The wind whipped across the bridge, carrying with it the electric buzz of tension. Jack’s feet felt heavy as he moved towards the commotion, each step deliberate, rehearsed. He hadn’t planned on getting involved, hadn’t wanted to, but the air was thick with that familiar charge— the kind that told him things were about to go south, fast.

  His eyes scanned the crowd as he slipped closer, keeping his head down, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. No one noticed him. They were too busy watching the kid on the bridge, the one with the energy crackling around his hands, looking like he was trying to keep a lid on something much bigger than he knew how to handle.

  Jack stopped at the edge of the crowd, his pulse steady, but there was that itch again— deep beneath his skin, the one he tried to ignore. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his problem.

  But it was about to be.

  Without making a show of it, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the mask he kept folded there. It was simple, nondescript—just a plain black cloth with no markings, something to cover his face. He’d gotten used to carrying it around after he stopped playing by the rules, though he barely put it on. Tonight though, he had a feeling.

  He slid the mask over his face, tugging it into place as he edged around the group of onlookers. His movements were slow, calculated. A shadow among shadows.

  “Somebody should call the Heroes,” a woman whispered to the man next to her. “It looks like he’s gonna lose control.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched beneath the mask. He’d seen this before—too many times. Someone’s power kicks in, they think they can handle it, but then something snaps. And when it does, the fallout’s not pretty.

  He was already moving forward, a shadow passing through the chaos. The kid’s hands glowed, the air around him vibrating with unspent energy as bolts of electricity flickered off his skin. People screamed, but Jack’s steps were steady, calculated. He slipped between the panicked bodies, his presence unnoticed, like a breeze cutting through a storm.

  He didn’t need to shout or make a scene. Instead, Jack reached up and tugged his mask over his face, feeling the fabric press against his skin, familiar and necessary. It was simple—just enough to cover his features, to keep his identity buried beneath the layers of anonymity. After all, the last thing he needed was someone recognizing him when this was all over.

  The kid’s power flared again, bright and dangerous, a bolt of energy shooting into the sky like a warning shot. Jack felt the heat against his skin as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing. No more time to waste.

  The first thing to go was his right hand. It flickered, the outline of his fingers blurring, then vanishing entirely. A shimmer of light wrapped around where his hand used to be, bending reality just enough that no one would notice it was missing. He flexed his now-invisible fingers, feeling the power course through him. It wasn’t full invisibility, not like the stories people tell. But it was enough—enough to slip through the cracks, enough to make himself a ghost when it mattered.

  He ducked low, weaving through the scattered crowd, his body half-hidden as his right arm disappeared completely. To anyone looking, he was just a blur, a piece of the night that refused to stay still.

  The kid was panting now, his face drenched in sweat, his hands still sparking. Jack watched as the energy built, unstable and unpredictable, waiting for the next explosion. He’d seen that kind of power before—the kind that overwhelmed the user, made them a danger to everyone, including themselves. But Jack wasn’t here to stand back and watch. Not this time.

  He closed the gap between them in three quick strides, his movements sharp, deliberate. His left hand stayed visible as he reached for the kid’s shoulder, while his right, the invisible one, shot forward. Jack’s fingers curled around the glowing wrist, his grip tight, though to anyone watching, it looked like the kid’s hand was simply raised in the air.

  The kid jerked back, eyes wide, but Jack held firm.

  “Hey!” Jack barked, his voice low but commanding. “Focus.”

  The kid’s breath hitched, his wild eyes locking onto Jack’s masked face. But Jack wasn’t giving him time to panic. His invisible grip tightened, just enough to ground the kid, to keep the power from spiraling further.

  “You need to stop,” Jack continued, his tone steady, but the weight of his words unmistakable. “Right now.”

  For a second, the energy crackling around the kid’s hands dimmed, the wild sparks slowing. Jack could feel it—the tension in the kid’s body, the war going on inside his head. He was scared, more than anything, and fear was what made things dangerous.

  The kid’s power flared again, a sudden surge that sent a jolt of electricity up Jack’s arm. He winced, feeling the sharp sting, but he didn’t let go. His grip stayed firm, even as his right arm flickered back into visibility, the shimmer of partial invisibility slipping away as the energy coursed through him.

  “Stop!” Jack snapped, his voice harder now, more urgent. “Before you hurt someone.”

  The kid’s breathing was ragged, his eyes frantic as he looked down at the place where Jack’s hand gripped his wrist—where nothing but air seemed to hold him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and for the briefest moment, the panic faltered.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I… I can’t—” the kid stammered, his voice shaking, but Jack wasn’t listening.

  With a swift motion, Jack’s left hand shot up, gripping the kid’s other arm. This time, he didn’t need invisibility. He pulled the kid close, bringing their faces inches apart. Jack’s mask was still in place, but the look in his eyes was enough to make the kid stop fighting.

  “You can,” Jack said quietly, his voice low, steady. “You will.”

  The kid’s power wavered, flickering in and out like a dying flame. Jack felt the energy retreat, pulling back into the kid’s body, leaving only the faintest glow in its wake. The crowd around them was silent now, the air thick with tension, as if everyone was waiting for the next move.

  But there wasn’t going to be one. Not tonight.

  Jack released the kid’s arms, stepping back as his own body fully materialized again. He flexed his fingers, feeling the last remnants of electricity buzzing under his skin. The kid stared at him, wide-eyed, his hands trembling but no longer glowing.

  “Get out of here,” Jack muttered, his voice soft but firm. “Before someone else gets the wrong idea.”

  The kid hesitated for a second, glancing around at the crowd, then back at Jack. But he didn’t say anything more. He didn’t have to.

  Without another word, the kid turned and bolted, his footsteps echoing across the bridge as he disappeared into the night.

  Jack stood there for a moment, his mask still in place, his chest rising and falling with the adrenaline that hadn’t yet faded. He looked down at his hands, the faint hum of power still vibrating beneath his skin. It was always there, always waiting. But he didn’t like using it—especially not out here, in the open.

  Jack took a deep breath, his hands falling to his sides, fingers flexing against the cold metal railing of the bridge. His eyes swept over the city below, now quiet and still, as if the chaos moments before had been nothing more than a nightmare. But he knew better. The tension never really left; it just shifted, waiting to pounce again when the time was right.

  The faint glow of streetlights below illuminated the stillness, but Jack knew his time on this bridge was limited. The cops would arrive soon, if they hadn’t already been called, and registered heroes weren’t far behind. He could feel it.

  With a sigh, Jack turned his gaze upward to the dark sky, only to see the unmistakable gleam of something metallic slicing through the air.

  Ironclad.

  The name alone brought a weight to Jack’s chest. He’d heard the stories. A registered hero with superhuman strength, durability, and is able to fly. His skin was like steel, impenetrable and unyielding. Perfect for public displays of heroism—polished, reliable, untouchable.

  Jack tensed as the figure in the sky descended, the moonlight bouncing off Ironclad’s metallic skin. The man landed with a heavy thud on the bridge, sending a faint tremor through the structure.

  "You didn’t think I wouldn’t show up, did you?" Ironclad’s voice was gruff, authoritative, as if he already had control of the situation. "Whatever you’re doing here, it ends now."

  Jack didn’t flinch. He kept his eyes locked on Ironclad, his fingers tightening around the mask on his face. "You’re late."

  Ironclad took a step forward, the ground beneath him groaning with the weight of his steps. "I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but you’re in violation of registered hero protocol."

  The words rang hollow in Jack’s ears. Protocol. That was all the government cared about now—protocols, registrations, keeping people like him in check. He could almost feel Ironclad sizing him up, trying to gauge whether Jack was a threat or just another fool playing vigilante. Jack knew better than to engage directly with him, but retreat wasn’t an option either.

  As Ironclad drew closer, Jack’s hand twitched. A flicker of power pulsed through his arm, and before he could stop himself, his right hand vanished from view, dissolving into nothing. He cursed under his breath, keeping his arm behind his back, willing the rest of his body to remain solid. The adrenaline surged again, but this time, he needed to stay in control.

  "I’m not here for a fight," Jack said, his voice low. "I’m just cleaning up the mess."

  Ironclad’s metallic skin gleamed as he halted, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to clean up? You do it under the law. Not whatever this is." His eyes narrowed. "And you can’t hide forever."

  Jack’s jaw tightened beneath his mask. He knew what was coming. Ironclad would try to take him in, either by force or intimidation, and there was only one way Jack could get out of this without ending up in a cell.

  With a deep breath, Jack allowed his left arm to disappear next, the faint shimmer of his power moving through his body. He could feel it, like static electricity under his skin. He couldn’t turn fully invisible—not all at once—but he could make Ironclad work for it.

  Ironclad frowned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the vanishing limb. "Nice trick, but it won’t save you."

  Jack’s lips curled into a faint smirk beneath the mask. "It’s not about saving me.”

  Before Ironclad could react, Jack spun to the side, his left leg fading into nothing as he pushed off the railing, dodging the inevitable clash. His foot reappeared just as it touched the ground, keeping his balance as he moved. Ironclad lunged, a metallic fist crashing into the space where Jack had been moments before, the impact shaking the bridge. Jack could feel the wind from the blow, his heart racing.

  "Stay still!" Ironclad barked, his voice ringing out over the empty street. But Jack wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction.

  With a burst of movement, Jack darted between the support beams of the bridge, turning parts of himself invisible at intervals to confuse Ironclad’s line of sight. His right arm blinked out as he slid past one beam, his torso disappearing as he ducked under another. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to make Ironclad hesitate, unsure of where to strike.

  "I don’t need to fight you," Jack called out, his voice echoing. "I’m not your enemy."

  Ironclad’s eyes darted around, searching for his target. "You think that matters? Unregistered activity is a crime. Stand down, or I’ll take you in."

  Jack’s heartbeat hammered in his chest as he ducked behind another beam, his hand reappearing as he gripped the cold steel. He knew this wasn’t going to end in some grand victory, but if he could keep Ironclad off-balance long enough, he might just slip away.

  As Ironclad’s footsteps approached, Jack’s body flickered once more—his shoulder vanishing just as the metallic hero rounded the corner. For a brief moment, Jack saw Ironclad’s face—the frustration, the confusion. He was used to brute force, to solving problems by smashing through them.

  Jack wasn’t that kind of problem.

  And as the next step loomed closer, Jack prepared to make his move. He wouldn’t stay hidden forever, but tonight, in this brief moment, Ironclad wasn’t going to catch him.

  Not yet.