I pressed my back against the cold, damp wall of some rundown, abandoned building, my breath steady despite my heart pounding in my chest like a drumline. Above me, the faint sounds of boots echoed as I imagined it, the heroes scanning the area. They were persistent, I'll give them that, but it's almost cute how little they actually know about finding someone like me.

I could see their words hovering faintly in the air—Endeavor barking orders, Hawks chiming in with his usual quips, and Eraserhead somewhere muttering under his breath like the broody cat dad he was for sure. Honestly, if it weren't for the whole "being hunted like a stray dog" thing, this might've been entertaining.

But no,....

Instead, I get the thrilling experience of playing hide-and-seek with the most powerful people in the country. 

Joy.

I shifted slightly, peering through a crack in the wall. Hawks was flying overhead, his wings outstretched like some golden retriever with feathers. A flicker of annoyance crossed my mind. If I wasn't deaf, I'd probably be able to hear them shouting orders or maybe their boots clattering over broken glass. Instead, I got to rely on reading their words floating in the air like some demented subtitles.

Fun fact: sarcasm doesn't translate well into word-vision. Who knew?

I ducked further into the shadows as Endeavor's fiery light illuminated the corner where I was hidden. His words flickered in the air again. Something about "spreading out" and "checking the rooftops." A chill ran down my spine. If they caught me, it was over.

No thanks, ...

I'm too old for the system, too young to be left alone, and way too done with being failed by people who are supposed to help me.

The bitterness tasted familiar, like an old friend. The system had never been there for me. No one ever was, really. Not when it mattered. So why should I trust them now?

I adjusted my position, my foot brushing against a piece of rubble that clattered a bit too loudly. My entire body froze, every muscle locking in place. 

Well, that's great. 

Wanna try announcing your location with a megaphone next, genius?

But the sound went unnoticed. The heroes were still searching, their words blurring into faint streaks of light. 

Idiots. 

I've been hiding in places like this since I was a kid. 

What makes you think you can catch me now?

After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved on. I stayed crouched, just to be sure, until the last flicker of their words disappeared. Only then did I allow myself to relax—just a little.

I stepped out of the shadows, my legs aching from being in the same position for so long. The air was cool, and the silence of the night was... nice, actually. No shouting. No accusations. No people.

I made my way out of the building, slipping through an alley and blending into the city. By the time I was out, the heroes had long abandoned their search. I'd done it. I'd actually slipped away.

~~Time skip of Six Months brought to you by a bunny preparing for his big gig ~~

I leaned back in my chair, the glow of three monitors illuminating my face as my fingers danced across the keyboard. The screen was filled with lines of code, each one perfectly calculated, perfectly executed. I tilted my head to the side, a smirk playing on my lips. 

GhostSoul strikes again.

The underworld had been surprisingly... accommodating. Turns out, when you're good at hacking and bad at asking questions, people are more than willing to pay you ridiculous amounts of money to do their dirty work.

I reached for my cup of instant ramen, slurping up the last bit as I leaned back to admire my work. The code was flawless, another payday secured. It wasn't glamorous, sure, but it paid the bills.

And boy, did I need to pay the bills.

My place was... well, let's just call it shabby and leave it at that. 

The kind of place where the plumbing creaks at night, the walls are thin enough to hear your neighbor's existential crises, and the landlord probably wouldn't notice if you disappeared. It was perfect. No one asked questions.

With the money I earned from my hacking jobs, I'd been able to afford some decent training, too. Martial arts, to be specific. I wasn't much of a fighter yet, but I was learning. Every punch, every kick, every dodge—it all built toward something.

Because let's face it, kid, .... If you can't fight, you're not gonna last long out here.

My trainer wasn't wrong.

The best part, though? 

The costume.

I glanced over at my desk, where the beginnings of my new outfit lay. It wasn't much yet—just some basic materials I'd scrounged together from the underworld. But it was mine. Every stitch, every piece of fabric, every strap—I'd made it with my own two hands.

It wasn't just a costume. It was a statement.

Sivax was coming.

Soon, everyone would know my name.