The sting of fresh wounds burned across Jack’s skin as he pressed his back against the cold, damp wall of an alley. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, trying to keep his presence hidden as the searchlights skimmed overhead. He had barely escaped. His invisibility had kept him alive—slipping through the cracks, hiding in the shadows, and vanishing when it counted. But he couldn't stay hidden forever, and every second he lingered in the open was another second closer to being caught.

  Ironclad was out there, somewhere. Him and the others. Jack could still hear the distant rumble of the hero’s voice barking orders. The registered heroes were thorough—relentless. They always had been.

  Jack shifted his weight, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through his side. The fight on the Havenbridge had been brutal. He hadn’t been prepared for Ironclad's speed. The man wasn’t just strong; he moved like a machine, driven by years of polished experience and a system that ensured he was always a step ahead. Jack hadn’t stood a chance in a straight fight, and he knew it. He had only one advantage: disappearing when the heat was on.

  A gust of wind swept through the alley, sending discarded papers swirling at his feet. One slapped against his leg, and Jack instinctively reached down, peeling it away. A propaganda poster—worn and torn—flaunted the bold slogan: "YOUR POWER, THEIR PROTECTION." Beneath it, the image of a gleaming, armored hero, standing tall like a statue of justice, loomed over a group of civilians looking up with admiration.

  Jack crumpled the poster in his hand, a bitter taste rising in his throat. Protection? No. Control. The Hero Registration Act had always been about control. Those who registered were elevated, glorified by the government, paraded as the saviors of society. But it came at a cost. You did what they told you, followed their rules, and in return, you became part of their system. Heroes like Ironclad? They weren’t protecting anyone. They were maintaining order, keeping people like Jack in line.

  The distant thrum of a hover-drone pulled Jack out of his thoughts. He looked up, scanning the slivers of the night sky visible between the tall buildings. They were using everything to track him now—drones, scanners, heroes on the ground. He could feel the tension in the air, the city humming with activity as they closed in.

  Pushing off the wall, Jack moved deeper into the labyrinth of alleyways. Every step was calculated, slow, and silent. He stayed close to the shadows, where the lights couldn't reach, where his figure could blur into the darkness. His muscles ached, his mind racing with the events of the past few hours.

  He turned a corner, nearly slipping on a puddle. His reflection shimmered beneath him—blood on his cheek, a split lip, bruises already forming along his jawline. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his knuckles. It didn’t matter. He just had to keep moving. One block at a time. One shadow to the next.

  As he walked, more posters lined the walls. Each one more obnoxious than the last. "REGISTER YOUR GIFT. PROTECT OUR FUTURE." Another showed a family smiling, their hands clasped together in front of a registered hero. "THE HERO REGISTRATION ACT KEEPS YOU SAFE." The slogans screamed at him from every direction, their manufactured optimism a stark contrast to the cold, unfeeling reality that Jack had come to know.

  Jack stuffed his hands into his pockets, trying to disappear into himself as much as into the darkened streets. His heart raced, but he kept his face calm, neutral. He wasn’t a suspect—at least, not yet. They didn’t know it was him. But using his powers without permission was a serious offense, and the kind of damage he caused tonight? It wasn’t the kind of thing they’d overlook.

  The sound of sirens in the distance made his pulse quicken. He wasn’t afraid of being caught in a fair fight—he’d gone toe-to-toe with Ironclad and survived. But the system wasn’t fair. If the cops figured out he’d used his abilities outside of their strict regulations, they'd drag him in for questioning. From there, it wouldn’t be long before they put the pieces together and realized he was the one they were after.

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  The streets ahead were more exposed. The alleys were safer, but each one brought its own risks—dead ends, patrols, or someone waiting to jump out. Jack scanned the buildings, his eyes darting between doorways, fire escapes, anywhere he could disappear into if it came down to it. He wasn’t far from home, but with every step, the city felt bigger, more hostile, like it was working against him.

  He turned a corner, nearly colliding with a pair of officers. They didn’t recognize him, barely glancing his way before continuing down the block, talking into their radios. Jack held his breath, walking briskly but without panic. The trick was not to look suspicious, not to run. If he ran, they’d know.

  As the officers' voices faded behind him, Jack exhaled. He needed to get off the streets. The city was crawling with police and registered heroes, and even if no one knew it was him yet, it wouldn’t take much to give himself away. They’d be looking for someone who had used their power to harm another—who had done it recklessly and without a permit. And that someone, Jack knew, would eventually become him in their reports.

  He ducked into another alley, staying close to the buildings. A poster flapped against the brick wall, peeling at the corners, the words barely visible in the dim light: "FOLLOW THE LAW. REGISTER TODAY." Jack resisted the urge to tear it down. The system was everywhere, telling people they were safer with heroes and laws, with registrations and permits. It was all a lie. None of it protected people like him.

  He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small, folded slip of paper inside—his fake registration card. It had gotten him out of a few tight spots before, but if anyone took a closer look, it wouldn’t hold up. He just needed to make it home. Home was safe. He could disappear for a while, lay low until the heat died down.

  The streets opened up ahead of him—an intersection, brightly lit and watched by cameras. Jack cursed under his breath. There was no easy way around it, and crossing would put him right out in the open. He took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and kept moving. The last thing he needed was to look like he was sneaking around.

  Halfway across the street, a police cruiser rolled by, its headlights sweeping the intersection. Jack kept his head down, his hands in his pockets. Just another pedestrian out too late, nothing to see. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting for some sign, some twitch of guilt. But Jack was good at hiding—had been for a long time. It was his only real gift.

  The cruiser turned the corner, and Jack breathed again. He was close now, just a few more blocks. As he walked, he replayed the fight in his head. The damage he’d caused. He didn’t mean for it to go that far, but it always went too far. That was the problem with powers—they didn’t come with a rulebook. The government tried to make one, but the truth was, no one really knew how to control what people could do. They just pretended they did.

  Jack’s apartment building came into view—a rundown complex, nothing special. Perfect for keeping a low profile. He slipped in through the side entrance, avoiding the lobby. His neighbors were used to him coming and going at odd hours, but tonight, he couldn’t afford any extra attention.

  Once inside, Jack climbed the stairs two at a time, his muscles aching with each step. The familiar smell of stale air and old carpets grounded him. He could almost relax, knowing he was close. Almost.

  Reaching his door, he fumbled with his keys, his hands still trembling from the adrenaline. He stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. The silence of his apartment greeted him, a cold but welcome relief from the chaos outside. For the first time since the fight, Jack allowed himself to exhale fully, leaning against the door as exhaustion washed over him.

  He crossed the room to the small window overlooking the alley, peering through the blinds. The city below looked the same as ever, but it felt different. Tighter. Like a noose closing in.

  Jack knew he couldn’t stay hidden forever. They were looking for him now, and it was only a matter of time before the system caught up. But for tonight, he was safe. He had made it home. And for now, that was enough.

  As he sank into the worn-out couch, his mind raced. He needed to figure out his next move. The fight had been a mistake, but it was done. The system wouldn’t let him off easy. They never did. But Jack wasn’t going to roll over and let them take him, either. He had come this far. He wasn’t giving up now.

  Tomorrow, he’d figure out what came next. Tomorrow, he’d start planning. But for tonight, Jack rested, though his mind never truly settled.