Hawks point of view:

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out, get the intel, and take down the villain. But now, lying in a dark basement, bleeding, and barely able to move, I know how wrong that went. My head is pounding, and every breath feels like fire in my lungs. I try to think back, to replay the fight in my mind, but it's all a blur—just flashes of red and black, the villain's sneering face, and the gut-wrenching pain as I was hit, knocked out of the sky.

I've been through a lot, but nothing quite like this. I don't even know how far I fell. Far enough to hurt my wings in the process, far enough that now I'm in a place that feels like a prison, only colder and quieter. I blink up at the cracked ceiling, trying to focus, but my vision keeps blurring. How long have I been here? Days? Weeks? There's no way to tell in this place.

I should've contacted the Commission by now. Hell, I should've been halfway back to HQ with the villain in tow. But my body refuses to cooperate. Every time I move, a fresh wave of pain crashes through me, leaving me gasping for air. My wings—usually so reliable—are limp and useless. One look tells me they're too damaged to even consider flying. They hang awkwardly behind me, feathers bent and broken in ways I didn't know they could be.

I need to get out of here.

I need to move.

The thought claws at me, pushing through the haze of pain. I force myself up onto my elbows, biting down on a curse as the pain intensifies. The world tilts, spinning around me, and for a second, I think I might black out again. But I grit my teeth and try to push through it. I have to.

I get as far as my knees before my arms give out, and I collapse back onto the floor. My body won't listen. It's like everything is shutting down. I've never felt this helpless. I'm a hero. I've taken down villains twice my size without breaking a sweat, flown through storms, saved lives. But now, here I am, stuck in a basement with barely enough strength to stand.

I lie there for a moment, trying to catch my breath. The room feels like it's spinning, and I can barely focus on anything. Every part of me screams to get up, to move, but I know I can't. Not like this.

Contact the Commission.

It's the only thing I can do. They need to know I'm out of the mission, that I've failed. I reach for my comms, my fingers trembling. It takes me three tries to get it out of my pocket. My vision swims, and for a second, I'm not sure if I'm even holding it right. I manage to hit the button, my voice hoarse as I speak.

"This is Hawks... I'm out. Mission compromised."

The line goes dead for a moment, static crackling in my ear. I don't hear a response, just silence. Maybe I didn't get through. Maybe they didn't hear me. My heart pounds in my chest, frustration boiling beneath the surface. I'm not used to this. I'm not used to failure. But right now, I can't even do the most basic thing—fly.

Get out of here,...

I think again, but this time it feels more like a plea than a command. I try to push myself up again, but my body betrays me. My legs buckle, and I hit the ground harder than before, the breath knocked out of me.

I lie there, gasping, my vision darkening at the edges. It's no use. I can't stand. I can't fly. I can't even leave the damn basement.

The villain.

That thought snaps through the fog in my brain.

He's out there.

He knows I'm vulnerable.

He's hunting me, and I'm sitting here like a sitting duck, barely able to move, let alone fight back.

I try to shove the fear down, but it's there, gnawing at me. Heroes aren't supposed to be scared. We're supposed to be strong, invincible. But here, now, I'm anything but. If that villain finds me before I recover...

I shake the thought off. I don't have time to worry about what might happen. All I can do is focus on getting stronger, on surviving. That's all that matters right now.

I hear footsteps above me, faint but unmistakable. For a second, I tense, panic rising in my throat.

Is it him?

Has he found me already?

If he did, then I needed to protect all the people in here.

But the footsteps are too light, too cautious. It's not the villain. It's him. The boy. The one who's been bringing me food, patching me up the best he can with whatever he finds. I don't even know his name, but he's the only reason I'm still alive right now.

I close my eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. My body is heavy, my mind even more so.