I settled in on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, rain pouring down my face, and watched the shitshow unfold below me.
Revive got up again. Head fully grown back, even his mask reformed somehow—and fists raised like he was about to box.
"Your reign of terror ends tonight, villains!" he declared, striking a pose that would've looked cool if he wasn't standing in a puddle of his own blood.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," one of the thugs muttered. "Just shoot him again."
*BRATATATATA!*
Revive went down. Again.
"Damn." I winced as a bullet caught him square in the jaw. "That's gotta sting."
He got back up. Again.
"I am justice! I am—"
*BRATATATATA!*
Down again.
"Woah."
Up again.
"You cannot kill—"
*BOOM!*
One of the thugs had pulled out something bigger. A shotgun blast hit Revive square in the chest, and he flew backward into a wall, leaving a dent in the brick.
"Jesus christ that must've hurt."
He slumped to the ground, unmoving. For a moment, I thought maybe that was it. Maybe even a regenerator had limits.
Then his chest started bubbling. Literally bubbling. The hole where the shotgun blast had been was filling in with new tissue, the ribs cracking back into place, the skin stretching over the wound like someone was sculpting him out of clay.
"...That is genuinely the most crazy bullshit I've ever seen."
He stood up again, cracking his neck.
"Your bullets cannot stop the righteous! I will—"
One of the thugs walked up to him and just... punched him in the face. Revive stumbled, clearly not expecting it, and the thug followed up with a knee to the gut, then an elbow to the back of the head.
Revive crumpled like a wet noodle.
"Wow."
The thug started kicking him while he was down. Revive tried to get up, but another thug joined in, and then a third. They were beating the absolute shit out of him, and the guy had literally zero combat skills. Like, none. He was flailing around, throwing wild punches that missed by feet, tripping over his own feet, and generally looking like a drunk toddler in a cape.
"Why..." I muttered, genuinely confused. "Why would you become a vigilante if you can't fight? Like, at all?"
It was baffling. The man had one of the most broken abilities I'd ever seen—literal immortality—and he was using it to... get his ass kicked in a dirty alley at 1 AM.
"..."
That's like having a Ferrari and not knowing how to drive. Actually, no. It's like having a Ferrari and deliberately crashing it into every wall you see because you know the mechanic can fix it.
While the thugs were busy playing punch-the-immortal-idiot, I noticed something.
The woman.
She was still there. Curled up behind a dumpster, shaking, her arms wrapped around her knees. The thugs had been focused on Revive for the past few minutes, and nobody was paying attention to her anymore.
"Hm..."
I looked at her. Then at Revive. Then at the thugs.
"...Well. Might as well."
I extended my hand toward her, focusing on the gravity negation. It was different from lifting objects—living things were harder, more complex. But the principle was the same.
I pushed.
Nothing happened.
I pushed harder, concentrating on her specifically. On her body, her weight, the pull of gravity on her mass.
The woman shifted. Barely. Her body lifted maybe an inch off the ground, and she let out a startled gasp.
I kept pushing. Sweat broke out on my forehead despite the cold rain. This was harder than lifting a desk—she was maybe 60 kilos, and the distance was at least fifteen meters. My range was limited, and my control was shaky at best.
But I kept pushing.
Slowly, slowly, she rose. Inch by inch, her body floated upward, clearing the dumpster, rising above the alley floor. Her eyes went wide—she was looking around frantically, clearly not understanding what was happening to her.
I pulled her toward me, using the gravity negation to guide her upward. It was like reeling in a fish with a really, really weak rod. Every few seconds, I had to readjust, refocus, make sure I didn't drop her.
She rose above the alley, above the building's first floor, then the second. The rain hit her face, and she sputtered, looking down with wide, terrified eyes.
"Come on... come on..."
I reached out with my other hand, negating gravity on myself just enough to lean over the edge without falling. My fingers brushed her arm—then her wrist—then I grabbed her.
I pulled her onto the rooftop, and we both tumbled backward, landing in a heap on the wet concrete.
"Oof—!"
She was on top of me, her body pressed against mine, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. I could feel her heart hammering through her ribs... or maybe that was mine. Hard to tell.
I quickly rolled her off me and sat up, looking at her for the first time.
[Name: Diana Mercer]
[Age: 34]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: Lawyer]
[Description: A successful criminal defense attorney who was abducted after leaving her office late tonight. She is currently experiencing extreme psychological distress.]
She was... hot. Like, genuinely hot. Mid-thirties, with auburn hair that was now plastered to her face from the rain, and sharp green eyes that were currently wide with terror. She was wearing a designer blouse that was torn at the collar, showing off her collarbone and the upper curve of her tits. Her pencil skirt was ripped up the side, revealing a long stretch of pale thigh and a glimpse of black lace underwear.
Her body was fit—clearly someone who worked out—and her curves were the kind that cost money to maintain. Not Bethany-level bimbo proportions, but more of a "I'm a successful woman who also happens to be stacked" kind of vibe.
She was shaking. Badly. Her teeth were chattering, and her eyes were darting around like a cornered animal.
I needed to calm her down. That was the priority. If she panicked, she'd scream, and if she screamed, the thugs would look up, and if the thugs looked up—
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. "Hey. You're safe. I got you. You're—"
She looked at me. Really looked at me. A soaking wet teenager in a torn hoodie, dark circles under his eyes, crouching on a rooftop in the middle of a rainstorm.
Her mouth opened.
I could see it coming. I could see the terror in her eyes, the instinct to scream, to cry out, to make noise. I held up my hand, shaking my head.
"Don't. Don't scream. They'll hear you. You need to be quiet—"
"...God fucking dammit."
Her scream pierced the night like a siren. It was loud—loud enough to echo off the buildings, loud enough to cut through the sound of the rain and the gunfire and Revive's idiotic monologue about justice.
Below, everything stopped.
The thugs stopped kicking Revive. They looked up. A dozen pairs of eyes found me on the rooftop, holding the woman.
"...Hi?"
"GET HIM!"
*BRATATATATATATATA!*
I dove backward, pulling the woman with me, as a hail of bullets tore through the air where I'd been standing a second ago. Concrete exploded around us, sending chunks of debris flying. I felt something graze my arm—a bullet fragment, maybe—and hissed in pain.
"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!"
I scrambled to my feet, dragging the screaming woman with me. More bullets hit the rooftop, kicking up showers of sparks and concrete dust.
"Stop screaming! STOP SCREAMING!"
She didn't stop screaming.
I negated gravity on both of us and jumped. We launched off the rooftop like a rocket, soaring over the gap to the next building. We landed hard—too hard—and I rolled, absorbing the impact as best I could.
The bullets kept coming, but they were falling short now. We were out of range.
I lay there on the wet rooftop, the woman sprawled beside me, both of us gasping for air. The rain was coming down so hard I could barely see.
"...I told you not to scream."
She looked at me, her green eyes wide, her chest heaving. She opened her mouth to respond.
"If you scream again, I swear to god I'll leave you here."
She closed her mouth.
I sighed and pulled her up.
"Come on. We need to move higher."
She didn't resist. Probably too terrified to do anything except whatever the soaking wet teenager who'd just floated her through the air told her to do. Fair enough.
I negated gravity on both of us—a bit harder with two people, but manageable—and jumped. We launched off the rooftop, arcing through the rain like a pair of sad, wet birds. The wind whipped at my hoodie and her torn blouse as we sailed over the gap, clearing three buildings in one leap.
"..."
She didn't scream.
That was... actually impressive. I could feel her shaking against me, her whole body vibrating like a tuning fork, but she kept her mouth shut. Either she'd learned her lesson from the last time, or she was too scared to even make a sound.
We landed on a much taller building—one of the older ones in the Flats, maybe eight or nine stories. The rooftop was flat, covered in gravel and puddles, with a rusted water tank in the corner. The rain was coming down so hard up here that I could barely see the street below.
"Okay." I set her down. "We should be safe here."
She sat down on the wet gravel, her legs folded under her, her arms wrapped around herself. Her auburn hair was plastered to her face, and her torn blouse was clinging to her skin, showing off the lacy black bra underneath. Her pencil skirt was hiked up around her thighs, and she was shaking so badly her teeth were chattering.
I stood there, hands in my hoodie pockets, waiting for her to say something.
She looked up at me.
I looked down at her.
"..."
"...You saved me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah."
"You... actually saved me."
"That's what I just said."
She stared at me for a long moment, her green eyes searching my face. Then she let out a shaky breath and pressed her hand to her chest.
"Thank you. I... thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"No, really. I thought I was going to die back there. Those men—they grabbed me outside my office, and they dragged me into that alley, and I thought—" Her voice cracked. "I thought they were going to—"
"They didn't. You're alive. That's what matters."
She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she looked at me again. Really looked at me. And her expression shifted from grateful to... slightly horrified.
"...What?" I asked.
"You just... you pulled me up onto a roof. And you looked like... I'm sorry, you just looked like a very creepy vampire."
"...What?"
"I mean—" She gestured at me vaguely. "Look at you! You're pale as a sheet, you've got dark circles under your eyes, you're wearing this torn-up black hoodie, and you just appeared out of nowhere in the rain like some kind of—"
"Jesus christ."
"I mean come on! Did you look in a mirror lately? You would have nightmares about you. I literally thought you were going to kill me. I thought, 'Great, I escaped the thugs and now I'm going to get murdered by a vampire teenager on a rooftop.'"
"I'm not a vampire." The fuck can I say?
"You're not helping your case with that complexion."
"I'm just pale. It's genetic."
"It's genetic, he says. Like that explains the whole 'brooding on a rooftop in the rain at 1 AM' thing you've got going on." She shook her head. "What are you, sixteen?"
"Eighteen."
"Eighteen. And you're out here in the Flats, in the rain, jumping between buildings?" She stared at me. "Are you insane?"
"Probably."
"That's... that's not reassuring."
"It wasn't meant to be."
She let out a laugh—a short, shaky sound that was half-sob, half-genuine amusement. "God, I can't believe this is happening. I was just... I was just walking to my car. That's all. I was walking to my car after work, and these guys just... grabbed me."
"What do they want with you?"
"I'm a lawyer." She tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "Criminal defense. I represent people they don't like. People who've testified against them. I think they were going to use me as leverage."
"Leverage?"
"Hostage. 'Drop the charges or your lawyer gets a bullet in the head.' That kind of thing." She laughed again, bitter this time. "Some career, huh?"
"Sounds dangerous."
"It pays well."
"Clearly."
She looked at me again, her expression softening. "Seriously though. Thank you. I don't know how you did that—floating thing—but you saved my life. I probably would have screamed again if I'd known you were just a kid, but... thank you."
"I'm Diana, by the way. Diana Mercer."
"Noel."
"Noel." She tested the name. "That's... actually kind of nice. Where are you from, Noel? You don't sound like you're from around here."
"I live in the Flats."
"The Flats? And you're out here at 1 AM in the rain, rescuing lawyers from alleys?" She raised an eyebrow. "What are you, some kind of vigilante?"
"I'm not a vigilante."
"You're literally standing on a rooftop in the rain after saving someone from thugs. That's vigilante behavior."
"It's not. I was just... in the area."
"In the area. Jumping between buildings. In the most dangerous neighborhood in the city. At 1 AM. In the rain."
"..."
"Right."
She was getting chatty. I could tell the adrenaline was kicking in—she was talking faster, gesturing more, her eyes bright despite the terror she'd just experienced. It was like her brain had decided that the best way to process nearly being kidnapped and murdered was to just... talk. A lot. About everything.
"Do you have a phone?" she asked. "Mine was in my purse, which they took. I need to call the police."
"Don't have one."
"You don't have a phone? What are you, a monk?"
"It got destroyed yesterday."
"By what? A grenade?"
"Something like that."
She stared at me. "You're a very strange person, Noel."
"I've been told."
"Well, can you at least get me to somewhere safe? A police station, or a—"
*POP. POP. POP.*
The sound of gunfire echoed through the rain. Faint, but unmistakable. Coming from the direction of the alley I'd just left.
Diana froze. Her eyes went wide.
"...They're still at it?" I muttered, tilting my head toward the sound.
"What? What's still—"
*POP. POP. POP.*
Another burst of gunfire. Then another. Then silence.
Then a distant, barely audible: "JUSTICE NEVER DIES!"
"...He's still alive," I said flatly.
"Who?"
"That crazy vigilante guy. He's still going."
"How can you tell?"
"I can hear him yelling about justice."
"...Oh."
Silence stretched between us. The rain was letting up slightly, going from a downpour to a steady drizzle. The city hummed below us—distant traffic, distant sirens, distant lives continuing on without any knowledge of what was happening on this rooftop.
I looked toward the alley. It was maybe... four blocks away. I could barely make it out through the rain, but I could hear the sounds. Gunfire. Shouting. The occasional crash of something breaking.
"...Tsk."
I stood up.
Diana looked at me. "Where are you going?"
"Stay here. I'll be back soon."
"Wait—what? You're leaving me here? On a rooftop? In the rain?"
"You're safe here. Nobody can reach you."
"I'm a thirty-four-year-old woman in a torn skirt on a rooftop in the Flats! How is this safe?!"
"It's safer than the alternative."
"What alternative?"
"The alley where the thugs with guns are."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"...Fair point. But where are you going?"
"To the alley."
"WHY?!"
"... Curiosity?"
"That's not a good enough reason to go into a gunfight!"
"It's the reason I have."
"Noel—"
I was already walking toward the edge of the rooftop. I could feel her eyes on my back, her mouth open, probably forming another objection that I wasn't going to listen to.
"Noel! You can't just—this is insane! You're going to get killed!"
"I'll be fine."
"You don't know that! You're just a kid!"
"I'm eighteen."
"THAT'S STILL A KID!"
I stepped off the edge.
Her scream followed me down as I negated gravity and dropped toward the street below, the rain parting around me like a curtain.
The alley was four blocks away.
I could hear the gunfire getting louder with every step.