WARNING: THIS STORY EXPLORES THEMES OF INJURIES, DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD, DESCRIPTIONS OF DYING, FLUFF, AND TEH EEPY FEELING OF 'WHY/HOW THE FUCK IS IT SO LONG'

This is pretty much an entire book packed into a single chapter ranging over 10k words. Yes, this is what I've been doing the past week. Also, I just read TCFSV and was feeling a bit inspired; so sorry for themes similar to the story.

The alarm clock buzzed for a solid minute before Tommy finally reached out to smack it, groaning as he rolled over in his creaky bed. The ancient springs let out a shrill protest, mirroring his own mood. Sunlight barely filtered through the thin curtains of his apartment, a grayish hue painting everything in the same lifeless tone as his dingy walls.

His apartment wasn't much—a glorified shoebox with a kitchenette shoved into one corner and a mattress that doubled as his bed and couch. The heater worked when it felt like it, and the leaky faucet was a constant soundtrack to his life.

Still, it was better than nothing. It was his.

He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. When he glanced up at the mirror, it was like looking at a ghost. Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, and the messy blond hair he didn't bother styling anymore. He reached for his toothbrush but paused, staring at his reflection. His gut churned—he didn't need his ability to tell when someone was lying. He'd gotten used to spotting it in the smallest things: the twitch of an eye, the stiff edge of a smile. Even now, the mirror seemed to mock him with the truth: You're running on fumes.

Tommy turned away.

---

Mockingbird Café smelled of burnt coffee and overly sweet syrups. The morning rush was in full swing, and Tommy moved like clockwork. The orders came in too fast for him to think about anything else—cappuccinos, Americanos, and the occasional double-mocha-triple-whatever monstrosity. He slapped lids onto cups and called out names with a practiced monotone.The TV in the corner blared the morning news. Tommy barely noticed it at first—same reports of traffic accidents and weather updates—but his ears pricked at the all-too-familiar tone of a segment on the heroes.

"...And once again, Nightmare saves the day!" the anchor exclaimed, her polished smile lighting up the screen. The image shifted to grainy footage of Dream, his iconic black mask and flowing green cape unmistakable as he stood atop a crumbling rooftop. A column of smoke rose behind him, flames licking at the night sky. "The nation's number one hero and his team successfully subdued the criminal group responsible for last night's warehouse fire. Authorities confirm that the blaze was deliberately set to destroy evidence of—"

"Can't they shut up about him for five minutes?" Tommy muttered under his breath, sliding a fresh cup of coffee across the counter to a waiting customer.

"You got something against the guy?" the customer asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tommy shrugged. "Not my type."

Lie. He didn't have a type—at least, not the kind of hero Dream and his team pretended to be. The TV droned on, now showing Sapnap (Blaze) blasting a wall of fire toward unseen enemies while George (Hypnos) walked through the smoke, calm as ever. Tommy didn't need his powers to tell the footage was edited to make them look untouchable. Heroes like them had the media in their pockets.

"They're incredible," his coworker, Steph, whispered as she stood beside him. Her gaze was glued to the screen, practically starry-eyed. "I mean, can you imagine being that powerful? Saving the world every day? Dream's illusions are amazing—and Hypnos? That guy could put a whole crowd to sleep with a wave of his hand."

Tommy swallowed a retort. "Yeah. Amazing," he said flatly, turning away before Steph could catch the irritation on his face.

The truth was, he hated how everyone worshiped the heroes. They didn't see the other side—the way they ignored small-time criminals who didn't make the headlines, or how they crushed anyone who dared operate outside their system. Tommy had seen it firsthand, the way they swept corruption under the rug to protect their shiny reputations.

Nightmare, Blaze, Hypnos, he thought bitterly. They're all the same.

---

The city came alive at night in a way that made Tommy's skin crawl. Neon lights reflected off rain-slicked streets, casting everything in a sickly glow. The alleys stank of garbage, and the sound of distant sirens echoed through the air. This was when the real work began.

Sensor wasn't flashy like the heroes plastered on billboards. He didn't have a fancy costume or corporate sponsors. His outfit was cobbled together: a dark hoodie, reinforced gloves, and a cheap black mask that covered his face. He wore a small earpiece that buzzed occasionally with police chatter, though he rarely bothered with it.

Vigilante work was about survival, not style.

Tonight, his target was a low-level dealer who'd been moving something more dangerous than drugs through the district. Sensor had overheard enough to know the dealer wasn't working alone. The hero teams in charge of the area hadn't lifted a finger to stop them, of course. It wasn't glamorous enough to be worth their time.

Sensor crept through the alleyways, sticking to the shadows. His movements were quick but deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. He found his mark near the docks—a lanky man in a tattered coat handing off a suspicious package to a nervous-looking buyer. Tommy crouched behind a stack of crates, watching. His heart pounded in his chest, the tension crackling in the air. He didn't have super strength or lasers; one wrong move, and he'd end up bleeding out on the pavement. But he had something better.

"Delivery's on time," the dealer said, his voice low. "No problems."

Lie. Tommy smirked.

He moved swiftly, kicking over a crate to draw their attention. As they turned toward the noise, he sprang into action. A quick punch to the buyer's jaw sent him sprawling, and the package clattered to the ground. The dealer fumbled for a weapon, but Sensor was faster, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it until he dropped the knife.

"Who are you working for?" Tommy growled, pulling the man close.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about!" the dealer stammered.

Lie.

Tommy's grip tightened. "Try again."

Before he could get an answer, the sound of heavy boots on pavement made him freeze. He turned his head sharply, his stomach sinking. Three figures stepped out of the shadows, their movements fluid and confident.

Heroes.

Sensor immediately dropped the dealer, who scrambled away, leaving the package behind. The heroes didn't even glance at the fleeing man; their eyes were locked on Tommy.

"Well, well," one of them said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Look who's playing hero again."

---

Tommy hadn't stood a chance.The heroes came at him like wolves, their movements precise and relentless. Blaze's fire had lit up the alley, forcing Tommy to duck and roll as flames licked at his heels. Hypnos moved next, his gloved hand brushing close enough to make Tommy's limbs feel heavy, the threat of unconsciousness gnawing at his edges. Nightmare, however, was the worst—illusions twisting the world around him, making every step feel like a misstep, every shadow a trap.

But Tommy had two things they didn't: desperation and the street smarts that came from years of surviving on his own. He'd thrown a stack of crates into Blaze's fire, creating a smokescreen that even Nightmare's illusions couldn't penetrate. With one last burst of energy, he'd scaled the side of a building and disappeared into the labyrinth of rooftops.

It wasn't a victory. It was barely an escape.

---

The city lights flickered below as Tommy crouched on the edge of a rooftop, his chest heaving. His hands trembled as he yanked off his mask, the cool night air biting at his sweat-soaked face. His hoodie was singed at the edges, the acrid smell of smoke clinging to him like a bad memory. The heroes hadn't followed. Either they'd decided he wasn't worth the effort, or they'd been called to a more glamorous crime scene. Typical.

Tommy sucked in a deep breath, his head pounding. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small package he'd managed to grab before running. It was wrapped in brown paper, nondescript except for the faint, faded logo of a pharmaceutical company stamped on the side.

"What the hell are you hiding?" he muttered to himself.

He slipped it back into his pocket and climbed down the fire escape, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. His apartment wasn't far—a small blessing in a night full of curses.

---

The locks on his door clicked into place as Tommy shut the world out. He tossed his mask and gloves onto the tiny kitchen counter, kicking his boots off with a sigh. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only the aches and bruises in its wake.

He didn't bother turning on the lights. Instead, he sank onto his mattress, letting his head fall into his hands. The events of the night replayed in his mind on a loop: the dealer's lies, the heroes' smug expressions, the burning feeling of failure lodged in his chest.

The package weighed heavy in his pocket, and curiosity gnawed at him. But exhaustion won out. He'd look at it tomorrow.

---

The next night, Tommy sat in the same alley near the docks, his hood pulled low as he watched the world move around him. The package from the previous night sat hidden in his jacket, a reminder of the thread he was determined to pull.

The docks were quieter tonight, but the tension in the air was the same. The underworld operated in whispers, transactions taking place in the shadows where no one dared look too closely.

Tommy's patience was rewarded when he spotted a familiar figure—another dealer, but this one more careful than the last. They moved with purpose, clutching a briefcase as they ducked into a warehouse.

Tommy slipped out of the shadows, his steps silent as he followed. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation and caution warring in his mind. He stayed close to the walls, blending into the darkness as he moved deeper into the warehouse.

The dealer stopped near the center, his briefcase placed carefully on a table. Two other figures stood waiting, their backs to Tommy. He couldn't make out their faces, but something about them set his nerves on edge. They were too calm, too composed.

"Tell your boss we're holding up our end," the dealer said. His voice was shaky but forced into a veneer of confidence.

A low chuckle echoed through the space. One of the figures turned, stepping into the dim light. Tommy's breath caught in his throat.

The man's face was obscured by a mask, but his presence was unmistakable. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that sent a chill down Tommy's spine. "Relax," the man said, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "I'm not here to bite."

It wasn't the words that froze Tommy—it was the way the man's voice seemed to wrap around him, pulling at the edges of his mind. A subtle, insidious power.

Tommy didn't need his ability to know he'd just found someone far more dangerous than the heroes.

Hoax.

---

Tommy pressed himself into the shadows, his breaths shallow. His mind screamed at him to leave—whatever this was, it was above his pay grade. But curiosity and stubbornness kept him rooted in place.

The second figure stepped forward, taller and broader than the first. His face was obscured by a hood, and he carried himself with a slow, deliberate confidence. Tommy's attention flicked back to the first man as he spoke again, his tone light, almost playful.

"You know," the man drawled, leaning on the table, "you dealers always act so jumpy. It's endearing, really. Like little rabbits who think the hawk hasn't noticed them."

The dealer stiffened, his hand twitching toward the briefcase. "I've done everything you've asked. If you're here to collect—"

"Collect?" The masked man tilted his head, and Tommy swore the air in the room grew heavier. "Don't insult me. You'd know if I was here to collect."

The dealer flinched, sweat beading on his forehead. Tommy's lie-detector ability buzzed faintly, picking up on the undercurrent of fear lacing the man's words.

Hoax straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. "Relax. We're here to make sure things run smoothly. No need for dramatics."

The second man—silent up until now—shifted, his presence a looming threat. Tommy's instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet stayed planted, his eyes locked on Hoax.

*What's his game?* Tommy wondered, the question clawing at him. The smooth confidence, the way he toyed with his words, the way the dealer seemed ready to crumble under his gaze—it all painted a picture of someone who didn't need brute force to command a room.

Tommy leaned forward, his foot accidentally scuffing the ground. The sound was faint, but in the echoing warehouse, it might as well have been a gunshot.

Both figures turned sharply.

"Looks like we have an audience," Hoax said, his voice slipping into a low hum that sent shivers down Tommy's spine.

Tommy cursed under his breath and darted out of his hiding spot. He didn't make it far.

"Stop."

The word hit him like a wave, not physically, but deep in his mind. His steps faltered, his legs freezing against his will. It wasn't a scream or a shout—it was calm, conversational even. But it carried a weight that Tommy couldn't ignore.

He turned slowly, his muscles trembling with the effort of resisting.

Hoax stood with his head tilted, an amused smile playing behind his mask. "Well, this is a surprise. A little bird wandering where it doesn't belong."

The taller man—no, Tommy realized, a man with pink hair tied back in a braid—stepped forward, his hands resting casually at his sides. Something in his eyes gleamed with interest, a predator sizing up its prey.

Tommy swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Hoax's gaze. "You've got a hell of a way of saying hello."

The taller man let out a low chuckle. "Gutsy."

Hoax raised a hand to silence him, his focus never leaving Tommy. "Who are you, little bird?" Tommy hesitated. His instincts screamed to lie, but he knew better. Hoax's words might not have been directly targeted, but they were laced with power. Lies wouldn't hold here.

"Sensor," he said reluctantly. "I'm a vigilante."

Hoax let out a soft laugh, the sound rich with amusement. "A vigilante, you say? And here I thought we'd caught a stray hero."

"I'm not a hero," Tommy snapped, the words sharper than he intended. The taller man—Blood God, Tommy remembered now—narrowed his eyes, but Hoax only chuckled again.

"Good," Hoax said simply, his voice still carrying that subtle, entrancing power. "Heroes are tedious."

The casual dismissal made Tommy's blood boil. He wanted to say something, to fight back, but his mind was too busy screaming at him to get out. Hoax took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was testing a cornered animal.

"So tell me, Sensor," Hoax murmured, "what is it you're looking for? Surely you didn't come here to play hero."

Tommy's jaw tightened. "Maybe I don't like people like you running the show."

Hoax tilted his head again, studying him like a puzzle. "Interesting."

Blood God stepped forward, the air growing heavier as he did. "Should I take care of this?"

"No need," Hoax said smoothly, raising a hand to stop him. His eyes gleamed as they locked onto Tommy's. "I think our little bird is more curious than hostile."

Tommy's stomach churned. He didn't trust Hoax's words, but he couldn't sense any lies. That made it worse.

"I've got what I need," Tommy said finally, forcing himself to stand straighter. "I'm leaving." Hoax didn't move to stop him. Instead, he smiled—a sharp, knowing expression that made Tommy's skin crawl.

"Run along, then," Hoax said, his tone light but laced with something darker. "But next time, little bird, don't be surprised if the hawk takes an interest."

Tommy didn't wait for another word. He turned and walked quickly to the exit, his hands clenched into fists. It wasn't until he was back on the streets, the cold air biting at his face, that he realized his heart was racing.

Hoax's words echoed in his mind, unsettling in their simplicity.

The hawk takes an interest.

---

The streets blurred as Tommy walked, his legs moving on autopilot while his mind raced. He kept his hood up, head down, and stuck to the quieter paths, avoiding the busier parts of the city. The last thing he needed was a run-in with the authorities—or worse, a hero. His thoughts were a whirlwind.

Hoax. Blood God. He hadn't seen the third Syndicate member—Zephyr—but two were more than enough. They weren't just rumors whispered among vigilantes and low-level criminals. They were real. And worse, they were... unsettlingly human.

He shook his head, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He could still feel Hoax's voice wrapping around his mind, gentle but inescapable. He hated it. Hated the way it made him feel powerless.

"Damn it," Tommy muttered under his breath, his pace quickening.

He ducked into his apartment building, barely acknowledging the landlord as he made his way upstairs. Once inside his apartment, he locked the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath.

The package from the other night sat on the counter where he'd left it, a reminder of why he'd been at the docks in the first place. He pulled it open, revealing several vials of a glowing green liquid.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, holding one up to the light.

It looked dangerous—too dangerous to ignore. But now, he had bigger questions. Was the Syndicate involved? What did Hoax and Blood God want with the dealers? And why hadn't they killed him?

The last thought gnawed at him. People like them didn't leave loose ends.

Because they don't see me as a threat, he realized, the thought bitter.

He tossed the vial onto the counter and sank onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know what game the Syndicate was playing, but he wasn't going to be a pawn in it.

---

The warehouse was quiet after Sensor's abrupt departure. The dealer had scurried off long before, leaving the Syndicate alone.

Wilbur—Hoax—leaned against the table, his posture relaxed but his mind spinning. The briefcase sat unopened beside him, its contents long forgotten.

"Well?" Techno—Blood God—asked, his voice low and rumbling.

Wilbur tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Well, what?"

"What was that?" Techno gestured toward the spot where Sensor had stood, his expression unreadable.

Wilbur chuckled softly. "That, my dear Techno, was something very interesting."

Techno crossed his arms. "He's a liability."

Wilbur waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, please. He's harmless."

"Harmless doesn't skulk around warehouses and try to take on the Syndicate alone."

Phil—Zephyr—stepped out of the shadows, his wings rustling softly as he joined the conversation. "Techno has a point," he said, his voice steady but thoughtful. "He's a vigilante, and if the heroes get wind of him sniffing around our operations, it could bring unnecessary heat."

Wilbur sighed, straightening up. "You two worry too much."

"I don't call it worry. I call it being cautious," Phil shot back, folding his arms.

"Come now," Wilbur said, his tone light. "He's a little bird trying to fly with hawks. I doubt he even knows what he's stumbled into." 

Phil raised an eyebrow. "And if he does?"

Wilbur's smile turned sharper. "Then we'll clip his wings."

Techno let out a low hum, his expression unreadable. "You're sure about this? Letting him walk?"

"Of course," Wilbur replied breezily. "Sensor is... intriguing. He's got potential. And I'm curious to see where his curiosity takes him."

Phil didn't look convinced. "If he becomes a problem—"

"He won't," Wilbur interrupted, his tone firm. "Not yet, anyway. And if he does... well, we'll handle it."

Phil exchanged a glance with Techno, who gave the faintest shrug. They'd seen Wilbur's instincts pay off before, though it didn't make the situation any less risky.

"Fine," Phil said finally. "But don't get too attached."

Wilbur chuckled, already turning back to the briefcase. "Attached? To him? Don't be ridiculous." But the spark of amusement in his eyes said otherwise.

---

The next morning, Tommy sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the vials of green liquid. He'd barely slept, his mind too busy replaying every moment of his encounter with Hoax and Blood God.

His phone buzzed on the counter, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from a contact he hadn't spoken to in months—a fellow vigilante who worked more on the tech side of things.

Got a lead on something big. Interested?

Tommy's stomach twisted. He thought of the Syndicate, the green vials, the dealer's fear. Whatever this "something big" was, it had to be connected.

He typed back a quick reply: Where and when?

A few seconds later, the reply came: Tonight. Usual place.

Tommy set his phone down, his jaw tightening.

If Hoax and his crew thought he was just a "little bird," they were about to find out how wrong they were.

---

Tommy stared at the message on his phone for a long moment, the words "Usual place" carrying a weight he couldn't quite shake. The "usual place" wasn't exactly a friendly neighborhood café—it was an abandoned subway platform deep under the city, a meeting spot for the few vigilantes who hadn't been crushed under the hero system.

He pushed the vials aside, his fingers drumming against the counter. The faint green glow seemed to mock him, daring him to dig deeper. Part of him wanted to throw the whole mess in the river and forget it ever existed. But the other part—the part that wouldn't let him rest until he had answers—refused to back down.

If I don't look into this, who will?

With a sigh, he stood and began gearing up. His hoodie was patched but durable, the gloves reinforced with strips of metal over the knuckles. He checked the small utility belt strapped under his jacket: a flashlight, a pocketknife, and a few smoke pellets—hardly a hero's arsenal, but it would have to do.

Before leaving, he slipped one of the vials into a padded pouch on his belt. If things went south, he'd need proof of whatever this was.

---

The subway tunnels were a labyrinth, the air thick with damp and the faint scent of rust. Tommy moved quickly, his footsteps echoing faintly against the cracked tiles. The platform came into view, dimly lit by a single overhead light that flickered intermittently.

A figure was already waiting for him, leaning casually against a pillar.

"Sensor," the man greeted, his voice a low rumble that carried easily in the quiet space. He was tall, with a wiry frame and a face half-hidden by a bandana. "Thought you might've ghosted me."

Tommy snorted, pulling down his hood. "Yeah, well, you're lucky I didn't. What've you got?"

The man—who went by Alien in the vigilante circuit—tossed a small USB drive into the air before catching it again. "Something big. Word is, the Syndicate's been making moves in places they don't normally touch."

Tommy's stomach twisted. "What kind of moves?"

Alien shrugged. "Weapons deals, smuggling routes, the usual. But there's more. Heard whispers about some kind of project. Something... experimental."

Tommy's mind immediately jumped to the vials. "Experimental how?"

"No clue." Alien held up the drive. "That's where this comes in. Got it from a guy who works with one of their suppliers. If the Syndicate's up to something, it's on here."

Tommy reached for the drive, but Alien held it back, his gaze sharp.

"Careful with this one, Sensor. You've been poking around in some dangerous places lately. Hoax doesn't take kindly to that."

Tommy scoffed. "Yeah, I noticed."

Alien's expression didn't soften. "I'm serious. You don't mess with the Syndicate and walk away clean. They're not just some street gang—they've got connections, and resources. You think the heroes are bad? The Syndicate plays a whole different game."

"Then why give me this?" Tommy shot back, his hand finally closing around the USB.

"Because someone has to do something," Alien said simply. "And you're stupid enough to try."

Tommy rolled his eyes, but a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Don't mention it." Alien pushed off the pillar, his footsteps fading into the darkness as he disappeared down the tunnel.

Tommy pocketed the drive, his grip tightening around it. His mind buzzed with questions, but one thing was clear: if the Syndicate was involved, this was bigger than anything he'd dealt with before.

---

Back in his apartment, Tommy plugged the USB into an old laptop. The screen flickered as the files loaded—dozens of documents, blueprints, and images spilling onto the screen. The first file he opened was labeled Project Ember.

It wasn't a long read, but the contents made his blood run cold. The Syndicate was experimenting with enhancements—chemical and mechanical. The vials in his possession weren't drugs; they were prototypes, designed to amplify abilities.

Or create new ones, Tommy realized, his heart pounding.

Another file caught his eye, this one marked Trial Subjects. He clicked it open, and his stomach churned. The names listed were ordinary people—citizens, some marked as "volunteers," others as "acquired."

"Acquired," he muttered bitterly. "Yeah, I'm sure they volunteered."

The final document was a list of scheduled shipments. One caught his attention immediately: a delivery marked for a facility in the industrial district, set to move tomorrow night.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. If he could intercept the shipment, he might get more answers—or at least stop the Syndicate from using their experiments on anyone else. His hand brushed against the vial in his belt. The faint green glow felt heavier now, a grim reminder of what was at stake.

---

Tommy stood, his resolve hardening. He didn't have the Syndicate's resources or the heroes' powers, but he didn't need them. He'd stopped crimes with less, and he wasn't about to back down now.

He had a target. He had a plan.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

[Time Skip sponsored by Time Loop who hates this part; get the fuck off my doc, time boy. You're not even in this story.]

[Yeah, that's the problem. Besides, this part's repetitive.] 

[No one cares]

[I care]

[This is about Tommy, not you.]

[Stop; I'm trying to sound like the Minecraft End Poem and you're messing it up.]

[This is vigilante-ism, not Minecraft. Oh, also, almost forgot to mention, you're doing a shit job at it.]

[Whatever. Keep writing. She's not going to get another chapter of tcnsan out in time because she's been working on this annoying passion project.]

[I h a v e b i g p l a n s , r e a d t o t h e e n d .]

[Congrats, we've dragged this out another hundred-fifty words or so. I hope you're happy.]

[That's your fault.]

[Keep writing, bird girl.]

[Go pick flowers with Sapnap or something, time boy.]

The apartment wasn't as quiet as it used to be.

Tommy sat cross-legged on his mattress, the faint hum of his laptop filling the room as he scrolled through yet another list of Syndicate-linked operations. He'd had... help lately. The thought made him pause, a flicker of something uncomfortably warm stirring in his chest. It had started small—Hoax's voice reaching him in the middle of a messy stakeout, a suggestion whispered from the shadows. "Left, little bird."

At first, Tommy had been furious. He didn't need help, especially from them. But time and again, the Syndicate had interfered—not to sabotage him, but to steer him toward the right targets. Their reasons remained a mystery, and Tommy wasn't stupid enough to trust them outright. Still, it was hard to ignore the patterns. The way Blood God's silent presence seemed to appear just when Tommy was about to get in over his head. The way Zephyr's metal manipulations conveniently kept stray bullets from hitting their mark.

They were always watching. And while that should've been unnerving, Tommy found himself... reassured.

He shook the thought away, slamming his laptop shut. "Bloody Syndicate," he muttered, stretching. "You're gonna make me soft."

---

The Mockingbird Café was its usual blur of noise and caffeine when Tommy's shift started. He liked the morning rush—it gave him less time to think.

By now, he'd memorized the regulars. Steph, his coworker, handled the chattier ones, leaving Tommy to deal with the no-nonsense crowd. That suited him just fine.

"Medium black coffee," came a familiar voice, smooth and almost lazy.

Tommy glanced up, his tired eyes narrowing as he took in the man at the counter. Tousled brown hair, sharp cheekbones, a coat that looked far too expensive for this part of town. He had an easy smile, but his eyes were too sharp, too knowing.

"Coming right up," Tommy muttered, punching the order into the register.

The man leaned casually against the counter, watching Tommy with a faint air of amusement. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"

Tommy snorted, grabbing a cup. "Depends who's asking."

"Wilbur," the man replied smoothly, his grin widening.

Tommy hesitated, his fingers tightening around the cup for half a second before he forced himself to move. "Right. Wilbur."

There was something about him that set Tommy's instincts on edge. Not in a dangerous way, but in the way he seemed too comfortable, too deliberate.

He handed over the coffee, but Wilbur didn't leave right away. Instead, he lingered, watching as Tommy turned back to the register.

"You look like you don't sleep much," Wilbur said casually.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, the barista life isn't exactly glamorous."

Wilbur chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "I can imagine. Still, you seem... resourceful."

Tommy froze for half a second before forcing a shrug. "Gotta be, right?"

Wilbur hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he finally turned away. "See you around, Tommy."

Tommy blinked, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn't told him his name.

By the time he looked up, Wilbur was already out the door, the faint jingle of the bell marking his exit.

---

That night, Tommy found himself pacing the rooftop of an old warehouse, his breath fogging in the cold air. The city sprawled below him, a maze of lights and shadows.

The Syndicate wasn't here tonight—or at least, they hadn't made themselves known yet. That was the thing about them: they came and went as they pleased, slipping into his life without warning and leaving just as quickly.

And now there was Wilbur.

Tommy frowned, his fingers drumming against the edge of the roof. He'd spent the entire day replaying their conversation, analyzing every word, every look. There was no way Wilbur was just some guy.

"Oi."

The voice made Tommy jump, and he turned sharply to see Hoax leaning casually against the rooftop access door.

"Bloody hell," Tommy muttered, clutching his chest. "Do you have to sneak up on me?" Hoax tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Where's the fun if I don't?"

Tommy rolled his eyes, turning back to the city. "What do you want?"

"Just checking in," Hoax said lightly, stepping up beside him. "You've been busy lately."

Tommy snorted. "And you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Hoax didn't reply right away. Instead, he leaned on the ledge, his gaze fixed on the city below. "You're a curious one, little bird. Always looking for answers."

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta."

Hoax chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in the sound. "Careful, Sensor. You dig too deep, and you might not like what you find."

Tommy's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. He didn't need his ability to know Hoax was being honest.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, the distant hum of the city filling the air.

"By the way," Hoax said suddenly, his tone lighter. "Nice coffee shop you work at. Mockingbird Café, was it?"

Tommy's head snapped toward him, his stomach dropping.

Hoax grinned, his expression maddeningly smug. "What? Did you think I wouldn't know?"

---

Tommy wasn't sure how it happened, but he'd somehow gotten used to them.

Well, used to was a strong phrase. It was more like he'd learned to tolerate their infuriating habit of dropping into his life unannounced.

It had started with Hoax, but the others weren't far behind. Blood God and Zephyr weren't nearly as talkative as Hoax, but their presence was impossible to ignore. Blood God was quiet but intense, his crimson gaze sharp enough to cut. Zephyr was the opposite—calm, almost fatherly, but with an edge that reminded Tommy not to push his luck.

Tonight, they'd all shown up.

The abandoned rooftop they'd claimed as a meeting spot was chilly, the wind biting at Tommy's face as he stood with his arms crossed. Across from him, Blood God was casually sharpening a wicked-looking blade, the soft shhink of metal on stone breaking the silence.

Zephyr stood a few feet away, his wings tucked neatly against his back as he scanned the city below.

And Hoax?

Hoax was perched on a ledge like he didn't have a care in the world, humming softly to himself as he played with a deck of cards.

"Y'know," Tommy said finally, his voice cutting through the stillness. "For a bunch of villains, you guys sure don't do much villainy."

Hoax smirked, not looking up from his cards. "Oh, little bird, you'd be surprised how much gets done when you're not looking."

Tommy rolled his eyes, but his gut twisted. He'd seen enough of the Syndicate's work to know they weren't idle. He just wasn't sure why they were so interested in him.

"You're wasting your time," Tommy said, his voice quieter. "I'm not joining you."

Blood God let out a low chuckle, the sound almost menacing. "Didn't say you were."

"But you're thinking it," Tommy shot back.

Zephyr finally turned to face him, his expression calm but unreadable. "We're not here to recruit you, lad."

"Could've fooled me."

"Wouldn't take you if we were," Blood God muttered, his tone almost amused.

Tommy bristled, but Zephyr held up a hand before he could retort. "What we're saying," he said evenly, "is that you've got potential. Whether you like it or not, you've been working in our world for a while now."

"And you've got a knack for surviving," Hoax added, flipping a card into the air and catching it with ease. "That's not something we see often."

Tommy frowned, his fists clenching at his sides. "So what? You're keeping me around for fun? For kicks?"

"Not everything has an agenda, little bird," Hoax said, his voice soft but firm.

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. For all their cryptic behavior, they hadn't lied to him—not yet.

He hated that he almost believed them.

---

Later, when the others had drifted off to do... whatever it was villains did, Tommy found himself sitting beside Zephyr. The older man's wings were half-spread, catching the faint glow of the city lights as he polished a small, intricate blade.

"You've been quiet," Zephyr said after a while, his tone casual.

Tommy shrugged, his eyes fixed on the skyline. "Not much to say."

Zephyr hummed thoughtfully. "You're thinking about something, though. I can see it."

Tommy hesitated. He wasn't sure why, but Zephyr's presence felt... safe, in a way the others didn't. He was still dangerous—Tommy wasn't stupid—but there was something grounding about him.

"Why do you guys care so much?" Tommy asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper. Zephyr didn't answer right away. He finished polishing the blade and set it aside, folding his wings neatly against his back. "Everyone needs someone, lad. Even you."

Tommy scoffed, but the words hit something deep inside him. "I've been fine on my own."

"Have you?"

The question lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Tommy didn't respond. He couldn't.

Zephyr stood, his wings rustling softly as he moved toward the edge of the roof. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"You don't have to trust us," he said quietly. "But you're not as alone as you think."

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the night like a shadow.

---

Back in his apartment, Tommy couldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling, Zephyr's words echoing in his mind.

"You're not as alone as you think."

It didn't make sense. Why would the Syndicate care about him? What did they want?

And why, despite everything, did it feel like they were right?

---

The city felt colder tonight, the kind of bone-deep chill that cut through even the thickest of layers. Tommy crouched low on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, his hood pulled tight over his head. Below him, a warehouse glowed with harsh fluorescent lights.

The heroes were already inside.

Tommy's jaw tightened as he adjusted the binoculars in his hands. Dream, Sapnap, and George moved with fluid precision, cutting through the scene like predators on the hunt. He'd been tailing this lead for weeks—a shipment tied to the Syndicate, though he hadn't yet figured out what it contained. If he didn't move now, the heroes would claim whatever it was for themselves, twisting the story to fit their narrative.

Time to be stupid, Tommy thought bitterly, slipping the binoculars into his pack.

---

The warehouse was a maze of towering crates and metal scaffolding. Tommy moved quickly, his footsteps nearly silent as he weaved through the shadows. His heart pounded in his chest, his every sense on high alert.

He found the shipment easily enough: a row of heavy-duty containers with the Syndicate's emblem scratched onto their sides. One container was already pried open, its contents spilling onto the floor—metallic canisters filled with that same eerie green liquid.

Tommy moved closer, his fingers brushing against one of the canisters.

"There you are."

The voice froze him in place. It was smooth, calm, and carried a weight that made Tommy's stomach twist.

Nightmare stepped out from behind a stack of crates, his black mask gleaming under the harsh lights. Behind him, Blaze and Hypnos flanked him like sentinels.

Tommy's breath hitched. "Shit."

"Sensor, right?" Nightmare tilted his head, his tone almost conversational. "You've been busy."

Tommy forced a grin, his pulse racing. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta pick up the slack."

Blaze snorted, a flicker of flame dancing between his fingers. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."

"Or no brain," Hypnos added, his voice soft but laced with venom.

Tommy took a step back, his mind scrambling for a plan. He could feel the weight of Nightmare's gaze on him, sharp and calculating.

"You should've stayed in your lane," Nightmare said, taking a step forward. "Now you're in over your head."

Tommy didn't respond. He bolted.

---

The first blast of fire nearly took him out, the heat searing past his shoulder as he ducked behind a stack of crates. Blaze's laugh echoed through the warehouse, the sound too close for comfort.

"Running already?" Blaze called, another gout of flame lighting up the shadows.

Tommy gritted his teeth, his fists clenched as he darted toward the far end of the warehouse. He knew he couldn't outrun them—not for long.

Nightmare illusions hit next. The air around him shifted, the walls and crates warping into endless corridors. Tommy stumbled, his stomach twisting as his surroundings became an impossible maze.

"Stay still," Hypnos's voice whispered, low and commanding.

Tommy barely dodged in time, Hypnos's hand grazing the edge of his jacket. His limbs felt heavy, a creeping exhaustion threatening to drag him down.

Keep moving, Tommy thought desperately, his vision blurring. Don't stop.

But they were too much. Every move he made, they were there—pushing, cornering, overwhelming him. By the time they had him pinned against the wall, his breath was ragged, his body trembling from the effort of staying upright.

Blaze grinned, fire flickering in his palm. "Told you, no brain."

Nightmare stepped forward, his shadow stretching long across the floor. "You're done, Sensor." Tommy's knees buckled, but before he could hit the ground, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

"Are you, now?"

---

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Hoax stepped out of the shadows, his presence a jarring contrast to the heroes' bright, oppressive aura.

Blood God followed, his crimson gaze locking onto the heroes with chilling intensity. Zephyr brought up the rear, his wings spread wide, their metallic edges gleaming under the lights.

"Well, well," Hoax drawled, his tone light but dripping with menace. "Didn't know we were having a party."

Nightmare's posture stiffened, but his voice remained calm. "Hoax. You're out of your territory."

Hoax chuckled, stepping closer. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing."

Blaze's flames flared brighter, but Blood God moved before he could strike. With a flick of his hand, Blaze;s arm twisted, the fire sputtering out as his body locked in place.

"Don't even think about it," Blood God said coldly.

Hypnos moved to counter, but Zephyr's wings snapped open, a flurry of metal shards shooting toward him. Hypnos barely dodged in time, his calm façade cracking as he stumbled back.

"Enough." Nightmare's voice cut through the tension, his illusions rippling around him like heatwaves. "This isn't your fight."

Hoax tilted his head, his smile razor-sharp. "Oh, but it is. You see, that little bird you've been tormenting? He's ours."

Tommy's breath hitched.

Ours.

The word hung heavy in the air, a quiet declaration that sent a shiver down his spine. Dream's gaze shifted briefly to Tommy, then back to Hoax. For the first time, there was something uncertain in his stance.

"This isn't over," Nightmare said finally, his voice low and dangerous.

"It never is," Hoax replied, his tone almost mocking.

Dream motioned to his team, and within moments, the heroes were gone, their presence vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

---

Tommy slumped against the wall, his legs barely holding him up. Hoax crouched in front of him, his expression unreadable.

"You alright, little bird?" Hoax asked, his voice unusually soft.

Tommy glared weakly at him. "Don't... call me that."

Hoax's lips twitched into a faint smirk, but he didn't push.

Zephyr approached, his gaze flicking over Tommy with a mixture of concern and approval. "You held your ground longer than I expected," he said.

Tommy snorted, his head lolling back against the wall. "Thanks for the glowing review."

Blood God stood a few feet away, his arms crossed. "Next time, don't take them on alone."

Tommy's chest tightened, a strange warmth blooming in his gut. He wanted to argue, to tell them he didn't need their help. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he muttered, "Thanks."

Hoax straightened, offering Tommy a hand. "Get some rest, little bird. You'll need it."

Tommy hesitated for a moment before taking the offered hand. As Hoax pulled him to his feet, he realized something he didn't want to admit.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel alone.

---

Tommy sat on the edge of his mattress, staring at his bruised knuckles. The faint hum of the city filtered through the thin walls of his apartment, but it felt muted, distant.

His mind wouldn't shut up.

He replayed the fight again and again—the heat of Blaze's flames, the disorienting blur of Nightmare's illusions, the suffocating exhaustion that came with Hypnos's touch. He'd been done for.

And then they showed up.

He clenched his fists, wincing as the motion sent a sharp jolt of pain through his hand. He didn't know what bothered him more: the fact that the Syndicate had intervened, or the fact that he was... grateful.

They'd saved him.

Not out of obligation, or pity. They'd done it because they'd decided he was theirs.

Tommy exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. That word—ours—had stuck with him, rattling around his brain like a bad song he couldn't shake.

He wasn't theirs. He wasn't anyone's.

But when Zephyr had looked at him with something like pride, and Blood God had told him not to fight alone, and Hoax had offered him a hand like it was the most natural thing in the world... Tommy swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "What the hell am I doing?"

---

The next night, Tommy found himself standing on the same rooftop where the Syndicate had found him. He didn't know why he was there—he told himself he was just patrolling, but he couldn't ignore the tiny flicker of hope that they might show up again.

The wind bit at his face as he leaned against the ledge, his arms crossed. Below, the city moved on, oblivious to everything that had happened.

"You're late."

Tommy turned sharply, his heart leaping into his throat.

Hoax was standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Late for what?" Tommy shot back, masking his surprise with sarcasm.

"Late for our little chat," Hoax said smoothly, stepping closer. "I figured you'd want to thank us properly."

Tommy rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Thanks for the save, I guess. Not that I needed it."

Hoax raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Is that so? Because from where I was standing, you were about two seconds away from becoming a smear on the floor."

Tommy huffed, turning back to the city. "Alright, fine. I was screwed. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." Hoax leaned on the ledge beside him, his posture relaxed. For a moment, they stood in silence, the city stretching out before them.

"Why'd you do it?" Tommy asked finally, his voice quieter.

"Do what?"

"Help me. Why bother?"

Hoax glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. "You're an odd one, Sensor. You run around this city like it's all on your shoulders, like no one else can see the cracks in the system. That kind of conviction... it's rare."

Tommy frowned, his gaze dropping to the street below. "Doesn't mean I need your help."

"No, but it doesn't mean you don't deserve it, either."

The words hit harder than Tommy wanted to admit. He didn't respond, letting the quiet settle between them again.

Hoax chuckled softly. "You don't trust us. I get it. But maybe think about this: if the heroes had found you first, would they have let you walk away?"

Tommy's stomach churned. He didn't need to answer. They both knew the truth.

"You're not alone, little bird," Hoax said, his voice gentler now. "Whether you like it or not." Before Tommy could respond, Hoax pushed off the ledge, his coat billowing slightly as he walked toward the rooftop exit.

"Try not to get yourself killed," he called over his shoulder. "It's bad for morale."

Tommy watched him go, a mix of frustration and something else he couldn't name bubbling in his chest.

He was still alone.

Wasn't he?

---

The rain came down in sheets, soaking through Tommy's hoodie as he jogged across the rooftops. The city blurred around him, neon lights reflecting off the slick pavement below. He should've gone home hours ago. His muscles ached, and his brain felt like it was running on fumes. But something had drawn him out here tonight, a restless energy that wouldn't let him sit still.

"Out past your bedtime again?"

Tommy skidded to a halt, his heart leaping into his throat.

Hoax was leaning against a chimney, his dark coat slick with rain. The glow of the city lights cast faint shadows across his face, highlighting the smirk that Tommy had grown all too familiar with. "Bloody hell, do you ever stop sneaking up on people?" Tommy snapped, his breath fogging in the cold air.

"Not when it's this fun." Hoax stepped closer, his boots splashing through a puddle. "What's got you out here, little bird? Can't sleep?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "What, are you my therapist now?"

"Depends. Do I get paid?"

"Shut up."

Hoax laughed, the sound warm and unguarded in a way that caught Tommy off guard. For a moment, he didn't seem like a villain at all—just a guy standing in the rain, trying to make conversation.

"You've been quiet since the warehouse," Hoax said after a pause, his tone softer now. "Something on your mind?"

Tommy hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. He hated how easily Hoax saw through him, like he was an open book.

"You guys keep showing up," he said finally, his voice low. "Helping me. Watching me. Why?"

Hoax tilted his head, his gaze steady. "We've been over this, haven't we? You're interesting."

"Bullshit," Tommy snapped, his frustration bubbling over. "You don't just... care about someone for no reason. Not you. Not the Syndicate."

Hoax's smirk faded, his expression turning unreadable. "You think we're incapable of caring?"

"I think you've got an angle," Tommy said bitterly. "Everyone always does."

The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter.

For a long moment, Hoax didn't respond. The rain filled the silence, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of Tommy's heart.

"You've had a rough go of it, haven't you?" Hoax said finally, his voice quieter now.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.

"I mean, it makes sense," Hoax continued, stepping closer. "A kid like you, running around this city with nothing but a hoodie and a stubborn streak. You've got that look in your eyes, you know. The one that says you've been on your own for too long."

Tommy's throat tightened. "What's your point?"

Hoax stopped a few feet away, his gaze soft but steady. "My point, little bird, is that not everyone's out to screw you over. Maybe we just see something in you that you don't see in yourself yet."

Tommy's chest ached, a strange mix of anger and something else clawing at him. He wanted to argue, to tell Hoax he didn't need anyone. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't trust you."

"You don't have to." Hoax's voice was calm, without a trace of mockery. "Not yet."

Tommy glanced back at him, his stomach twisting. For all his doubts, he couldn't detect a single lie in Hoax's words.

That made it worse.

---

They stayed like that for a while, standing in the rain with the city spread out before them. Hoax didn't push, and Tommy didn't speak.

Eventually, Tommy let out a shaky breath. "I don't get you," he muttered.

Hoax raised an eyebrow. "What's not to get? I'm charming, brilliant, and devilishly handsome." Tommy snorted despite himself. "You're insufferable, is what you are."

"Guilty as charged."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tommy let his guard down, if only a little. It wasn't much—just a flicker of something lighter cutting through the weight in his chest.

"You really think I'm... whatever it is you said I was?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Potential," Hoax said, his voice steady. "More than you know."

Tommy didn't respond, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

---

By the time Hoax left, disappearing into the shadows as he always did, Tommy felt... lighter. It didn't make sense. He still didn't trust the Syndicate, and he wasn't stupid enough to think they didn't have their own agenda. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel entirely alone.

As he made his way back to his apartment, rain still dripping from his hood, Tommy found himself replaying Hoax's words in his head.

Not everyone's out to screw you over.

It was dangerous to believe that. He knew it was.

But maybe—just maybe—Hoax was right.

---

The warehouse was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos Tommy had grown used to. He crouched behind a stack of crates, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit space. A single bulb swung overhead, casting shifting shadows across the floor.

He hated jobs like this—solo stakeouts that felt more like waiting for a disaster to happen. But Specter's intel had been too good to ignore.

He leaned back, his fingers tapping against his knee. The Syndicate had been uncharacteristically quiet lately, and while that usually meant trouble, it also meant...

Tommy frowned, a flicker of irritation sparking in his chest. It meant he missed them.

"God, I'm pathetic," he muttered under his breath.

A faint creak of metal snapped him back to attention. He peered around the corner of the crate just in time to see a figure step into the light.

It wasn't a hero. That much was clear from the relaxed confidence in their stride.

Tommy's stomach twisted.

Hoax.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Maybe both.

"You know," Hoax said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "if you're going to skulk around my operations, you could at least say hello."

Tommy stepped out of the shadows, crossing his arms. "Maybe I didn't feel like talking."

Hoax smirked, tilting his head. "And yet, here you are."

Tommy rolled his eyes but didn't reply. He'd long since given up trying to match Hoax's sharp tongue.

"You're a stubborn one," Hoax continued, stepping closer. His voice carried that same teasing edge, but there was something softer underneath it. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What poor sod are you comparing me to now?"

Hoax chuckled, but the sound was quieter than usual. He turned slightly, his gaze flicking toward the far corner of the warehouse.

"Just... someone who thought the world was theirs to save," he said softly.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. Hoax wasn't usually this... open. "And what happened to them?" Tommy asked, his voice cautious.

Hoax's smirk faltered, replaced by a distant look that made Tommy's chest tighten. "They learned the hard way that the world doesn't want to be saved," he said simply. "Not the way they thought."

For a moment, Tommy didn't know what to say. The mask Hoax always wore—the smug, untouchable confidence—seemed thinner now, cracks just visible beneath the surface. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. Something about Hoax's expression nagged at him, like a memory he couldn't quite place.

"I, uh..." Tommy hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not like them, whoever they were. I'm not trying to save the world."

Hoax glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile returning to his face. "No," he said. "You're not. You're just trying to survive it."

Tommy snorted, the tension easing just slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're scrappy. Resourceful. Too stubborn to know when to quit." Hoax's gaze softened, his voice taking on a quiet warmth. "It's not a bad thing, little bird. Just... a dangerous one."

---

Later that night, Tommy sat cross-legged on his mattress, his thoughts spinning.

He couldn't shake the conversation, couldn't stop replaying the way Hoax had looked at him—like he understood something Tommy didn't.

It wasn't just what he'd said. It was the way he'd said it. The quiet softness, the way his words had carried an odd weight.

Tommy leaned back, staring at the cracked ceiling.

It wasn't the first time Hoax had said something that felt too close to home. And it wasn't the first time Tommy had felt... seen around him.

But tonight had been different.

There was something familiar in the way Hoax spoke, the way he carried himself. Something Tommy couldn't quite put his finger on.

His mind wandered to the café, to the sharp-eyed customer with the easy smirk and the way he'd known Tommy's name without being told.

Tommy frowned, his gut twisting.

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "There's no way."

But the thought wouldn't go away.

---

Tommy wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow, he'd ended up in the Syndicate's safe house.

It was nothing like he'd expected. He'd pictured some dark, dingy hideout with crumbling walls and flickering lights. Instead, it was... cozy. Not exactly warm, but functional in a way that felt lived-in. The walls were lined with bookshelves, maps, and weapon racks, and the furniture—though mismatched—looked like it had been carefully chosen for comfort.

"Stop gawking," Blood God muttered, not looking up from where he was sharpening a massive axe at the table.

"I'm not gawking," Tommy shot back, though his eyes lingered on a particularly worn leather armchair. "Just didn't think villains had, y'know, taste."

Zephyr, perched by the window with a cup of tea in hand, chuckled softly. "We're people too, mate." 

"Debatable," Tommy muttered under his breath.

The corner of Blood God's mouth twitched, but he didn't respond.

"Sit," Zephyr said, gesturing to an empty chair at the table.

Tommy hesitated, his stomach twisting with the same nervous energy that always accompanied him around the Syndicate. But Zephyr's tone wasn't commanding—it was more like an invitation. Reluctantly, Tommy sat.

Hoax sauntered in a moment later, carrying a tray of mugs and a smug grin. "Look at that," he said, placing the tray on the table. "Our little bird is finally joining us."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Don't push it."

Hoax slid a mug toward him, his grin widening. "Wouldn't dream of it."

---

The conversation flowed easily, though Tommy stayed quieter than usual, his sharp eyes flicking between the Syndicate members.

They were a strange group. Blood God was intimidating in a way that didn't require effort; his silence spoke louder than words, and his movements were deliberate and precise. Zephyr was the opposite—calm and approachable, like the steady heartbeat of the group. And Hoax?

Hoax was a wild card. Tommy never knew what to expect from him, and it kept him on edge. "You've been quiet," Zephyr said, breaking Tommy's train of thought.

Tommy shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Just taking it all in."

Zephyr smiled faintly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his posture—a slight shift in his expression, almost imperceptible.

"You'll get used to it," Zephyr said gently.

Blood God snorted. "Or he won't."

"Thanks for the encouragement," Tommy muttered, earning a chuckle from Zephyr.

---

A while later, as the conversation turned to recent hero activities, Tommy found himself watching Hoax.

The man was good—too good at deflecting questions and steering the conversation. Tommy's ability didn't buzz often around him, but when it did, it was subtle, like a whisper at the back of his mind.

"Nightmare's been quiet," Zephyr remarked, setting down his empty mug.

"Too quiet," Blood God added, his tone low.

"Probably plotting something obnoxious," Hoax said with a dramatic sigh.

Lie.

Tommy's eyes narrowed. It wasn't a blatant lie, more like a misdirection. Hoax knew more than he was letting on, but he was careful not to let it show.

Tommy decided to poke the bear. "You always this vague, or is it just for me?"

Hoax's eyes flicked to him, amused. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."

Lie.

Tommy leaned forward, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're a terrible liar, y'know that?"

The room fell silent for a beat before Blood God let out a low chuckle.

"Gutsy," he muttered, shaking his head.

Zephyr smirked, his eyes glinting with approval. "I think he's got you there, mate."

Hoax tilted his head, his smile sharpening. "Careful, little bird. You might hurt my feelings."

Tommy snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Not likely."

---

Despite his initial hesitation, Tommy found himself relaxing as the night went on. The Syndicate's dynamic was strange but... comfortable in its own way.

Zephyr was steady, occasionally throwing in dry humor that caught Tommy off guard. Blood God mostly observed, but his rare comments were surprisingly sharp and, once or twice, funny enough to make Tommy laugh.

And then there was Hoax.

"You're staring," Hoax said, raising an eyebrow.

Tommy rolled his eyes. "You wish."

Hoax grinned. "You're not very good at hiding it."

"Maybe I just can't believe I'm stuck here with you lot."

"Stuck?" Phil said, raising an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you could've left hours ago."

Tommy opened his mouth to retort but stopped.

Phil wasn't lying.

He glanced at the door, his chest tightening. It was true—he could leave. But for some reason, the thought didn't sit right.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, "maybe I'm just making sure you don't blow anything up."

Phil chuckled, but there was a knowing look in his eyes.

---

By the time Tommy finally left the safe house, the city was quiet, the streets bathed in the faint glow of streetlights.

His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way home, his mind spinning.

He wasn't sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the line, the Syndicate had started to feel... less like villains and more like people.

People who don't lie to me, he thought, a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

It was dangerous to think like that. Dangerous to let his guard down.

But as he climbed into bed that night, his thoughts lingered on their laughter, their banter, and the way they'd welcomed him without question.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel so alone.

---

The safe house was quieter than usual when Tommy arrived. He hadn't planned on coming tonight—his original plan had been to patrol the city alone, as always. But his legs had carried him here anyway, as if the decision wasn't his to make.

Zephyr was the first to greet him, his wings folding neatly behind his back as he stepped away from the window.

"Evening," he said, his voice warm.

"Hey," Tommy replied, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

He glanced around, noting the absence of Techno and Hoax. "Where's the rest of the circus?"

"Techno's out," Phil said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "And Wil—Hoax is working on something. You just missed him."

Tommy's brow furrowed at the almost-slip, but he didn't comment. Instead, he nodded toward the map spread across the table. "What's this?"

Phil gestured for him to come closer. "Shipment schedule. Something big's moving through the industrial district in two days. We're figuring out how to intercept."

Tommy leaned over the table, scanning the marked routes and notes. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar logo.

"That's the same company from the docks," he muttered. "The one tied to those green vials." Phil nodded. "Exactly. Whatever they're moving, it's part of the same project."

Tommy's gut churned. "Think it's another batch of... whatever that stuff is?"

"Likely."

Tommy straightened, his jaw tightening. "Then let's take it down."

Phil smiled faintly, but his eyes carried a note of caution. "It's dangerous, Tommy. These shipments are heavily guarded. Even for us, it's not a simple job."

"So what?" Tommy shot back. "You're saying I can't handle it?"

"I'm saying you need to be careful." Phil's voice was calm but firm. "We've got each other's backs. That's how we get out alive."

Tommy hesitated, the weight of the words settling over him. Each other's backs. It was a foreign concept, but one he was beginning to understand.

---

By the time Hoax returned, the room had shifted into its usual chaotic rhythm. Blood God had come back as well, his quiet presence filling the space with a tension that always seemed to hover just beneath the surface.

Hoax strolled in like he owned the place, his grin widening when he saw Tommy standing by the training mats.

"Well, well," he said, tossing his coat onto a chair. "Is the little bird finally joining the big leagues?"

"Shut up," Tommy muttered, though his lips twitched upward.

Zephyr stood off to the side, arms crossed as he watched with a faint smile. "Sensor said he wants in on the next mission. Figured we'd give him a chance to prove himself."

"Oh, this should be good," Hoax said, clapping his hands together.

Tommy glared at him. "Don't get too comfortable, mate. I could take you."

"Big words for someone half my size."

"Big ego for someone who keeps getting hit in the face."

Blood God snorted, earning a sharp look from Hoax.

"Alright," Zephyr interjected, his tone laced with amusement. "Save it for the mat."

---

The first round wasn't as humiliating as Tommy expected.

Blood God's movements were precise and deliberate, his strength evident even when he pulled his punches. Tommy dodged as best he could, his smaller frame giving him an edge in speed, but it wasn't enough.

Blood God caught him in a grapple, and before Tommy knew it, he was flat on his back, gasping for air.

"Not bad," Blood God said, offering a hand. "You're scrappy."

Tommy groaned, accepting the help up. "Scrappy doesn't win fights."

"Sometimes it does," Zephyr said from the sidelines. "When it's paired with smarts."

Tommy brushed himself off, his gaze shifting to Hoax. "Your turn."

Hoax grinned, stepping onto the mat. "Think you can handle me, little bird?"

"Try me."

---

Hoax was fast. Faster than Tommy expected. But it wasn't just his speed—it was the way he moved, fluid and precise, like every motion was a calculated decision.

Tommy barely managed to dodge the first strike, his instincts screaming at him to stay on the defensive.

"Not bad," Hoax said, circling him. "You've got good instincts."

Tommy didn't reply, his focus narrowing as he watched for an opening.

And then he saw it.

Hoax shifted his weight slightly, leaving his right side exposed for half a second. Tommy lunged, aiming for the weak spot—

But Hoax anticipated it, catching Tommy by the wrist and twisting him around. Tommy stumbled, barely keeping his balance as Hoax's grip tightened.

"Clever," Hoax murmured, his voice close to Tommy's ear. "But predictable."

Tommy gritted his teeth, pulling free with a sharp twist. He dropped low, aiming a sweeping kick at Hoax's legs.

It worked—sort of. Hoax stumbled but recovered quickly, his grin widening.

"You're learning."

Tommy straightened, his chest heaving. "And you're not as untouchable as you think."

Hoax chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. "Careful, little bird. You're starting to sound like one of us."

Tommy's stomach twisted. He wasn't sure if it was fear, excitement, or something in between.

---

By the time they finished, Tommy was sore, bruised, and thoroughly exhausted. But he couldn't deny the faint buzz of satisfaction coursing through him.

Hoax clapped him on the shoulder as they left the mat, his expression softer than usual. "You did good tonight, Sensor."

"Yeah, well," Tommy muttered, trying to hide the way his chest swelled at the praise. "Don't get used to it."

Hoax smirked but didn't reply.

Zephyr  met them at the table, his gaze flicking over Tommy with approval. "You're getting there."

Tommy rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. For the first time, he felt like he belonged.

---

The safe house buzzed with quiet energy as the Syndicate gathered around the central table. Maps, schematics, and notes cluttered the surface, the evidence of meticulous planning spread out like the pieces of a puzzle.

Tommy leaned against the back of a chair, his arms crossed as he watched Phil draw lines across a map with a thick marker.

"The shipment's here," Zephyr said, tapping a warehouse marked with a red X. "Guard rotations are staggered, which gives us a narrow window—no more than fifteen minutes—to get in and out."

"Fifteen minutes?" Tommy raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound easy."

"It is, if you're not an idiot," Blood God said dryly, earning a snicker from Hoax.

"Right," Tommy muttered. "I'll try to keep up with your genius then, shall I?"

Zephyr smirked, clearly holding back a laugh. "Focus, you two. Hoax, Blood God—you'll handle the main entry and draw the guards' attention. Sensor and I will take the side route to secure the shipment."

Tommy got the feeling they all knew his name - they all knew his identity. But for some reason, it never came up.

"Wait, hold on." Tommy straightened, frowning. "You want me on the team that matters?"

Hoax grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Surprised?"

"Yeah, actually." Tommy crossed his arms. "What if I screw it up?"

"You won't," Zephyr said simply, his gaze steady.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard by the quiet confidence in Zephyr's tone. There wasn't a trace of doubt—no hesitation, no patronizing edge.

It wasn't a lie.

His chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to downplay his own abilities, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he muttered, "Don't blame me if it all goes to hell."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hoax said with a wink.

---

The industrial district was eerily quiet as the Syndicate approached the warehouse. Shadows stretched long under the dim streetlights, and the faint hum of machinery buzzed in the distance.

Tommy adjusted his hood, his stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and nerves. "You good?" Zephyr asked, his voice low but steady.

Tommy nodded. "Yeah. Just... ready to get this over with."

Zephyr clapped a hand on his shoulder, the gesture brief but grounding. "Follow my lead."

Ahead, Techno and Hoax moved like ghosts, their figures blending seamlessly into the shadows. Tommy marveled at how effortlessly they operated, their movements fluid and deliberate.

"Blood God, you're up," Hoax murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blood God didn't reply. Instead, he approached the main entrance, his crimson gaze fixed on the guards posted nearby. With a single flick of his wrist, their bodies jerked unnaturally, their weapons clattering to the ground as they slumped unconscious.

"Show-off," Tommy muttered under his breath, earning a faint chuckle from Hoax.

"Jealous?"

"No," Tommy lied instinctively.

Hoax grinned, his eyes glinting in the dark.

---

The room housing the shipment was larger than Tommy expected. Metal crates stacked two stories high lined the walls, each marked with the same familiar logo.

Zephyr moved to the nearest crate, prying it open to reveal rows of glowing green canisters. "Bingo," he muttered.

Tommy crouched beside him, his eyes narrowing. "What do they do, anyway?"

Zephyr shook his head. "Still working that out. But whatever it is, it's dangerous enough for the heroes to want it."

Tommy's stomach twisted. The heroes didn't care about the little guys, so if they were after this stuff, it had to be bad.

"Let's grab what we can and get out of here," Zephyr said, pulling a small scanner from his belt. "Hoax, how's it looking on your end?"

Hoax's voice crackled through the comm. "Main floor's clear. No signs of backup yet. Blood God's keeping watch."

Tommy moved to another crate, prying it open with his new bright red crowbar, slightly chipped from use. Inside, rows of smaller vials glimmered faintly.

"Think this is part of the same project?" he asked.

"Most likely," Zephyr replied. "Bag it and let's go."

---

The sound of a distant alarm shattered the quiet.

Zephyr's head snapped up, his wings spreading slightly. "Time's up. Move!"

Tommy grabbed the bag he'd filled, slinging it over his shoulder as Zephyr motioned toward the exit.

Hoax's voice cut through the comm again, sharper now. "Guards are swarming the main floor. Get out—now."

The corridor blurred as Tommy sprinted after Zephyr, his heart pounding in his chest. Behind them, heavy boots thundered closer, the echoing shouts of guards growing louder.

"Turn left!" Tommy shouted instinctively. Zephyr didn't hesitate, veering sharply and pulling Tommy along with him.

A burst of gunfire rang out, ricocheting off the walls where they'd been seconds earlier.

Zephyr glanced at him as they ran, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Nice call."

Tommy didn't have time to respond.

---

The guards were closing in when Hoax and Techno appeared like shadows out of the chaos. Techno moved first, his crimson gaze locking onto the guards. Their bodies stiffened unnaturally, weapons falling from their hands as they slumped to the ground.

Hoax stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. "Drop your weapons."

The guards hesitated, their eyes glazing over as Hoax's power wrapped around their minds.

Tommy skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he took in the scene. "Took you long enough."

"Had to make an entrance," Hoax said with a smirk.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Let's move. We've got what we need."

---

Back at the safe house, Tommy slumped into a chair, his body aching from the adrenaline crash.

"Not bad for your first big mission," Zephyr said, handing him a glass of water.

"Yeah, well," Tommy muttered, "I still hate running."

Hoax leaned against the wall, his grin as infuriating as ever. "You handled yourself well, little bird. Almost like you've done this before."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "Don't get used to it."

"Too late."

For once, Tommy didn't argue.

As the others settled in to debrief, he found himself watching them—the way they moved, the way they trusted each other without question.

For the first time, he didn't feel like an outsider.

---

The safe house felt warmer than usual, though the radiator in the corner was still as unreliable as ever.

Tommy lounged on the couch, a worn blanket pulled over his legs as he scrolled aimlessly through his phone. The faint sound of Zephyr's wings rustling reached him from the other side of the room, where he was carefully stitching a tear in his coat.

"Comfortable?" Blood God's dry voice broke through the quiet.

Tommy glanced up, smirking. "As much as I can be in this dump."

"Careful," Hoax chimed in from the kitchen, his voice carrying over the clatter of dishes. "Keep insulting our hospitality, and I might stop feeding you."

Tommy snorted. "You? Cook? I'll believe it when I see it."

Zephyr chuckled softly, setting his coat aside. "He's not terrible, you know."

"Debatable," Blood God muttered, earning a dramatic gasp from Hoax.

"Et tu, Blade?" Hoax called, sticking his head around the corner. "I slave away in this kitchen, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You slave away finding the delivery number for takeout," Blood God replied flatly.

Tommy couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even himself. It wasn't the forced, nervous laughter he used with strangers or the sarcastic chuckle he used to deflect. This was real.

And it felt... good.

---

"Alright, little bird," Hoax said, tossing a small rubber ball toward Tommy. "Catch."

Tommy caught it easily, frowning. "What's this for?"

"Reflexes," Hoax replied, smirking. "We're testing yours."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"Yes."

Hoax shrugged. "Fair."

Zephyr and Blood God stood off to the side, watching with faint amusement as Hoax began tossing the ball at increasingly unpredictable angles. Tommy dodged and caught as best he could, though more than once, the ball clipped his shoulder or bounced off his head.

"Bloody hell," Tommy muttered, grabbing the ball and hurling it back at Hoax. "This is stupid."

"Stupid but effective," Zephyr said, stepping forward. "Try this."

He handed Tommy a knife—a training blade with a dull edge—and motioned for him to take a defensive stance.

"You're quick," Zephyr said. "Use that to your advantage."

Tommy frowned but followed his instructions, holding the blade carefully.

Zephyr lunged, his movements precise but slow enough for Tommy to react. They moved in a deliberate rhythm, Zephyr correcting Tommy's form and offering tips as they went.

"You've got potential," Phil said after a while, stepping back. "You just need practice."

Tommy's chest swelled with a flicker of pride. "Yeah, well, maybe I'll be better than you someday."

Phil raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Someday."

---

Later that night, as the others drifted off to their corners of the safe house, Tommy found himself sitting by the window again. The city lights glittered in the distance, a reminder of the world they worked to navigate—and sometimes defy.

Hoax joined him quietly, sliding into the chair opposite him with a mug of tea in hand.

"You've been quiet tonight," Hoax said after a moment.

Tommy shrugged. "Just... thinking."

"Dangerous habit," Hoax replied, though his tone was gentler than usual.

They sat in silence for a while, the faint hum of the city filling the space between them. "You don't have to do it alone, you know," Hoax said finally, his voice quiet.

Tommy glanced at him, frowning. "What?"

"All of this," Hoax said, motioning vaguely to the window. "The weight you carry. You've got people now. People who care."

Tommy swallowed hard, his chest tightening. "I'm not used to it."

"I know," Hoax said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But you're part of this, little bird. Whether you like it or not."

Tommy wanted to argue, to push back like he always did. But for once, he couldn't find the words.

Instead, he nodded, his voice barely audible. "Thanks."

Hoax's smile softened, and he leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. "Don't mention it."

---

Over the next few weeks, the rhythm of Tommy's life shifted.

He still patrolled alone sometimes, but more often than not, he found himself drawn back to the Syndicate. Their banter, their quiet moments, their unspoken understanding—it all felt... right.

Zephyr taught him more about combat, his patience steady and unwavering. Blood God's gruff demeanor softened, revealing a sharp wit that Tommy found oddly comforting.

And Hoax?

Hoax was always there, ready with a sharp remark or a knowing look that made Tommy feel like he was understood in a way no one else had ever managed.

For the first time in a long time, Tommy felt like he belonged.

---

Laughter filled the safe house, bouncing off the worn walls and scattering the usual tension that lingered there.

Tommy sat cross-legged on the couch, a grin plastered across his face as he recounted a particularly chaotic patrol. "And then this idiot—" he pointed at Blood God, who was sitting with his arms crossed, glaring— "tries to throw me across the alley because apparently, I'm a 'good distraction.'"

"It worked, didn't it?" Blood God muttered, earning a snicker from Hoax.

"You nearly broke my arm!" Tommy shot back, though the grin on his face didn't falter.

Zephyr shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're lucky to still be alive, lad."

"Yeah, well," Tommy said, leaning back. "That's why I've got you lot watching my back, right?"

The words slipped out before he could stop them, but they didn't feel out of place. For once, he didn't feel the need to shove the sentiment away or undercut it with a joke.

"Damn right," Hoax said, ruffling Tommy's hair as he walked past.

Tommy swatted his hand away, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress the warmth spreading through his chest.

This was what he'd been missing.

---

The clash of steel and the roar of flames filled the air as the Syndicate squared off against Nightmare, Blaze, and Hypnos.

The warehouse was a battlefield, crates splintering under the force of stray blows, shadows twisting wildly as Nightmare's illusions warped the space. Tommy darted between the chaos, his heart pounding as he tried to keep up with the others.

Zephyr's wings cut through the air, shards of metal swirling around him in a deadly storm. Techno moved with brutal precision, his strikes calculated and unrelenting.

"Stick with me!" Hoax shouted, his voice cutting through the noise as he motioned for Tommy to stay close.

Tommy nodded, his breath ragged as he dodged a burst of fire from Blaze. He countered with a sharp swing of his crowbar, narrowly missing Blaze's shoulder.

"Nice try, kid!" Blaze taunted, flames curling around his fists.

"Shut it, you walking bonfire!" Tommy snapped, darting back toward Hoax.

Nightmare loomed in the center of the fray, his black mask gleaming as his illusions twisted the battlefield into a disorienting maze.

"Stay sharp!" Zephyr shouted, his voice steady even amid the chaos.

---

Tommy was mid-swing, trying to hold his ground against Blaze, when he felt it—a sharp, searing pain tearing through his stomach.

His breath caught in his throat as he stumbled forward, his crowbar slipping from his fingers. He turned slowly, his wide eyes meeting Nightmare's.

The hero's knife was still buried in his stomach, the cruel gleam of steel slick with blood. "Tommy!" Hoax's voice rang out, sharp with panic. He knew his name from those lips.

Nightmare pulled the blade free, stepping back as Tommy collapsed to his knees. The sounds of the battle blurred, the world tilting as pain surged through his body.

Hoax was there in an instant, catching him before he hit the ground.

"Tommy—stay with me," Hoax whispered, his hands trembling as he pressed them against the wound.

Tommy's vision blurred, but he managed to focus on Hoax's face—no, Wilbur's face.

"It hurts," Tommy whispered, his voice barely audible. "It really hurts, Wilbur..."

Hoax froze, his breath hitching. For a split second, the battle around them ceased to exist.

"It's okay," Wilbur whispered, his voice cracking as tears slipped down his face. "It'll be okay. You'll be alright. We'll get you to a medic, I promise..."

Tommy's chest tightened as the familiar buzz of his lie detector flared weakly.

Lie.

He already knew.

His eyes locked on Wilbur's, his breath shallow as blood seeped between them.

Wilbur's arms tightened around him, his voice breaking. "You're not going anywhere, little bird. Stay with me. Please."

Tommy managed a faint smile, his voice softer than ever. "You're... such a terrible liar."

Wilbur's shoulders shook as he buried his face against Tommy's hair, his tears falling freely now. "Don't. Don't say that. You're going to be fine, I swear—"

Tommy's breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering shut. "Thanks... for not letting me... be alone." His words trailed off, his body going still in Wilbur's arms.

"No," Wilbur whispered, his voice breaking completely. "Tommy... no. Please."

The battle raged on behind them, but for Wilbur, the world had stopped.

He clutched Tommy's lifeless body to his chest, his tears soaking into the bloodstained fabric of Tommy's hoodie.

"Please..." he whispered again, his voice raw and broken.

But there was no answer.

Please don't kill me.