The newest hero on the scene poses on one leg, the other foot lifted up to his waist, and his fingers wrap around each other into something Micheal vaguely remembers from elementary school ‘magic’ tricks. Something about a chapel? Then he spins around on his heel and bends forward so he’s looking at the villain upside-down, between his knees. His hands weave together and flap like butterfly wings.

“Wait,” he says. He stares at his hands. “Wait, no, that wasn’t right.” He unfurls himself, shakes out his limbs, and holds a finger up. “Just, give me a moment.”

This is the fifth time he’s said this. He has yet to introduce himself; merely showed up and began his convoluted routine.

Micheal is one of a few people still watching this. The villain of the hour is another. The Armory, master of melee weaponry, who has been seen plenty of times hitting heroes built like tanks through multiple brick walls. The property damage from her attacks are always staggering.

Her sword, a bastard sword Micheal thinks, is planted tip first into the street. She rests one elbow on the guard, picking at her nails as she watches the hero.

Micheal has his phone out, recording this to maybe sell to some news site, and he’s starting to run out of battery. Not that he thinks anyone will want to buy this anymore. Maybe for some ‘Funniest Videos’ montage. “This is so stupid,” he mutters to himself.

Armory’s head tilts towards him. Micheal breaks into a cold sweat. He hasn’t found his power yet, and is suddenly aware that Armory could break every bone in his body using a toothbrush if she wanted.

Instead she raises one shoulder in a shrug. “No, no, give him a chance,” she says. “At this point I’m interested in what he can actually do.”

“But you could just end this?” Micheal asks, wondering all the while why the hell he’s still talking. His hands are shaking, the last minutes worth of shots ruined.

“Sure. But I have some sympathy for people whose activation is that ridiculous.” There’s a thud as the hero trips over his own foot nearly four minutes into his routine, cursing under his breath. “Not everyone’s is as easy as mine.”

“What… is yours?”

“I just have to hold the weapon the wrong way,” Amory admits. “First time I did it, I wasn’t paying attention, grabbed a knife by the blade and tried to chop carrots. Shattered my countertop, lost the deposit on the apartment.”

The hero stumbles again and slams into a car. The car alarm blares and he stumbles away, hands over his ears, into another car. Micheal’s ears are ringing, and he drops his phone to cover his ears too. Armory sighs.

“Keep recording for me, okay? I want to see what all this comes to later.” She salutes as she pries her weapon out of the asphalt - indeed gripping the sword by the blade as she does so - and walks towards the nearest used car dealership. “Now, I have to go see a man about a broken cooling system.”