John’s phone buzzed on the table beside his half-eaten takeout. He barely glanced at the caller ID before answering—he already knew who it was.

  "Harkin. You busy?" Gomez’s voice was sharp, tense.

  John sighed, rolling his stiff shoulder. "Does it matter?"

  "No. Get moving. We need all hands on deck. The city’s on fire tonight."

  John sat up, alert now. "Define fire."

  Gomez didn’t hesitate. "Coordinated attacks. Small but efficient. Someone’s hitting multiple targets all over the city, and we can’t cover it all. The Paragons are tied up with bigger threats—we need you on the ground. Got something happening near Victory Plaza. Superpowered crew tearing up the monument. You in?"

  John was already grabbing his coat. "Where?"

  "West side. Near the old courthouse. I'll send backup when I can, but right now, you’re on your own."

  "Wouldn’t have it any other way," John muttered, hanging up.

  He stepped out into the cold night air, tightening the bandages around his knuckles. The city was in chaos tonight.

  Time to get to work.

  ---

  The distant sounds of sirens and explosions rang through the streets as John approached Victory Plaza. The once-peaceful monument—built to honor fallen heroes—was under siege.

  From the shadows, he surveyed the three attackers.

  1. A lean, wiry man with powerful rabbit-like legs, crouched low, his muscles twitching with kinetic energy. The guy looked like he could clear a city block in a single bound.

  2. A massive brute of a man, his right hand replaced with a solid metal hammer, slamming it against the stone of the monument. Each strike sent deep cracks through the foundation.

  3. A handful of grunts, normal thugs with minor enhancements—nothing major, but enough to make them a problem.

  The hammer-handed thug raised his weaponized arm and brought it crashing down onto the monument’s engraved names. Stone and debris flew everywhere.

  John exhaled through his nose.

  That pissed him off.

  The rabbit-legged guy smirked, stretching his legs before launching himself into the air in a blur of motion. Superhuman agility. He landed on top of a nearby statue, perched like a vulture.

  "Think we got company," he sneered, spotting John lurking in the shadows.

  The grunts turned, weapons raised. The hammer-wielding brute looked up from his destruction, cracking his thick neck.

  John stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.

  "This the part where I ask you to stop, or the part where we get right to the part where I break something?"

  The rabbit-legged guy laughed, bouncing lightly on his feet. “You? You think you’re gonna stop us? Ain’t you the one who just gets punched a lot?”

  John smirked. "Yeah. And still standing."

  The hammer brute swung his massive arm, sending a shockwave through the ground. The grunts charged first, eager to get their licks in.

  John moved fast.

  One of the grunts swung a baton—John caught it mid-swing and drove a knee into his ribs. Something cracked.

  He twisted the baton free, slammed it across another thug’s jaw, then ducked as the rabbit guy launched himself toward him with a devastating kick.

  John barely rolled out of the way before the hammer brute came in swinging.

  The impact hit him like a truck.

  John flew backward into a broken column, his spine cracking against the marble. He gritted his teeth, tasting copper in his mouth. That was gonna leave a mark.

  He forced himself to his feet. He'd taken worse.

  The rabbit-legged guy grinned. "That all you got, tough guy?"

  John wiped the blood from his mouth. "You tell me."

  The rabbit guy launched at him again, legs coiling like springs.

  This time, John was ready.

  He sidestepped, grabbed a broken piece of rebar from the debris, and—just as the guy landed—he jammed it between his legs, twisting.

  The guy howled as his landing was thrown off—he crashed hard, slamming face-first into the pavement.

  John stomped his boot on the back of his head, pressing him down. "You should’ve hopped away."

  The hammer brute roared, charging full force. John ducked low, dodging the first swing—then the second. He felt the air shift as the massive metal arm whizzed past his skull.

  John saw his opening.

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  He threw a heavy uppercut into the guy’s gut—not enough to take him down, but enough to stagger him. He followed up with a brutal elbow to the jaw, his scarred knuckles hitting like iron.

  The brute barely flinched.

  Then he swung down—full force.

  John raised his left forearm, letting the hammer slam into the exact same spot where he’d been hit before.

  Pain. Blinding pain.

  But as the dust settled, John was still standing.

  The hammer-wielding thug's eyes widened.

  John smirked. "I get harder to kill every time."

  Before the brute could react, John grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted hard. A sickening crack rang out as the metal arm tore free from its hinges.

  The brute screamed, falling to his knees.

  The remaining thugs? They ran.

  John exhaled, dropping the broken hammer-arm beside its owner. "Stay down."

  The police sirens grew closer.

  He stepped back, surveying the damage. The monument was in ruins, but at least it wasn’t leveled.

  The rabbit-legged guy groaned beneath John’s boot. “F—fuck… you…”

  John smirked, pressing a little harder. “I’d say you put up a good fight, but you didn’t.”

  The sirens wailed louder, lights flashing as the police arrived.

  John let the kid go, stepping back as Gomez and his men poured into the plaza.

  Gomez took one look at the destruction. “Jesus. You made a mess.”

  John cracked his neck. "They started it."

  Gomez sighed. “Any idea why?”

  John looked down at the battered criminals, then up at the ruined monument. Something wasn’t adding up.

  They weren’t just wrecking things for the hell of it. This was planned. Organized.

  John exhaled, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

  But he would.

  The city burned.

  Not in flames—not yet—but crime had erupted like a controlled detonation, hitting multiple districts at once. Coordinated, precise, overwhelming.

  The Paragons were the elite, the ones who handled world-ending threats. But tonight? The war was in their streets.

  And even they were struggling to keep up.

  ---

  Downtown – The Tunnel’s Chase

  A black armored van tore through the streets, weaving between cars, police sirens blaring in pursuit.

  Inside? Armed criminals, cybernetic enhancements pulsing beneath their skin.

  But they weren’t getting away.

  Not from The Tunnel.

  A portal snapped open in front of the van—and The Tunnel stepped out casually, rolling his shoulders.

  The driver cursed, jerking the wheel—too late.

  The van plunged into the portal and vanished.

  A second later, it reappeared twenty feet in the air— upside down.

  It slammed into the pavement, crushing itself under its own weight.

  The Tunnel sighed, stepping forward, twirling his mustache.

  “Never fails,” he muttered, dusting off his coat. “Always forget to look down.”

  A thug stumbled from the wreck, his cybernetic arm transforming into a plasma cannon.

  He fired—but The Tunnel was already gone.

  A portal snapped open beside him, and The Tunnel stepped out behind the criminal, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Boom.”

  The thug turned—and caught a spinning roundhouse kick to the jaw, knocking him out cold.

  The Tunnel adjusted his coat.

  “One down.”

  ---

  South End – Mist’s Hunt Begins

  The rooftops belonged to her.

  Where the other Paragons were soldiers, bruisers, or strategists—Mist was the assassin.

  Agile. Silent. Deadly.

  She moved like a phantom, slinking across the ledges, watching the scene below.

  A black-market arms deal was going down in the ruins of an old apartment complex.

  Six men. All armed.

  They never saw her coming.

  She became vapor—drifting toward them like an unnatural fog.

  A gunman tensed, feeling the air grow thick, damp. His fingers twitched on the trigger.

  Too late.

  Mist reformed behind him, daggers in hand.

  One blade slid across his throat, precise, efficient. She caught him before he fell and dissolved again, reforming mid-air above the next thug.

  A flick of her wrist—a throwing dagger buried itself in his eye.

  The last three criminals panicked, raising their weapons.

  She let them fire.

  The bullets passed harmlessly through the mist she had become.

  A second later, she was behind them.

  A blur of silver steel—three bodies hit the floor before they could even scream.

  Mist knelt over one of them, wiping her blade clean.

  She wasn’t the strongest.

  She wasn’t the fastest.

  But she was the one you never saw coming.

  ---

  Industrial District – Timber’s Rampage

  A warehouse explosion rocked the docks, sending flames licking toward the sky.

  Inside, a gang of armored mercenaries—clad in experimental exo-suits—moved through the wreckage, looting crates of high-tech weapons.

  They had tactical precision. Advanced gear.

  Timber had an axe.

  The huge Paragon crashed through the doors, his battleaxe swinging wide.

  The first mercenary’s body armor crumpled like tin foil, sending him flying into the crates.

  Timber stomped forward.

  "You're all under arrest!" he bellowed, cracking his neck.

  A mercenary fired a plasma rifle, the bolt slamming into Timber’s chest.

  He staggered back—then looked down at the burn mark.

  "Yeah. Bad idea."

  He hurled his axe.

  The weapon spun through the air like a buzzsaw, cleaving through two mercenaries in one go.

  Timber caught it mid-swing as it returned to his hand.

  The remaining thugs backed away.

  Timber grinned.

  “Now it’s fair.”

  ---

  Sentience vs. The Mob

  Sentience did not feel fatigue.

  He did not feel fear.

  He only processed efficiency.

  As the criminal mob swarmed around him, Sentience moved with inhuman precision.

  His synthetic limbs twisted unnaturally, dodging attacks at the last millisecond.

  A thug swung a crowbar—Sentience caught it mid-air.

  Metal shifted, his fingers morphing into spikes, piercing through the weapon and breaking it in half.

  The thug stepped back in terror.

  "Illogical response," Sentience said. "You should be running."

  Before the man could move, Sentience jabbed a metal hand into his chest—non-lethal, but enough to shatter ribs.

  The fight ended in seconds.

  Sentience stood among the wreckage, processing the battle’s efficiency rating.

  91%.

  Could be better.

  ---

  The Streets – Cerberus Leads the Charge

  Cerberus was made for war.

  He was the spearhead, the strategist, the executioner.

  And tonight, he was all three at once.

  His right head’s eyes burned red-hot, unleashing a heat vision blast that tore through an escaping getaway car.

  The vehicle flipped and crashed into a street lamp.

  His left head tracked movement, analyzing tactical weak points.

  Five armed criminals. Enhanced.

  Not a challenge.

  His central head focused forward.

  Cerberus moved fast, covering the distance in seconds.

  One thug fired—Cerberus caught the bullet mid-air.

  His right hand crushed it into dust.

  The nearest thug swung a baton— Cerberus ducked, countering with a brutal uppercut that sent him flying.

  The rest didn’t last much longer.

  When the dust settled, Cerberus stood alone.

  His left head surveyed the wreckage.

  His right head exhaled smoke.

  His central head frowned.

  Something bigger was coming.

  ---

  The Hollow – Centipede Watches

  The underground club was still open, but the usual carefree criminal energy was gone.

  Centipede swirled his drink, watching the news feeds.

  "The Paragons are stretched thin," Ogre grunted. "You wanna make a move?"

  Centipede sighed. "Not yet. Someone’s shifting the balance. And that? That concerns me."

  Ogre cracked his knuckles. "If they come knocking?"

  Centipede smirked.

  "Then we make sure they regret it."

  ---

  Victory Plaza – Damaged in the Fire

  John leaned against the broken monument, watching the police finish rounding up the criminals.

  Gomez approached, looking exhausted.

  "This isn’t a crime spree," Gomez muttered. "It’s a damn coordinated effort."

  John nodded, already suspecting as much. “What’s the next move?”

  Gomez exhaled. "You tell me. You're the one in the trenches."

  John scanned the ruined streets.

  Something bigger was at play.

  And if no one else was gonna stop it?

  He damn sure would.

  ---

  Across the city, the Paragons fought their battles.

  The police struggled to contain the chaos.

  The criminals were getting bolder.

  And in the shadows?

  Someone was pulling the strings.