"For decades, this city has been protected by heroes of countless names. But one—one of notorious fame—stood apart from them all. A man known for doing what no one else dared. A man who was… suicidal."
The newsroom faded into archival footage—grainy, sun-bleached clips of a towering inferno.
the anchor continued, "The Burnham Tower Inferno of 1986. A disaster so violent, so sudden, that many believed we would lose an entire district."
The screen showed a collapsing support beam, firefighters retreating from blistering heat—
and one man running in the opposite direction.
"But because of a single man, the disaster amounted to no causality whatsoever. The Suicide Man"
Footage slowed: the hero dragging two unconscious workers from blazing debris; shielding a paramedic with his own collapsing body; strolling back into the flames as if they were rain.
"His regenerative ability was unlike anything documented at the time," the anchor narrated. "Wounds closed as they opened. Burns healed while the fire still touched him. He put his life on the line simply because he believed every life was worth more than his."
A quiet breath trembled in the anchor's throat.
"He saved thirty-nine people that day. And he kept saving more, year after year."
The montage shifted—modern color footage replacing retro grain—a younger figure vaulting between rooftops, red bandanna trailing behind him.
"And then came the second generation," Smith said softly. "Kamikaze. Suicide man persumed son."
Charts, photos, and clips filled the screen: Kamikaze disarming gang units in seconds; hauling civilians from wreckage; standing shoulder-to-shoulder with other known heroes.
"Kamikaze inherited his father's gift… and multiplied it. Faster healing. Sharper combat instincts. Tactical brilliance beyond his years. It was under his leadership that Baylight City's first official hero division formed—The Baywatch."
A team portrait flashed: smiling heroes, arms around shoulders, medals shining.
"Our best, our bravest—uniting into one powerhouse that brought nearly a decade of unprecedented peace."
His voice grew quieter.
"Until...."
A slow fade to black.
"March 18th, 2018. A date our city will never forget."
A mugshot of a familiar monster appeared: stark white mask, emotionless, unreadable.
"The notorious crime lord known as White Face resurfaced after years of imprisonment. What followed…"
The anchor swallowed hard.
"…was the single deadliest confrontation in Baylight's history."
Burning streets. Collapsed buildings. Sirens wailing.
Shaky cellphone footage showed Kamikaze tackling White Face through a wall, both nearly broken.
"The battle that ensued claimed the lives of heroes… and civilians alike. It ended in the tragic fall of the Baywatch. And it ended… with the confirmed death of Kamikaze."
There was a pause—too long for television.
Smith's composure cracked. His breath shook as he continued.
"The fate of Baylight City remains uncertain. The government has advised calm, but… for now all there is is the grieve..."
He lowered his head, covering his face with one trembling hand.
"I—I'm sorry. I can't—"
The broadcast cut abruptly to commercials, and then.
Glass shattered.
The TV lurched forward, ripped from its mount as masked men smashed through the storefront window. Screens fell like dominoes. Sparks spit across shattered tile.
Caleb stood there, unfazed. Black suit, Hair hanging over tired, half-dead eyes.
He watched men in colored masks pack televisions into their trucks, their laughter echoing off the ruined glass.
He didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe right.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said:
"I was watching that…"
Yellow Mask froze mid-lift, glanced his way… then shrugged and went back to loading the TV.
Caleb stared at him.
A moment passed—too long—
and then CRACK.
A rock hit the newly lifted TV, splitting the screen like a spiderweb.
Yellow Mask spun around.
Caleb stood there, another rock in hand.
More clearly this time:
"I said… I was watching that."
Blue Mask poked his head out from the truck.
"Yo, why'd you stop? We're on a timer."
Yellow jerked a thumb at Caleb. "Nothing. Just a kid playing hero."
Blue chuckled and hopped out. "Ah. Got it."
He waved Yellow off. "Just keep packing. I'll handle him."
Yellow grumbled and turned back to work.
Blue approached Caleb with his hands raised casually.
"Listen, kid. We didn't see you… you didn't see us. No need for trouble. Just walk—"
CRACK.
Another rock flew. Another TV shattered.
Yellow snapped.
"HEY! Little shi—!"
He raised his bat, ready to swing, but Blue caught his arm.
"Bro. Chill. He's a kid."
Caleb didn't flinch.
He just stepped forward—
and punched Blue in the nose.
Blue staggered back, blood spraying.
Yellow screamed, "That's IT!" and rushed in swinging.
The next few moments blurred.
Fists. Kicks. Boots thudding into ribs.
Caleb went down hard, coughing, trying to breathe through the pounding in his chest.
That's when the driver door slammed.
A third man stepped out
"What the hell is taking so long?" he barked.
Yellow answered while kicking Caleb in the side, "He tried to play hero, so we're treating him like one!"
The man marched over.
"Stop! Jesus—this isn't how we do things! We talked about this!"
Caleb barely heard them. His head rang.
His vision doubled.
Then…
he saw the white mask.
He pushed off the ground as his bruises closed, skin stitching together before their eyes.
Blue Mask froze mid-step.
"Yo… what the hell?"
Yellow staggered back.
"Is he—healing?"
Caleb's eyes didn't leave White Mask.
He hurled a stone into Yellow Mask's teeth—shattering them—then launched himself forward.
Chaos erupted.
Yellow swung the bat—Caleb took the hit to the skull, grunted as bone cracked… then snapped back into place as he slammed his elbow into Yellow's throat.
Blue pulled a pistol and fired—
BANG.
Caleb jerked as the bullet punched into his stomach—
then pushed itself out moments later, clattering onto the concrete.
Blue screamed.
Caleb didn't give him time to breathe.
A kick to the knee.
A fist to the jaw.
Blue dropped like a broken toy.
Then Caleb turned—
—toward White Mask.
Caleb tackled him, smashing the back of his head against the pavement.
Then he climbed on top of him.
And punched.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
Twenty.
Blood sprayed. Mask cracked.
Caleb sobbed through clenched teeth.
"Why…"
smash
"…why"
smash
"WHY"
White Mask tried to raise his hands, weak and trembling.
"P-Please—stop—please—!"
But Caleb didn't hear him.
All he saw was White Face.
His hands moved on their own, closing around the man's throat.
Squeezing.
Harder.
Harder—
White Mask kicked helplessly, choking.
Somewhere behind them, the other thieves scrambled into their truck and sped off, tires screeching, abandoning their bleeding friend without a second thought.
Caleb didn't notice.
Not until—his vision cleared.
And he saw—
not White Face.
Not a monster.
Just a man.
Beaten. Destroyed.
Begging for breath.
Caleb let go.
White Mask wheezed, rolling onto his side, coughing blood.
Caleb stared at his hands—
covered in red—
shaking uncontrollably.
He slowly looked up…
and saw a bystander across the street, frozen mid-call, staring at him in horror.
When Caleb's gaze met his, the man flinched and turned away, whispering desperately into his phone.
Police.
He was calling the police.
Caleb staggered back, wiping his face with a trembling sleeve.
He tried to breathe—
failed—
tried again.
Then he forced himself upright and staggered his way home.
Caleb didn't remember walking home.
He just remembered the door clicking shut behind him.
He leaned his back against it and slid slowly to the floor, knees drawn in, forehead resting on them.
No tears at first—just that deep, empty exhaustion that pressed in from every direction, like he had been hollowed out.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
Not like the world had gone silent—more like he had.
After a minute… or an hour…
something tiny brushed against his foot.
A soft, fuzzy head nudged him.
Hamtaro.
The little hamster stood on his hind legs, tiny paws resting on Caleb's sock.
Black eyes round and alert, whiskers trembling.
Like he knew something was wrong.
Caleb breathed out shakily, lifting a trembling hand to stroke the fur on Hamtaro's head.
The hamster leaned into the touch instantly, nose twitching as if saying I'm here.
Caleb whispered, voice cracking:
"…Yeah. I know."
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.
His throat tightened.
"I couldn't go…"
His voice shrank.
"I just… couldn't."
Hamtaro pressed himself against Caleb's palm, refusing to leave.
Caleb sniffed, gently scooping the hamster up.
"Come on, buddy… let's get food. You're probably starving."
He didn't say out loud that he was starving too.
His body was, at least. His heart wasn't sure.
He washed up like he was underwater—slow, dragging movements, like everything weighed twice as much.
He turned on the bathroom light.
It flickered once and stayed on.
Caleb stared at his reflection.
The redness around his eyes.
The faint dried blood at the corner of his nose that he had missed.
His healing bruises barely visible now.
Everything else visible.
He touched the mirror lightly with his fingertips, then sighed.
He changed into the most basic clothes he owned—old sweatpants, a washed-out shirt...
Hamtaro watched from the sink, tiny head tilting left, then right.
When Caleb opened the fridge, he stood there longer than necessary—staring at food he didn't have the appetite for.
He ended up making the blandest sandwich imaginable.
Two slices of bread.
Some cheese.
Nothing else.
He sat at the counter with Hamtaro nearby and ate mechanically.
Chew.
Blank stare.
Chew again.
He didn't taste anything.
Hamtaro scampered across the counter and began circling the phone.
Around and around.
Pausing by the message icon.
Caleb lifted his head slightly.
"…They tried to call, huh?"
Hamtaro nodded. Or at least it looked like he did.
Caleb tapped the replay button.
Beep.
Five new messages.
Message 1:
"Caleb? Are you home? Are you okay? Please answer if you're there. Just… just let us know you're alright."
Her voice was soft.
Worried.
A little cracked.
He swallowed.
The sandwich felt stuck halfway down.
Beep
Message 2:
"Caleb… it's okay if you didn't want to come. You don't have to explain anything. Just… please pick up. Please."
He lowered his eyes.
Hamtaro placed a tiny paw on his wrist.
Beep
Message 3:
"Kid. We're checking up on you. That's all. If you need space—we'll give you space. But at least text that you're breathing."
Caleb's jaw tightened.
He pushed another piece of sandwich into his mouth even though he didn't want it.
Beep
Message 4
"We're coming by. I don't— I don't know what to say. I really don't. We'll knock first. If you don't open, we're using the key."
Caleb took a deep breath.
It shook.
He put the phone down.
Then the doorbell rang.
He didn't move.
Another ring.
Still nothing.
Then the sound of keys at the lock.
The door opened.
Adol stepped in first, wearing black.
Her eyes were already swollen from crying long before she arrived.
"Caleb? Caleb!"
Her voice echoed through the apartment.
She rushed further in—
and then she saw him.
Sitting at the counter, chewing slowly, shoulders slumped, eyes empty.
"Caleb…" she whispered.
He looked up at her.
Tried to smile.
Failed.
Held up his sandwich instead.
"…want some?"
He swallowed hard.
"I don't think I can finish it."
That broke her.
Adol covered her mouth with shaking hands, eyes filling instantly.
Then she crossed the space in seconds and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against, stroking caleb's hair like he was still a younger kid.
Caleb froze at first.
Then his breath hitched.
And he leaned into her, trembling, one hand gripping her back weakly while the other held the half-eaten sandwich.
He didn't cry loudly.
He held his breath, trying to keep the tears in.
Gold Eye stood by the door, silent, giving them the moment.
His jaw clenched.
Hands folded in front of him respectfully.
**************
Adol insisted on taking over the kitchen the moment Caleb muttered, "I'm not really hungry anymore."
She wiped her eyes, breathed hard through her nose, and started pulling ingredients out of his fridge like someone bracing against a storm.
Gold Eye washed his hands quietly at the sink, shoulders low, giving them space.
Caleb sat at the counter, elbows on the cold surface, feeling small. Hamtaro perched near his wrist, tiny paws gripping the counter's edge, watching him the way pets do when something is wrong—too still, too observant.
Adol cooked in soft, trembling motions: slicing vegetables, drizzling oil, heating a pan. She wasn't talking. Neither was he. Only the quiet sizzle of onions filled the silence.
When she placed plates down—warm rice, chicken, a bit of salad—no one thanked anyone. They just ate. Slow. Careful. Not tasting a damn thing.
Gold Eye broke the quiet first.
"…You sleep at all?" he asked, voice low behind the eye mask.
Caleb shook his head once.
More silence.
He swallowed a bite that felt like swallowing sand. His jaw tightened. The inside of his cheeks stung. Something in him cracked.
"I… had a fight earlier."
Both of them looked up.
Caleb kept his eyes on his plate, pushing food around with his fork.
"Some petty thieves," he said. "Stealing TVs off a shop near the old bridge. Just… stupid stuff."
Adol's brows pulled tight
Caleb exhaled shakily. "One of them… he wore a white mask."
Gold Eye's fork froze mid-air. Adol's fingers curled around hers.
Caleb continued, voice tightening. "And when I saw it—when I saw that stupid blank face—I don't know what happened. Everything just… went red."
He rubbed at his temple, his hands trembling.
"I hit him," he said. "Again. And again. And again. And—" His breath shook. "I couldn't stop. I wasn't even seeing him. Just White Face. "
Adol whispered, "Caleb…"
"I would've killed him."
He looked up, finally meeting their eyes.
His own were glassy and dark.
Gold Eye swallowed. Hard. "Kid… that's not—"
"How is it not?" Caleb snapped. "You lost your sight because of him. Adol lost her friend because of him. We lost my dad because of him "
"Caleb—" Adol tried.
He pressed his palms into the table.
"I want to kill him."
The room went still.
Adol put her fork down gently. "You're hurting."
Her jaw trembled, but she held. "It wouldn't bring anything back."
"It'll bring me back," he muttered.
Gold Eye leaned forward. "And what then? You kill him and suddenly the nightmares stop? The guilt? The shaking? That's not how it works."
"You're telling me I'm supposed to just forget!?" Caleb shouted.
"No," Adol said, firm but gentle. "We're telling you—you can want justice without destroying yourself."
Caleb's eyes burned. His heart felt too loud in his chest.
"Nothing in me feels normal anymore," he whispered. "Nothing feels right unless I'm heading toward him. I wake up angry. I go to bed angry. I breathe angry. If I don't end him… then what am I even doing? What's the point?"
Adol reached across the table, taking his hand. Her grip was warm, steady.
"Caleb… you're not alone. Let us help."
His throat tightened.
Gold Eye murmured, "We're still here."
But Caleb shook his head slowly.
"You don't get it," he whispered. "I don't think I can be okay if he's still alive."
Something in the air shifted—like a subtle pressure change, like stepping too close to an open flame.
His vision flickered.
Edges softened.
Colors thickened like wet paint.
Adol's voice warped, stretching and fading as if from underwater:
"Caleb…? Caleb—hey—"
Gold Eye's silhouette blurred.
The table seemed far away.
The room darkened around the edges, collapsing inward like a tunnel.
Hamtaro's squeak sounded like an echo from miles off.
Caleb blinked—
and the world folded.
Like a dream pulling him under.
Like a hand gripping the back of his mind.
And everything went—
soft
wrong
slow.
His breath caught.
Then— He woke up.