she was shocked on her own behalf. “I mean, I, uh, I don’t mind.”

Smooth, Ingrid. Real smooth.

Aurora “Rory” Jaymes Hale

twenty-one ♦ heterosexual ♦ political science major ♦ capricorn ♦ alias: lynx

Growing up in a small town in Vermont, Rory’s childhood felt picturesque—until her older brother was killed in a robbery gone wrong. The criminal escaped the charges on a technicality and ever since that day Rory has vowed to spend her life putting criminals behind bars. She has always been dedicated and driven, willing to push everything to the wayside if it stands in between her and her goals, but she also tends to push away those who care about her. Rory lives her life completely by the books and tries to help others when she can but the second someone breaks her trust her walls go up. Rory moved to New York when she was eighteen to study Political Science at NYU in hopes of going to Law school after graduation. While juggling school and her internship at a Law firm, Rory felt like she wasn’t doing enough to help keep criminals off the streets—she realized that some would always fall through the cracks of the legal system, and so her alias Lynx was born.

Abilities: Enhanced senses, enhanced agility, enhanced speed, camouflage

Suit Enhancements: Suit colors change to better fit it’s environment. Her boots allow her to walk nearly silently which aids in her camouflage ability. Three claw-like blades sprout from each gloved hand and can be wielded that way or dislodged and thrown, and a single blade can sprout from each of her boots.

Suit Appearance: Typically white and light grey body with dark grey and black spots, but her suit color changes to best fit with her environment. Her suit has an asymmetrical, one-shoulder neckline, she wears a grey-and-white spotted mask, and over-the-knee grey boots.

Personality: Lynx is able to let her hair down a little more than in her real life. She is still very goal-oriented, but allows herself a little fun while she does it. She tends to take more risks when it comes to her own safety especially if it means protecting others, and can be extremely stubborn when faced with defeat. She’s is known to banter here and there when she can find an opponent who matches her wit. Lynx can sometimes let her emotions get the better of her in tense situations, especially when her opponent knows how to push her buttons.

Finn Everette Myers

twenty II heterosexual II history major II pisces II alias: night wing

As a child, Finn had always said that when he grew up he wanted to be a superhero. A response that earned smiles and laughs when he was a five, but eye-rolls and snide comments as he grew older. As one of five siblings, Finn thought that, to stand out, he needed to be different—super. He often faded into the background amongst his sibling’s stellar accomplishments and while he had a comfortable life and he knew his family loved him, he never felt like he would be remembered for anything. That’s what drew him to history—a desire to not be forgotten. Finn is very happy-go-lucky and makes friends easily, but deep down he is afraid that what he does won’t matter. Which is why he jumped at the chance to become Night Wing. People might not remember Finn Myers, but he could be remembered as what he’s always wanted to be—a superhero.

Abilities: Enhanced senses, enhanced agility, enhanced speed, echolocation, flight

Suit Enhancements: Mechanical bat wings that sprout from the shoulders and can retract in when not in use, ear pieces that emit a high frequency sound and allow him to see his immediate surroundings and the objects within it. He has a black quarterstaff that can extend and sometimes uses during combat.

Suit Appearance: Black body with black calf-high boots, black mask, and ear pieces that look like bat ears.

Personality: Night Wing is nearly always upbeat and honestly just happy to be there. He loves to banter with both his fellow heroes and the villains they’re fighting, and his favorite part of being a superhero is the cheesy one-liners he gets to try out. He is fairly cocky about his abilities but is also incredibly selfless when it comes down to it. Contrary to popular belief, he does know when to be serious and will sacrifice anything if it means keeping others—and the city—safe.