Void City.
A blue and red suit hung on the wall like a ghost of better days, the flaming bird logo stretched taut across the chest, catching faint reflections from the TV.
In the dimly lit apartment, the screen blared at full volume, its harsh flickering light — reds, blues, and whites — dancing violently across the walls, the rumpled sheets, and the naked woman in her early thirties tangled with Fredrick on the bed. Her pink hair spilled messily across the pillow, damp with sweat.
[...this just in from Mayvel. Morris Evans has been suspended for one week by Cloud Media after cursing on live television.]
Fredrick moved over her with brutal force, muscles corded and glistening with sweat. His golden hair caught the TV light with every savage thrust, jaw clenched so hard the veins stood out on his neck and temples. His face was twisted in pure rage, eyes distant and burning.
The woman’s moans mixed with the news report, raw and broken, but he barely heard either.
『Everything I built. Destroyed by a fucking influencer. 』
[Glitch was the star of tonight’s heist. His following crossed five million in a single night. And the question on everyone’s mind now, what does the Hero Bureau of Mayvel have to say about Glitch?]
『Glitch. You son of a bitch. 』
Fredrick’s jaw locked tighter. He’d lost everything — accounts frozen, reputation shattered — and the person responsible was only growing stronger.
He’d lost everything. The Hero Body had pulled his license. They hadn’t touched his Class. Still the only classified hero in Mayvel, ranked and listed, and he wasn’t allowed to answer a single call-out.
A Class was what the brands paid for. A license was what made it legal to earn it. He had one and not the other, and the suit still hung on the wall, a uniform for a job he no longer had.
He fisted the sheets until his knuckles turned bone-white and drove into her with raw, unrelenting fury. The bedframe slammed rhythmically against the wall, the sound sharp in the small room.
"Fre—" Her voice broke. "Stop. Stop. Si—"
It wasn’t pleasure anymore. She wasn’t asking, she was telling him. Fredrick finally stopped, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin onto her breasts, eyes still wild and unfocused.
"What is wrong with you?" She pushed herself up and sat back against the headboard, breathing hard, arms wrapped protectively around her chest.
"I’m sorry, Lin." He sat down on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, golden hair falling into his face.
He was still trying to picture what a life outside the industry even looked like. It had all come apart so fast. Lin moved closer and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her bare body against his sweat-slicked back.
"There’s a life out there that isn’t this," she said softly. "And you know I love you. That’s not nothing, Fred."
"Yeah." He stood up abruptly, pulling free of her arms.
『Love. What a stupid thing to think about right now. A whole city loved me. Women had my face tattooed on their pussies.
『Glitch. 』
His phone rang sharply on the nightstand.
He walked over, still breathing hard, and picked it up.
"Yes, Mr. McHorny."
Behind him, Lin shifted on the bed, pressing her breasts together with her arms, arching her back in an attempt to pull his focus back. The TV light flickered across her naked skin in shifting reds and blues. She spread her legs slightly, trying to tempt him.
He was looking, but his eyes were distant, focus locked entirely on the call.
"Okay." He paused, listening intently.
Lin turned over onto her hands and knees, lifting her ass high, putting everything on full display, her pink hair falling over one shoulder as she glanced back at him.
"Just chaos in the city," Fredrick said into the phone, voice low. Then he went quiet again, nodding slowly. "I’m in."
He set the phone down. A small, cold smile crept across his face, the first real one in hours.
***
Downtown Mayvel buzzed with late-night energy. Jowy Lana walked the crowded sidewalk in her red top and short black mini skirt.
The same outfit from the heist — only the mask was gone now, leaving her sharp blue eyes and shoulder-length black hair exposed. She looked like just another woman navigating the neon-lit streets.
『Mr. Glitch. 』
Her phone stayed gripped tightly in one hand, the tracker still pulsing faintly on the screen. Glitch had dropped her off in Central with no money, so she’d walked the entire way. Her legs ached, and exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders.
"What the hell?" she muttered, staring at the screen in frustration.
The tracker had stopped pulsing.
『He found it. 』
『Next time, then. I’ll see you again, Glitch. Just want one more meeting, one on one. What a gentleman. 』
She cut through the working girls’ street, neon signs casting pink and purple glows across her skin and the short hem of her skirt.
A car suddenly pulled up beside her, tires scraping the curb.
"You okay?" she asked the slim guy at the wheel, who was already grinning.
"Yeah," the man said, leaning out the window. "What do you charge?"
"Charge for wh—" Jowy started, then caught herself mid-word, eyes widening.
『Oh my God. 』
She threw up a middle finger and kept walking, boots striking the pavement harder.
"I’ll find another one," he called after her. "What’s so special about your p—"
She was already gone, disappearing into the flow of bodies under the flickering signs.
『I need to fix my whole wardrobe. The audacity, mistaking me for a hooker. 』
『Is that part of why Glitch turned me down? He thought I was some kind of bitch?』
She finally reached her apartment building in the heart of downtown, pushed through the door, and dropped her keys in the bowl by the entrance.
She was too drained to even kick off her desert boots. Across the room, a pair of gray scrubs sat folded on the table.
『Frank. He’ll figure his own way out. He always does. 』
『My concern is Glitch. 』