Heroes.
Heroes are easy to define until you have to decide what one truly is.
To some, a hero is a symbol–someone who arrives in the sky before the sound catches up, someone strong enough to bend steel and stubborn enough to stand when everything falls.
To others, a hero is simple. A person who saves lives, stops disasters, defeats villains and monsters, and leaves the world a little safer than they found it. These are the heroes people grow up admiring, the ones whose names are shouted in relief and etched in headlines.
They are the figures children point out and say, "I want to be like them. Strong. Fearless. Unbreakable.
And for most that is enough. That is the dream–to be seen, to be needed, to be the one who stands between chaos and everything fragile that depends on it.
But not all of them demand the spotlight. Some of them just don't want to be symbols or legends. They don't measure themselves by how loudly the world cheers for them, instead they look at the smaller moments–the ones that never make it to the daily reports.
People stuck in fires, a falling beam no one notices until it's too late, a frightened voice in the crowd that doesn't know who to call. These moments are quite forgettable and often dismissed as insignificant.
Yet this is where a different kind of hero is made. Not in grand victories but in countless unseen decisions to help, to fix, to stay. Not because they have to. Not because anyone is watching but because they can and they want to.
They don't choose this path due to their inability to be something or someone greater but out of refusal to become something distant. They could stand above the world but they choose to walk through it. They could be feared, worshipped or obeyed but they choose to be present–close enough to hear the everyday struggles and help out in any way possible by them.
To them being a hero isn't just about recognition. It is about consistency. About showing up when it matters, even if it is small, inconvenient or something no one will remember about.
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The alarm of Silver's phone had gone off at 6:45 AM sharp. He had hit the snooze five times.
By the time he finally decided to roll out of his bed, the room was already bathed in the pale, cold light of Chicago autumn morning. Dragging himself to the bathroom and ignoring the pile of clothes that lay on the floor, Silver rubbed the sleep from his eyes before splashing cold water on his face and stared at his reflection on the mirror.
His white hair was sticking out in every direction possible, giving off the appearance of a startled bird's nest rather than a hairstyle. He gripped the side of the washbasin, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes. His knuckles were decorated with tiny scars, all from years of working with sharp metal and sharper tools. He looked exactly like what he was; a second year engineering student who was chronically behind on sleep, chronically broke and habituated to lying to everyone around him.
He pulled on yesterday's jeans, in his defense they were still mostly clean, a faded black hoodie with a cracked Science Dog logo across his chest and his favorite pair of worn-out sneakers, His backpack went over his shoulder, filled with textbooks, laptop, charger, half a granola bar and a power bank. There were also some machine parts of his latest project that were shoved into the backpack.
He grabbed a battered aluminium briefcase after putting on his thick, black-frammed glass, styled his hair to make it look a little bit decent before heading out of his apartment.
His mind wasn't on the sidewalk or the traffic on the road to Upstate University, the university where he was enrolled at, majoring in automation and mechanical engineering, nor was it on distant honk of the impatient taxis.
He was deep in thought regarding his latest iteration of his semester project. He was trying to make a small-sized robotic arm and the only thing stopping the said project from becoming an expensive paperweight was a source of constant energy which wouldn't fry or run out after a few minutes of running. He needed the arm to be functional for at least more than thirty minutes in order to successfully call it a prototype.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, mentally sketching a new pattern for transfer of energy. This was the thing with him. He never ran out of ideas, be it just for his projects or for other scientific curiosities. The gears in his mind were always functional, sometimes voluntarily and other times involuntarily.
A street vendor's cart rolled by, the smell of burnt coffee and overcooked hot dogs hitting him like a wall. Silver wrinkled his nose and kept walking. His university's campus was just seven blocks away now and he could already make out the red-brick buildings between the gaps of commercial towers. His thoughts jumped from his current project to trying to remember what was going to be the first lecture of the day.
A series of terrified screams from the opposite streets broke him out of his thoughts. The next thing he saw after turning his head to the right was a street food cart flipped over like it weighed nothing. Cars and bikes were pushed backwards and the people were almost lifted off the ground.
Above the chaos on the streets hovered a man in a green bodysuit, with segmented armor plates over his chest and thighs. On his wrists were a pair of turbines that spun with an angry whine. Air rippled around him in visible waves, distorting the background like a heat haze. His face was hidden behind a green helmet.
"Bow before the storm!" He bellowed, voice amplified and distorted. He thrust both arms forward, a localized cyclone roaring forward, shredding newspaper stands, ripping umbrellas inside out and sending the pedestrians sprawling.
The sound of screams, glass shattering and children crying broke Silver out of his initial trance and before he knew it, he was running towards where the airborne airbender was, tapping the button on his briefcase, He made a sharp turn into an alleyway as red sparks began circling around his entire bodyframe.
He tossed the briefcase on the ground once it opened and in a fluid motion, a purple-black suit unfolded from the briefcase before attaching itself to Silver, the wires connecting automatically, the hard plates snapping into places perfectly. A black visor glasses, compact and folded, unfolded itself and attached onto his eyes like high-tech shades.
Back on the streets, the villain who called himself Turbine spread his arms, hovering thirty feet above the ground. He generated a sustained vortex that kept traffic frozen in place. Cars slid sideways and people crawled under vehicles or pressed against walls, not daring to move from their place.
Turbine then noticed every loose piece of metal in the radius floating against him. Nails from construction barricades, manhole covers, discarded bicycle frames and even street signs that read "ONE WAY" or "NO PARKING".
The metallic debris began spinning faster, equalling the speed of the vortex Turbine had formed. In the eye of the metallic storm, Turbine noticed someone. Someone in a dark purple-black suit controlling the metallic mayhem with a raised hand.
"That's a cute trick, Nemesis!" Turbine growled, gritting his teeth.
Nemesis.
That was the name, the man in the purple-black suit went around with. No one knew when and where he came from. But suddenly one day he started hovering in the airspace of Chicago and even other parts of the country, helping anyone in need; be it helping them cross roads, stop or prevent bank robberies, rescuing people from fire or at times putting stop to supervillains.
Nemesis responded faster than Guardians of the Globe or any other superhero group and that definitely didn't bode well with numerous villains and hooligans. Somehow whenever they were committing a crime or being the big bad guy for the day, Nemesis had to drop on them even if any other superhero wasn't bothering and then he would go on to become their big bad guy.
This was why Nemesis had numerous haters, more so than his fans and Turbine was definitely not his biggest fan.
He hurled the wind vortex he had formed towards Nemesis, the latter countering it with his own metallic storm. The two storms clashed, creating a blast that sent the two flying backwards. Without even wasting a second, Turbine flipped in the air before sending a focused blast of wind towards Nemesis once again, this time the wind was more intense than before.
The wind blast hit him like a truck, sending him crashing on the ground. Turbine didn't just stop there. He created another vortex and hurled it towards Nemesis, the latter moving out of the way at the last minute, letting concrete and asphalt fly off from the impact. Nemesis then held out his hand towards a nearby bicycle.
The bicycle frame started orbiting before collapsing inward with a tortured screech, compressing into a dense, jagged sphere the size of a basketball. Without wasting even a second, Nemesis hurled it towards Turbine, accelerating it with his own powers. The sphere crashed onto his left arm, destroying the turbine on it and almost making the villain lose his balance.
Nemesis didn't stop there. Seeing his foe losing balance, he sprinted towards him, jumping off at the last moment and tackled him down to a delivery truck. A red aura enveloped around Nemesis's hands before he extended it forward. The same red aura extended to Turbine's right arm, sticking it to the side of the delivery truck with so much pressure that a dent was formed on the frame of the truck.
"How does it feel to be grounded?" Nemesis asked mockingly before closing his fist. This resulted in the tech getting crushed just from the sheer force. Turbine screamed in pain and agony.
The hero didn't let go even after crushing his tech. He slammed the villain down on the road, only to lift him up again and land a knee on his torso. He then landed a good number of punches on his face, breaking Turbine's mask in the process.
Nemesis stopped with his punches when he noticed that Turbine had fainted and the noise of sirens were nearing in the vicinity. Knowing that his job here was done, he spared one last glance at the citizens. Seeing that all of them were safe and sound, with few of them having sustained some injuries, he took flight without even bothering to wait for the police or any authorities that would be taking good care of Turbine from now onwards.
Upon touching the concrete on the same alleyway where he had suited up, the suit detached itself from Silver's body, before folding back into the same old briefcase. He then pulled down the visor from his eyes and shook his head before putting on his glasses again. Then picking up his backpack, he made a beeline for his college.
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"Dude, did you just run a marathon or something?"
Was first question Silver was greeted with when he entered the lecture hall, from the backdoor of course instead of the front door because the professor had already started with her lecture and Silver was lucky enough that the second door of the classroom was open. Enough for him to sneak inside and take his seat in the backbenches.
"Yeah, well had to." Silver replied, catching his breath, sparing a glance at his classmate Dillon. "Too much traffic."
"You stay like 10-11 blocks away from the Uni and still can't get on time." Dillion joked while he was doodling on his own notebook not even bothering with the lecture.
"You know what they say. The students that live nearby are often the lazier ones." Silver joked back before focusing his attention on the lecture.
"You know you can just text me and I can stall the professors from starting early." Dillion offered. His and Silver's friendship started by being bench partners from the very first semester and somehow that friendship just stuck even in the second year.
Silver made notes for both of them, helped him study and hell, even make cheat chits for him in the examinations. In return Dillion would take care of his proxy attendance when Silver remained absent for reasons unknown. He never questioned his reasons for absenteeism. Everyone has their reasons but he ensured Silver's attendance remained intact.
In their year, they were like this inseparable duo of friends, always seen together, be it in classes or canteens, or even when they have nothing to do but loiter around in the campus.
"Where is the fun in that?" Silver playfully retorted. "The real fun is in sneaking inside an ongoing class."
"All is good until someone catches your sneaking ass." Dillion remarked, remembering one of the moments where Silver was caught sneaking in by the Asst. Dean of their college.
That day wasn't the best one for him.
Yet that never stopped him either.
"Please don't remind me of that day." Silver rolled his eyes before sparing a glance at the windows, gazing at the clear blue sky from inside the lecture hall.
A few minutes ago he was fighting a villain, stopping him from causing damage and destruction to the city, saving lives and defeating the bad guy. And now he was in his classroom, studying and taking lecture notes.
This was the type of life he had chosen for himself. A life of secrecy and heroism. Like many heroes, he could have let his identity be known and become a famous hero overnight. Yet he chose not to go down that path.
He chose the much lonelier, much harder path, believing it to be the right way for him to live.
This choice does come with its own cost. Because the world doesn't stop being dangerous just because one decides to stay grounded. The same hand that fixes broken things must still face what breaks them.
The same mind that worries about responsibilities and other quiet burdens of an ordinary life must also calculate the impossible when danger escalates beyond reason. It is a constant balancing act–between strength and restraint, between distance and connection, between being a person and being something more.
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UNKNOWN LOCATION
"What do you think, sir?" A fair-skinned man with spectacles and short, light brown hair turned to his superior who was standing beside him. He was wearing a well-groomed grey suit.
On the big screen in front of him was a paused video. Someone had shot the video of Nemesis fighting and taking down Turbine and then posted it on social media using their account. From there, they had extracted this video.
The other occupant of the room was a middle-aged man with a long scar stretching over his left jaw and shoulder length silver hair. He wore a dark blue suit with a white shirt underneath and a red tie hung from his collar. He had a neutral facial expression with his hands shoved in his pockets.
"Not bad. He is much more impressive than the current lot of newbie heroes. Be it Teen Team, Fighting Force or anyone else for that matter." He mumbled, loud enough for his assistant to hear.
"That's a lot of praise sir." Even the assistant was shocked to hear so much praise about a single man. A single man they knew next to nothing about and yet from a few videos they had seen of this Nemesis saving the day, his boss was impressed.
Not to mention he himself found the young hero to be quite remarkable than others. He gave utmost priority to civilians in any situation and always ensured that the fight or any impact from the fights between him and any villain did not reach them. He was even good at rescue work and his response time was remarkably better than many heroes.
There was only one problem with Nemesis.
"I take it that you want to send him an invite too." The assistant muttered, nervously fixing his glasses. "The only issue here is that we don't have his contact information."
"Oh you don't need to worry about that Donald." The silver-haired man replied with a stern and confident voice. "He will come by himself."
"How are you so sure sir?" Donald inquired, wondering if his superior had any way of contacting Nemesis or maybe he knew him personally? That would make sense behind his confidence. "Do you perhaps know him?"
"No I don't." The man shook his head. "You will see. For now, start preparing for the funeral of the Guardians."
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