⸻
The city had moved on.
News crews packed up after the warehouse fire.
The damaged streets reopened.
Children still argued over who got to be Red Pulse during recess.
Life continued.
For Rasheed…
Nothing felt normal anymore.
⸻
He sat alone in his father’s workshop.
The prototype suit rested across the workbench.
Scuffed.
Smoke-stained.
One glove had nearly melted during the warehouse rescue.
He turned it over in his hands.
“So…”
“You survived.”
A smile crept onto his face.
“So did I.”
His father had been right.
Every weakness the suit revealed became another problem to solve.
He grabbed a notebook.
At the top of the page he wrote:
Prototype Mk. II
Below it, he listed improvements.
* Better boot traction.
* Heat-resistant gloves.
* Neck protection.
* Hidden storage pockets.
* Stronger stitching.
He wasn’t building a costume.
He was building equipment.
⸻
Across the city…
Helix Dynamics had a very different philosophy.
A television studio buzzed with activity as engineers made final adjustments to a sleek blue suit displayed on a rotating platform.
Camera flashes lit the room.
Corporate banners hung from the ceiling.
A giant slogan stretched across the stage.
BUILDING TOMORROW’S HEROES
Dr. Sato stood backstage with folded arms.
“This is moving too quickly.”
The Director adjusted his tie.
“The public doesn’t need the whole truth.”
“They deserve honesty.”
“They deserve hope.”
He smiled without warmth.
“And hope is easier to sell.”
⸻
Meanwhile…
Rasheed had no idea any of this was happening.
He was carrying groceries home for an elderly neighbor.
Mrs. Okafor struggled to lift a heavy bag of rice.
“Leave it to me.”
“My son, you’re too kind.”
“It isn’t heavy.”
She laughed.
“It will be when you’re my age.”
He carried everything upstairs.
She insisted he stay for a glass of zobo before leaving.
As he stepped back onto the street…
He heard shouting.
A young boy stood frozen in the middle of a busy intersection.
A football had rolled into traffic.
The child had chased after it.
A speeding truck rounded the corner.
Its horn blared.
People screamed.
Everything slowed.
Rasheed sighed.
“Not again.”
Red lightning whispered around his shoes.
One step.
Then another.
The world became silent.
He reached the boy, picked him up, grabbed the football with his free hand, and placed both safely on the sidewalk.
The truck thundered through the exact spot where the child had been standing.
Time resumed.
The little boy looked around in confusion.
“…Huh?”
His older sister rushed over, hugging him tightly.
“You scared me!”
“I’m sorry.”
Rasheed was already walking away before anyone noticed.
No applause.
No cameras.
No headlines.
Just another life saved.
Exactly the way he preferred it.
⸻
High above the street…
Someone had noticed.
An elderly man sat on a rooftop feeding pigeons.
He smiled to himself.
“He still leaves before they can thank him.”
The birds suddenly took flight.
For a brief moment…
The old man wasn’t old anymore.
His posture straightened.
His eyes glowed silver.
Then, just as quickly, he looked ordinary again.
“Elias…” he whispered.
“…you chose well.”
⸻
That night, Adesewa couldn’t sleep.
She opened her sketchbook.
Without thinking, she began drawing.
A bridge.
Rain.
A child.
A red streak.
Then—
Blue lightning.
Her pencil stopped.
She frowned.
“This hasn’t happened yet.”
She tore out the page and pinned it above her desk.
For the first time…
She decided not to ignore her visions.
She was going to investigate them.
⸻
Far beneath Helix Dynamics…
Omar stood in the training arena.
No drones this time.
No targets.
Just him.
The Director entered alone.
“I have a different assignment.”
Omar crossed his arms.
“I’m listening.”
The Director placed a tablet on the floor.
Security footage filled the screen.
A red blur rescuing civilians.
Warehouse.
Bus crash.
Traffic intersection.
“He keeps appearing before emergency services.”
Omar’s eyes narrowed.
“The Red Pulse.”
“We don’t know who he is.”
The Director paused.
“But we know he’ll always run toward people in danger.”
He looked directly at Omar.
“So the question is…”
“…which one of you will the city choose?”
For the first time…
Competition wasn’t about winning a race.
It was about becoming the symbol the city would believe in.
And neither young speedster realized they were already being pushed toward an inevitable collision.
⸻