I expected it to be more difficult.

It was a solid plan, don't get me wrong, but I really thought it would need several upgrades and refinements before it worked. I was expecting that the first time would mostly be an inconvenience for him - for someone so famed for last-minute, death-defying escapes - and a learning experience for me. I thought I'd spend months, years, tinkering with the formula, finding better and more subtle ways to hide traps, before I finally brought him down.

But no! First time, total victory. I guess it's easy to get complacent when no one you normally grapple with is taking it seriously either. I guess it's easy to spend as little time on your own safety as you do thinking about collataral damage when you - genuinely - believe you're the 'next step of evolution'.

Total cost to me: $32.80, including shipping. Most of that went to high-tension braided fishing wire, the rest to the various screws and fixings I needed to hang it. $32.80's not a high price to pay to kill a demigod, especially not compared to the cost I'd paid so far for his continued existence.

I set it all up myself; it's easier to keep a secret between only one person, and most people - somehow - still think of heroes as a net benefit. I waited until night fell, and then snuck out to string my wire across the alleyway.

It's not a well-trafficked alley. The streets on either side are nicer to walk along, and - given the state of the concrete and the broken bottles - it's actually less efficient to cut through it than to go round. The only reason you'd ever really take it in a hurry would be if you were the sort of person who prided themselves on always taking the most efficient route between any two points - no matter what or who was in your way - and you happened to be in exactly the right place at the right time.

I've watched a thousand videos of him a thousand times. He was really very predictable: stimulus led immediately to response. No matter what else was going on, if he heard the right trigger sound - maniacal laughter, the tread of a killbot, the whine of a recharging laser - he was off in a split second.

He tookk the simplest possible route between point A and point B that doesn't involve literally going through a wall, every time. Super-speed, not invulnerability, you see. So an alley he happened to be walking past at that exact moment? You knew he'd head down it. Likewise a plateglass window, a hot dog stand, a woman doing her shopping: if he was quick enough and it was small enough to shoulder aside or charge through, he went for it.

So what if the window breaks? So what if she falls, and hits her head? He's off saving the city, chasing down some mutant doctor with plans to briefly kidnap the mayor. So what if insurance won't pay out, or she dies on a street corner because the emergency services don't interfere in 'hero activity'? So what if people lose everything while he's posing for action shots with his opponent?

I stood at one end of the alley. Only a few yards - not that he would remember - from where it all happened. I shouted, with as much theatricality as I could muster, the name of his 'nemesis'. They belong to the same golf club.

At the other end of the alley, he heard me. Abandoned his date outside the same cheap restaurant he took them all to. Took off like lightning, like a cheetah, like someone so much faster than a normal person he'd forgotten that they still mattered. The wire took him in the throat.

It was anti-climactic. As I said, no death-defying escape, no snappy one-liner. It didn't kill him, but it stopped him dead, and pain wasn't something he'd ever had to get used to. He just lay there, wheezing, hands clutched to his throat, but he didn't do anything to help himself. Pathetic.

She'd not had his advantages. Smaller, weaker - 'mundane', they call it. But she fought in a way he didn't - held her shattered skull together, crawled towards help that arrived two hours too late. 'Heroic' is the word they use to describe him.

I wasn't sure what to do. Remember, I hadn't really expected this to work - this was a fact-finding mission, nothing more. But as he lay there, sobbing for air, it seemed foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity.

A brick, in the end. Not a ray gun, or a force blast, or a super-powered punch. Not, I imagine, the way he planned to go, if he was even capable of contemplating meaningful defeat. Her name was the last word he heard, though I'm not sure how many of the wet, heavy thuds he remained conscious for.

Obviously they caught me - we wouldn't be talking otherwise. With their tech, and their psychics, escape was never on the cards. I didn't put up a fight, though it occurred to me, given how easily he'd gone down, that I might have made a decent go of one. But no - the system's rotten, for sure, but my personal grievance is done. Let others, when they realise how tarnished those shiny supers are, take up the fight.

I'm content to sit here. To spend most of my time in solitary, as I've done ever since she died. To ignore the constant requests from reporters for interviews, the endless speculation as to motive. Was I brainwashed? Am I a new model of killbot, indistinguishable from a human? Perhaps a secret, forgotten supervillain? I don't care if they speculate, assign me a name, a costume, imagined elaborate crimes and a rivalry stretching back decades. It doesn't matter.

People tell you - it's a cliché at this point - that revenge isn't worth it. That it doesn't fill the emptiness, that the pain doesn't fade. I'm sure that's true. But what I did there - in that dark alley with a bloodstained brick - was at least as much justice as revenge, and justice, let me tell you, is a balm for the soul.

Villains, heroes, where even was the line?

More importantly, did it even matter?

Sure, they make a good show of “saving the civilians”, but in reality?

How many had died? Not the big showy rescues obviously, the smiles and waves for the camera, the over the top sobbing gratitude.

That’s the ones the media, the government, the heroes, ffs even the villains wanted you to remember.

The car that was torn in two by the hero in pursuit of the speedster villain, the roof collapsed on a family when a flyer was knocked out of the sky.

Not me. No tragic story for me. But I saw them. I lived my life quiet and watched…and the things I saw. The broken families, shattered lives.

Now…not every super is bullet proof.

It had just never occurred to anyone to even try.

Tired of seeing the broken, knowing I wouldn’t be missed, why not me?

I’d lived a quiet life and acquiring what I needed was easy. The rest was ridiculously simple. Heroes love to grandstand and it makes them…well, easy targets.

It wasn’t my intention to start a revolution.

That was a couple years ago.

You don’t see supers on the news anymore, villains either. Not unless we manage to intercept one anyway. They’re mostly hiding. That’s okay. We won’t stop til they’re gone.

Destructor was one of the most powerful villains on the planet. He always entered a room with his spear that could slash through mountains , and armor that could tank supernovas . No one had ever really bothered to ask though, how powerful is he without that armor . No one except me .

I dared to ask , what is he without that armor.

When he landed on my house , crushing it beneath his feet. I decided to test my theory . See , I used to go hunting with my dad . I was really good in fact. I was So good he nicknamed me “oneshot “ because I was patient enough to wait for the single perfect shot.

That’s what I did here too. I waited till destructor broke out again. As per usual no one could really harm him. Heroes like Medusa with her eye blast or the woodsman with his Axe couldn’t even break his armor . It took them three hours until they finally managed to hang up on him . In the end it wasn’t some kind of super powered finisher that beat him. It was a stupid dog pile .

If it had ended here I would’ve just let him get dragged off to jail . However while the cops cuffed him and put him in the van. Destructor pushed a cop down and grabbed his spear . You could see the look of horror on every officers and heroes face. It took all their power to beat him the first time. But this was too soon. There was no time to relax , no time to breath , no time heal , no time to - BANG!

A single shot rang out . I didn’t even look back at my target. I knew I hadn’t missed . It was the perfect shot . Right through the throat and out the base of the neck. I didn’t use any special ammo. Just a single high caliber round . I didn’t even bother with a silencer .

The surprising thing was the fact the heroes were too shocked to respond. Warpspeed is fast enough to create speed portal behind her , yet she didn’t even move to my location. It’s not even as if they couldn’t find me. the chronicler’s ability to map any location meant that I should’ve been caught instantly .

Yet nothing. I took apart my rifle , cleaned up my hiding spot and walked away . In the news the next morning they said a rookie cop took the shot . They said he had no choice . This was apparently a better alternative than “mysterious sniper”. Which in my humble opinion I’m fine with.

To be completely honest . No one would know it was me if it wasn’t for the fact that the the Phantom Order put a bounty in my head . Now I have to defend myself . Last time I killed it was revenge . This time it’s self defense .

Although , rigging the family farm to burst into uncontrollable flames all while mowing down anyone who gets close with a shot gun, doesn’t seem like self defense. However my lawyer says that the people I killed were trained assassins. I had no choice.

Anyway, I’m posting this here on the hero helpline message board to ask for asistance . Is there any way to take out robots without super strength . I know that an emp works but if I did that I’d fry the power for the entire city. Is there like a trick to beating these things. Because shooting them isn’t really effective.

They were just people.

Most of them anyways. A few had actual powers, but most were just people. Flawed, selfish people.

I assumed they all had some kind of power, even if it was stupid. But no, they were just bad costumes and egos that would not quit. Some of the better ones had skills and training, most were just idiots looking for a rush.

A lot of them even acted as villains on the side. Being a Hero got the fame. Arranging a heist after calling in a favor with a buddy to look the other way paid the bills. Not that I can blame them, corruption was the ultimate result when no one holds a crazy guy in a mask accountable for their action.

Collateral damage was the term.

That's how the papers listed them. Not friends, not family, not mothers and children.

Collateral damage.

I never expected it to be easy. The first one almost fell into my lap, literally. Stupid bastard fell off a roof while I was pissing behind the liquor store.

He didn't die when he hit the ground. He just laid there with a broken back gurgling up blood. I didn't need to take off the mask covering just his eyes to recognize him as one of the guys from that night.

The half of bottle of jack was enough to finish him off. I called it a mercy kill as I poured the rest of the bottle on the body and lit a match. It was more mercy than he had shown at least.

Today was number seven. All it took was a broken pipe I found next to the dumpster. This one had a hood on, might as well have been blind when I hit him from behind. It was almost too easy, but that was fine.

It wasn't about the thrill, that's what they were looking for. It was about plain and simple revenge, and I was getting good at it.

The Supervillians weren't merciful to Bob Hebert.

They played games with Heroes, most of who are trying to help people or at least limit the damage. But villains don't care really; they are the cause of 99% of damages.

Hence why they are villains.

While defending yourself is appropriate going out of your way to hubt down criminal without powers is dangerous. Murdering Destructonator might be valid... but evil doesn't care.

It found Bob. it Found Bob's Family...

What villians like Hellspawn, Blooddrinker and MEGASPIKE did to the family was horrific. They made an example of him and his family... They're still alive, but the scares never left.

This is why the code exists. while they were eventually caught and tired, heroes don't bring the law into their own hands for a reason. They are bound to the 'game' as it where.

Remember, this is why Heroes exist; to help get justice, to help repair the destuction villians cause due to their desire to hurt people.

You are not a villian, but eneither are you a superhero.

I glanced at my watch - 3:42. Less than 3 minutes until the "shipment" hit the boulevard. I was already in the zone, behind the scope of a rifle bore-sighted to fire accurately at 800 yards. It had been a long time coming...

............

The "Heroes" and "Villains" had always fought each other. As a child, it was fun to watch them race through the city, smashing cars and buildings, seeing the Hero always best the Villain. And then you grew up and realized it was all fucking bullshit for the cameras. The Villain got captured but escaped immediately, the Hero was lauded with praise. It didn't take a huge investigation to uncover the fact that it was all staged. All the destruction, the innocent people killed, all so the "Heroes" got more funding and the "Villains" got more targets to steal. They never protected the innocent, they wouldn't save you from a mugger. It's why I had bought a gun.

Everyone had a story of these bastards ruining their lives. Mine was one you'd probably heard a hundred times. Driving home when a fight broke out between Cosmic (the "Hero") and Darkshade (the "Villain"). I knew it wasn't going to end well with buildings already damaged, so I stopped my car and got out so I could get my kids to safety.

I had just cleared the car when they barreled through it, smashing it into a pile of old rubble 100 yards away. There was... there was no way for anyone inside to survive. It looked like a crushed pop can. When I got there, Cosmic was monologuing about evil and whatever other bullshit he used to justify murdering my family. I don't think he even knew I was there. But a single .40 caliber hollow-point ended his bullshit for good.

Darkshade just sat there, stunned, as he looked at his colleague's half-missing head and the bits of brain he was now wearing. I felt nothing as I did the same to him.

............

In the years that followed, groups dedicated to eliminating those with super powers sprang up all over the world. And they were very effective when it came to achieving their goals. The Heroes and Villains went into hiding, except in certain cities where they were protected by corrupt police and politicians.

And so it was that myself and a group of anti-Super fighters found ourselves in Manhattan. It had taken weeks to smuggle in our equipment and plant the rumors of a shipment of cash and platinum being moved through the city, but we knew it would work. The "Heroes" and "Villains" couldn't resist making a play for that sort of money.

3:45... the decoy truck rounded the corner, right on time. Freeze Frame jumped in front of it, causing the autonomous vehicle to stop. My crosshair was already on his head... I exhaled... and squeezed the trigger.

I don't think anyone expected it to happen. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I would do it. But I guess the unexpected happens more often than you'd think.

I wasn't planning to actually kill him. Figured I would send him for a scare and, at best, make him think about the people he kills trying to "protect" the city.

Captian mercury was the fastest man alive! There was no way my pistol should have done anything. But maybe I was too close for him to react like he was too startled. Or maybe he didn't hear the shot over the roar of the jets overhead celebrating his latest victory against Metatron. Whatever it was, it was enough. I heard the crack of the hammer and the piercing pop of the gunpowder in the round.

And he was dead. As his body fell, a silence fell over the city. Metatron began laughing a crazed laugh. "I KNEW YOU WOULD LOOSE IN THE END CAPTAIN! THE GODS OF FATE DEEMED IT SO SINCE OUR FIRST BATTLE."

People didn't really know how to react. Their invincible hero. Dead. Their protector and icon. Lay before them in a pool of his own blood, the deep red crimson staining his white and orange uniform, seeping into the ground beneath him.

I stood there frozen. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to give him a scare. To make him see it from my point of view. Like how one would smack a friend who wouldn't move on from someone to try and get then so see what's really going on. That's what I intended. Then he would speed over to me, putting me in cuffs or something, and he'd ask me why I shot at him. And I'd give him this whole prepared speech I had about how he doesn't save this city, how him being here is what's putting it in danger, how the reason he doesn't notice is because he loves the attention he gets for being a hero. Then he'd think about it and realized I was right, then he'd leave. And me and my daughter could finally be safe.

But there I was, looking between my shaking hands and the Heros dead body. The gun fell from my hand, and I dropped to my knees just as his brother Captain Colt of the NBPD tackled me. I was handcuffed and tossed into the same van as Metatron. It was in that van that Metatron told me something that would change my life forever. He said to me: "Congratulations." "What're you congratulating me for?" I barely spoke in a whisper, but his response still came. "Well, way I see it is you're now the greatest supervillain to ever live! Isn't that splendid!" His words echoed in my head. The voice that delivered them came from the most insane person in the world. But even then, I knew what he said had truth to it. I wasn't the fastest or the strongest or smartest

was as normal as a human could be. But I was the only one who's ever managed to beat the hero. I did the impossible.

I never intended it. But I was then made into the most infamous villain ever. People came up with stories to explain it. How I invented a new gun that could shoot bullets at the speed of light. Or maybe I was controlling time around Captain Mercury to make sure the bullet hit its mark. As timed went on, people made me out to be stronger and more powerful. No one knows that I was just some random citizen, no stronger than the rest of them. I suppose that wouldn't do. No one wants to think their gods can be killed by just anyone. No, their gods can't be killed by a run of the mill dad. To them, a god can only be killed by a stronger god. So that's what they made me: the strongest, most powerful god in the universe. But I'm no god. I'm just your average citizen who was trying to protect their daughter from being killed in a fight labeled as "for the greater good"

Pt. 1

“You know why I did it, it was for revenge for you cape clad charlatans do.” said the man in a underground interrogation room.

The man was an in their young 20’s, the interrogator couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw the crime they committed. A normal person; no powers, no supertech, not even a basic issue tesla rifle… they managed to kill a Grade S Hero and Villain with a single shot of a rifle.

“Why did you do it?” asked the interrogator, using their multi-arm backpack to put back the file on their case.

The man laughs, worse than any supervillain due to it not being an act. “Debra Colt, Alex Rose, Professor Alexander Jr, and more… have you heard of The School Trip Incident of 1991? From what I’ve heard, it was classified since ‘no one lived’ but I did… I was there.” said the man.

“Picture this; you, your parents, closet friends, mentor and classmates all go on a trip for graduating college. Little did we know, a hero and villain had a fight there scheduled and we were in the cross fire. Instead of postponing the fight, my parents were cut in half by laser eyes and the bus tossed the side of a cliff… then come in the cleaners.”

“Have you ever smelled acid melt down human bodies and metal while hearing their screams… not fun” says the man clenching a fist.

“How did you escape?” asks the interrogator, visibly nervous at the man’s story.

The man lifts his leg up on the table and rolls up his pant leg… revealing a prosthetic. “Sacrificing a limb”

While the career of a supervillain is expected to end with a bang, the shot of a perfectly normal gun was not expected.

Toxus had marauded the city for years with impunity. The old man was regularly stopped by Doctor Cure, but never truly punished. Prison was but a hotel for him, to enter and leave as he pleased. It was rumored he was assigned to the exact same cell, which is said to have a secret hatch. This man had released biological weapons that can turn a normal person into a writhing abomination on entire city blocks. His victims have their own hospital wing as the exotic nature of his weapons would give Nurgle a crippling erection.

No matter what he did, it was as if the law didn’t apply to him beyond locking him a box with a hole built in.

Nature wasn’t so lenient, as the twisted monster’s gaunt form fell onto the ground. A mere handgun had punched through his sprayer tanks and into his back. Doctor Cure watched in horror as the wretched shell of a human fell onto the ground writhing in agony as his own creation contaminated both his airways and blood. His excess security on his suit doomed him, as she could never get to his skin in time before he was gone beyond hope.

The doctor turned to see a ten year old girl with eyes pink from crying holding a revolver. Behind her were two shriveled bodies, a man and a woman. Before she could react, the child began shooting again, emptying the entire gun into the still dying Toxus. When she ran out, she threw the gun at his mask with no effect before running off down the street.

Doctor Cure couldn’t move this whole time, just staring at the visceral scene that would haunt her forever. She then left wordlessly, leaving Toxus to his own personal hell in his armor. His newest creation would heal the victim endlessly as it destroyed them. For once, he wished his newest creation had failed.

When the Superhero Association’s CAaMD (Civilian Affairs and Management Department) called Asher Smiths on his red lined number, he knew discretion was an expected priority. But, typically, this was due to the situation not hitting the press yet because they wanted to “respect the family’s (victim’s) privacy during these times”. Or because civil rights were casually being ignored in order to stop the wrong person’s face (identity) from being exposed to the wider public.

Or even, less dramatically but even more unpleasant, someone with a human partner was having a relationship tiff, and people with power discrepancies didn’t know how to properly hold an intense, serious conversation.

So when Asher was led to the holding cell and saw a man in what appeared to be cream overalls, tapping the tips of his thumbs together best he could despite them being chained to the table, eyes wildly roaming corner to corner, the first thing he said was, “Gene. You’re kidding, right?”

Gene was having a rough day, so maybe Asher could have used a softer tone. The super’s face melded rapidly between expressions before settling on a neutral, feminine presentation. They adjusted their glasses while focusing on the clipboard in front of them. “They’re calling him Lockout. Few of the boys upstairs coined it. LOTO as a moniker.”

“You’re nervous of him.” Asher could control the smile from reaching his face, but couldn’t quite keep his rising humor from leaking into his voice.

“Easy for you. I saw the photos of Sandpoint,” Gene snapped, and Asher thought he glimpsed fangs erupting from behind their lips. “We have no idea what this guy is capable of. Middle aged, no presentation of powers before in his life, works with government contracts—Do you know what this could mean?”

Asher drifted away from the two-way mirror and chuckled. “I’m beginning to get an idea. Hey, I’m swinging by the lounge again, you want a coffee?”

Gene stood there, mouth slack, before spluttering after him, motioning at the holding cell. “See? Even you don’t to go in, right?”

“Naw. I will. Just going to bring the offer of coffee with me, rather than play it like we’re workin’ on getting’ him a cup, you know? A courtesy thing,” Asher explained, bypassing another perplexed suitman as he rounded the corner.

They were about ten stories underground, but roaming the halls you would think it was just another precinct with the humming fluorescents and abused coffee cart. With the added bonus of every other head swiveling toward the ruckus Gene was raising by said coffee cart, Asher felt right at home back at the 24th floor of Kellman & Helmer law offices. “Courtesy? Two Supers are,” Gene lowered their voice to a dramatic whisper, “Two Supers are dead, Ash.”

Asher took a sip and grimaced through the bitter backwash. At least the coffee back at his office would have been more palatable. He tapped a little more powdered creamer into the mix along with an additional packet of sugar. For their man Lockout, he took up a few packets of both and set off back down to the holding cells. “Easy Gene. You’re free to stand outside and watch me do my thing, same as always.”

“I knew Helm should have called someone else, she mentioned you and I said, not Asher ma’am, because of this. You.” Gene was hot on his heels, and definitely was taking on what some fashion magazines would call ‘a healthy glow’ as their voice raised a whole pitch.

“No way, I came recommended by Helm?” Asher said in a mocking tone, feigning shock and surprise as he neared the cell’s door. “Gene, I said, I got it. Besides, he killed one Super, technically. Sandpoint’ll be back in what, a few weeks?”

“That is not the point,” Gene said, stilted. They had drawn up considerably short to the door.

Ash winked at them with a smirk, flashed his association-issued badge to the keypad, and leaned back as the door let him through with a faint ding.

What their man Lockout would have seen was a blank space on the wall and another man stepping backward through it. A rather easy, non-super illusion trick with mirrors and lighting to make it seem like a blank wall and not a doorway there, but startling for many nonetheless.

And Lockout was indeed startled, the chains rustling as the man jumped a little at Asher’s sudden appearance and a faint, cut-off howl from Gene.

Asher set about placing the coffee and fixings down on the table and made himself at home on the other end, humming faintly to himself. When he finally glanced over the overalled man, he noticed the name tag and nearly choked. The man frowned at him—actually he’d been frowning at Asher by way of greeting since he’d backed himself into the room—but Ash took another sip of coffee and began reviewing the documents Gene had forwarded him.

“Your name is Michael Banes?” Asher asked, nodding at the nametag and cross-referencing it with the man’s government ID and work records. Everything matched up. In fact, it was exactly as Gene had said: nothing was out of the ordinary in Mr. Banes’ files or history.

“Yes,” Mr. Banes replied, emotionless.

Asher gave Mr. Banes a more thorough inspection. Michael Banes was Caucasian, was 37, and looked as if he kept himself well-groomed despite his hard labor. At the moment, however, his hair was a little unkempt and there was a light bruise forming along his left jawline. The left collar of his work uniform was also torn and askew. He was stoic, but Ash had been sitting across enough suspects at this point to feel he had a good read of the man. And the man looked like he was holding it together, but just barely. Ash tsk’d and made note in his filings to look up who had “apprehended” the “suspect”.

Just another day in this awful reality. Supers fighting each other for shits and giggles, without caring about how the normal people are affected.

A huge fight is going on in the city centre between the forces of "good" and evil. Many "heroes" and villains have gathered for a big fight to see who will take control. Buildings are being brought down, people are getting crushed, dismembered and massacred by the hundreds, the rest are running for their lives.

Amidst the chaos, a dude walks up to a "wounded hero," offering his hand to pick him up from the crater that was created from the impact of the "hero" falling. We all were ready for the classic trope of a retired "hero" coming for help, and so did the "hero", but what happened next was... unnatural.

The guy looked a little off, his whole body, except his head, was covered by a makeshift armour, his arms and legs were full of metal spikes. As the "hero" put his hand out for help, the other guys face turned from a look of calm to a look of rage and hatred and then he started going to work, he put all his strength into every blow and meaning to hurt with every strike that landed.

By the time the guy was done, the "hero" was... not in the best shape, his eyes had popped out of their sockets, his jaw was unhinged, his ribbs were protruding out of his body, his arms and legs twisted and contorted. We were all ready for the earthquake that came after every time that a super kills another by accident, but it never came.

All the supers stopped fighting, a look of true pain took over their faces, and they trembled as if something was seriously hurting them from the inside. Another super filled with anger flew down from the skies and grabbed the guy by the neck and lifted him from the ground. We all stood in shock, not knowing what was happening until a gunshot echoed through the now silent city. The super that grabbed the armoured guy stood their, unflinching, and that was because his brains were now the new paintjob of the wall next to him, but again, no earthquake.

Quickly we realised what had transpired, normal people can kill supers and the supers were outnumber. A riot started hundreds of thousands of people going after supers, people were getting cut in half, some supers had so many bullet holes that they resembled swiss cheese more than anything, people were getting crushed by cars and buildings, supers were getting stabbed to death and violence was everywhere.

At one point the army came and we were ready to face the wrath of our government because it had some supers on payroll so they didn't hurt any normal people. But instead of them attacking us, they helped they started bringing one super down after the other, until they realised it was a losing battle for the supes. Some flew away, some teleported, others dug holes and others started running.

After the fighting was over, we started counting bodies and celebrating our freedom from the false "gods" that were torturing us. But we never found the first guy, nor dead nor alive. We all knew his face. We all knew his legacy, but he was nowhere to be found. We didn't know if he was an angel sent by God or just man fed up with our tormentors, but we all know he was a hero.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]

[removed]