Leighton - codename Persona. Powers triggered at fifteen. Smoke clawed his lungs, dragging him back to that night. Tires screeched, gunfire cracked, his mother's blood pooling on asphalt. The memory burned behind his eyes until the roar of the flames pulled him back to now. He flew low, thermal vision cutting through the fire in search of the living.

*Precision over rage,* Heavy's voice echoed.

He shook it off and flew low toward the burning dome. Thermal vision locked onto six hostages trapped inside the flaming Delta Plant. Ninjas prowled below, red blades glinting with murder. He hesitated-the ghost of past failure stirring as his power began to wane.

That night had branded him in smoke and silence; he still wore the scar beneath the suit.

His powers always burned out after two hours, leaving him exposed and human again.

With a final breath, he dove-precision cutting through chaos, glass raining like judgment.

Leighton tore through metal plating as dust exploded around him. Shurikens burst against his chest, leaving no mark. His fists blurred into motion; four ninjas crumpled like broken dolls. One katana ripped free and clattered aside. His gaze snapped to the hostages twisting against their ropes.

He knew the truth-if those hostages hadn't been trapped that night, Persona would've never been born. And neither would the guilt.

Ragged breaths and muffled pleas cut through the smoky air. Terrified eyes locked on him. Chest heaving, he gulped burned air, smoke clinging to his white suit. Minutes flickered on his watch-time slipping before his power burned out. The distant crackle of fire snapped him back to focus.

He knew time bled away fast, and every heartbeat was a choice between life and loss.

They looked at him like salvation, and guilt flared brighter than fire.

Thermal vision flared again, locking onto the hostages' heat signatures as they struggled to break free. *Precision over rage* steadied his pulse as he strode down the corridor. He sliced the ropes and guided the freed hostages toward the exit.

"Thank you," one whispered, voice trembling.

He spun at the sound of approaching footsteps.

A lone ninja charged, sword slicing through the air. Leighton deflected the strike and drove his fist into the man's chest. Bones cracked-the sound echoing through smoke‑shadowed halls.

He stalked forward through the haze, ash biting at his lungs, shattered glass crunching beneath his boot.

"Where's your boss?" he demanded.

The ninja clenched down on a hidden tooth, convulsing-still within seconds.

"Not another one," he muttered, shaking his head.

Leighton checked for a pulse with ultrasonic hearing, then gently laid the body flat.

A black dragon tattoo coiled across the forearm-unmistakable.

*Could it be the Scourge? No... they were eliminated five years ago.*

He snapped a photo with his wristband, scanning for clues. Amid the smoke, he found a vial of black fluid-slick, cold, alive against his palm. "I wonder where you came from."

Leighton exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. "Gotta tell Heavy. If Scourge is back, these ninjas scream big scheme."

He tapped his comm. "Persona here, returning to base.

"Heavy? Anybody?"Only static answered.

The silence between bursts of static clawed at him. The team always answered-until now.

Sirens swelled below, rising into a relentless wail. Then the comm crackled.

Heavy's voice cut through-sharp, urgent.

Leighton lifted off, his sleek white suit cleaving the night sky at great speed, wind battering against him.

Night stretched below as he cut through the clouds-a white streak over a dying city. The station's landing pad loomed ahead, lit by pulsing emergency beacons.

He strode forward. Watch hit 1:58. Three minutes before everything faded.

Consoles hummed, but no team chatter followed.Too quiet.

Cautious, he stepped deeper into the hall. Blood streaked the floor.
Wraith Rider's mangled body lay sprawled before him.

For a moment Leighton paused. Sirens outside seemed miles away-the world refusing this grief.

"Brothers don't break," Malcolm had whispered on their first mission.
Now that memory mocked him.

Leighton's fist clenched, breath sharp. The scent of scorched metal filled his lungs.

Wraith Rider didn't move. His heart dipped as red alarm lights strobed across a cracked visor, painting the fallen hero in alternating flashes of light and shadow.

Disbelief tightened his chest. Leighton stepped forward-red-streaked floor under boot.

The station felt like a slaughterhouse. Memories from their first mission flickered behind his eyes-ghosts refusing to fade.

"Malcolm? You're alive?" His breath stuttered as the name left him. The years collapsed-brotherhood, laughter, fire. Ash.

Level rolled up his sleeve, dragon tattoo glinting crimson. "You don't know the pain of losing someone dear."

Leighton couldn't fathom it. His brother-a traitor, the architect of their pain.

Darkness pooled inside him, but the shock steadied his hands. His throat tightened at the blood on the floor. "Malcolm... that mission was never supposed to happen. I lost my friend that day."

Level's cold eyes locked onto him-soulless to the core. "You'll know pain soon enough, Leighton."

He seized Defender's neck. The body went limp, crashing onto the blood‑drenched floor.

Leighton's heartbeat spiked, breath hitching at the sound. His jaw tightened, fists clenching until his knuckles whitened.

Level's eyes hardened. "All heroes of Delta City will fall."

Leighton's vision tunneled. He had nothing left to lose-not even disbelief.

A tremor ran through Leighton's hands-grief melting into fury. He launched forward, fist crashing into Level's jaw.

The main hall erupted-consoles sparking like lightning. Level ripped a table from the floor with telekinetic force and hurled it across the room.

Steel twisted into a shrieking cage as it closed around him. Ozone burned Leighton's throat; the metal constricted, dragging sparks through the air.

Level frowned, shadows twisting with his power. The telekinetic wave slammed Leighton sideways into the panels.

Then a wall of invisible force tore through the hall. Heavy's massive hand shot out, shoving back the lunging metal.

His fist thundered mid‑air. Level faltered. The metallic taste of dread lingered on Leighton's tongue as silence reclaimed the room.

"This ends tonight," Heavy growled.

The echo of his words hung in the charged air.

Leighton's hands still trembled, rage and relief warring within him.