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The names kept crawling up the screen in tight white rows, endless, relentless. Hundreds per page. Somewhere in the footage, a woman's sobs bled through a phone recording, thin and broken, the kind that didn't stop even when no one was listening anymore.
Vanessa Roberts shifted the stack of papers in front of her. The movement was small, practiced—but her throat moved once before she spoke.
"Over five thousand confirmed dead so far," she said. "That number may rise as search teams continue their work."
The broadcast cut away.
Sidewalks buried under flowers. Candles packed so close together their flames blurred into a single glow. People knelt without speaking, coats soaked through, hands clasped in front of photos held too tightly. In one vigil, rain poured straight down, soaking everyone there. No one moved. No one left.
Then.
"Among the victims… billionaire philanthropist Ben Winchester."
Alan's back straightened.
"According to his wife, Mr. Winchester died in a car accident while attempting to flee the crisis."
A car accident.
Alan's jaw set so hard it ached.
Diana's cover up lie.
The lie they all agreed would be easier for the world to swallow.
The broadcast rolled on before the weight of it could settle.
Logos filled the screen in sequence.
The Guardian Guild.
The Shielded Sentinels.
The United Heroes Alliance.
The Celestial Champions.
The Galactic Peacekeepers.
HeroCorp.
Vanessa's voice stayed smooth. "These organizations are offering billions in aid. Strike teams, infrastructure specialists, and rescue units are already being deployed."
Clips followed in quick succession.
Heroes lifting crushed steel beams with straining arms. Blood-streaked civilians being carried through dust-choked streets. A man welding fractured pavement with glowing hands. A hero kneeling beside a crying child who clutched his leg—he rested a hand on her head for half a second, nodded, then ran toward another collapse.
At a press conference, a HeroCorp spokesperson stood under blazing lights. His tie was crooked. Sweat shone at his temple as microphones crowded in.
"HeroCorp has pledged several hundred million dollars toward reconstruction," he said. "We'll also establish permanent Hero Houses throughout Ember City— rapid-response stations to ensure long-term safety."
The screen switched to animated blueprints. Clean, glowing structures rose across digital maps of the city. Reporters murmured approval.
Back to Vanessa.
"Even in tragedy," she said, "the unity of our heroes and citizens shines. Ember City will rebuild."
Alan didn't blink.
His breathing stayed shallow, controlled, like he was keeping something caged. His hands rested on his thighs, knuckles stiff, forearms tense beneath his sleeves.
"Lies," he said quietly.
The word sat heavy in the room.
He leaned forward, elbows pressing into his knees, eyes fixed on the screen like he could peel it apart by staring hard enough.
"I'm going to expose every one of you," he said, voice low and steady. "Every lie. Every deal made in the dark."
His teeth pressed together, the muscles in his face tightening.
"Whoever covered this up… whoever helped kill my father… I'll find them."
His gaze hardened, locking onto the reflection of the screen in the black glass.
"Oblivion," he said. "I'll make you beg for death that you will never get even if you wish for it."
He reached out and shut the TV off.
The screen went black.
The hum vanished.
Silence flooded the room, thick and complete. Alan sat there, shoulders squared, staring into the dark like it was already daring him to move.
He stood abruptly, chair scraping faintly against the floor, then paced once before dropping to a knee and yanking his suitcase from under the bed. The wheels bumped against the frame. Clothes were shoved inside in uneven stacks—shirts folded too fast, pants half-creased. A sock missed the case entirely and stayed on the floor.
His hands shook, but he didn't stop.
"Everything is a damn lie in this corrupt city," he muttered, voice rough. "Now the heroes are showing up? Helping? Where were they when the demons attacked? Where were they when my dad needed them?"
He jammed another shirt down, pressing hard.
"Just a handful of heroes died for a city that doesn't even know they're gone," he went on, bitter. "And now they're feeding civilians bullshit like it's hope." His breath came out sharp. "I'll make sure everyone gets what they deserve."
Tomorrow, he is leaving Ember City.
The zipper dragged shut with a sharp, final scrape.
The next day, the private runway buzzed with activity. Engines idled low and heavy, vibrating through the concrete. Ground crew moved in reflective vests, shouting over the noise, orange wands slicing the air as they guided another jet into position. Heat shimmered above the asphalt, warping the horizon.
Alan stood beside the aircraft, duffel strap digging into his shoulder. The jet's white body gleamed under the late afternoon sun, its open door yawning like a clean escape. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes tracking nothing in particular.
Diana stood close, arms crossed tight against her chest. Her coat fluttered slightly in the wind kicked up by the engines. She watched him the way people do when they know time is running out—trying to memorize every detail.
She exhaled through her nose. "Don't forget to text me when you reach China." A pause. "And—" she rubbed her thumb against her palm, a nervous tic she couldn't stop, "—are you sure you don't need bodyguards? Chefs… maids? Anyone to assist you, son?"
Alan shook his head, letting out a low sigh. "Mom… I need to do this alone." His voice stayed quiet, but firm. "I need space. I'll check in, I promise. I just—" he dragged a hand across his forehead, fingers lingering there, "—I can't think straight. He's plastered all over the news. Everywhere. I can't even breathe in this awful city."
Diana stepped forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingers paused, lingering longer than necessary. "Just promise me something," she said softly. Her voice wavered once before she steadied it. "Promise me you'll stay safe. And remember—you're not alone. I… I'm here for you, Al."
Alan swallowed. His jaw trembled for half a second before he forced it still. He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight, unyielding hug. Diana's hands clutched the back of his shirt, knuckles pressing in as if she could anchor him there through sheer will.
They stayed like that until the engine noise surged again, reminding them time was up.
Alan pulled back first.
Without looking back, he turned and climbed the metal steps. Each footstep rang hollow against the steel. The jet door sealed behind him with a heavy thud that echoed through the cabin.
The engines roared louder. The aircraft shuddered, then rolled forward.
Through the window, Ember City shrank— first into a jagged skyline, then into scattered lights, then into shadows bleeding into the evening sky.
Alan sat still.
He didn't look back.
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