You were woken up in the dead of night by the wail of a siren, a piercing burst of sound that seemed to crawl into your bones and yank you from sleep. Heart pounding, you stumbled out of bed, reaching blindly for your phone on the nightstand. The screen glowed in the darkness, and as your eyes adjusted, a notification flashed—a stark, urgent message like an earthquake alarm, only far worse.
Leviathan attacks Saint Petersburg!
Your breath caught. The words were simple, but the weight of them hit like a freight train. Leviathan, the relentless, tidal force of destruction, was making landfall again.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, jolting you further awake. You didn't even look at the caller ID. You knew who it was. You answered, already moving, shoving yourself into the nearest clothes as you pressed the phone to your ear.
"I'm on my way; I'll be there in forty minutes," you said, not bothering with pleasantries. You didn't have to. Carol, as always, understood. She didn't respond, and you didn't wait for her to. You hung up, grabbed your jacket, and darted out the door.
There was no time for brushing your teeth or grabbing anything extra. Just the essentials. Every second mattered now. You were still shaking off sleep, your mind trying to catch up with the urgency of it all as you sped down the street, the city around you eerily quiet in contrast to the chaos happening elsewhere.
The drive was tense. There had only been the single siren earlier, which meant Leviathan wasn't attacking your city—but that didn't mean you could relax. The roads were empty, not clogged with panicked evacuees, but the silence was almost worse. It felt like the world was holding its breath. You kept your hands tight on the wheel, your eyes flicking between the road and the clock as the minutes dragged by, agonizingly slow.
After what felt like an eternity, you pulled into the headquarters, your tires screeching slightly as you parked. You could already feel the weight of the days to come pressing down on you as you strode through the entrance. The lights inside were dim, and the building was mostly quiet, save for a handful of agents milling around, talking in hushed tones. No capes in sight, but you knew they'd been here. You could feel the leftover tension in the air.
Carol was behind the front desk. She'd commandeered the spot, typing away at the computer with the same efficiency she handled everything else. As soon as she saw you, she looked up, acknowledging your arrival with a curt nod.
"Good to see you've arrived," she said, her voice calm but brisk. "You know the protocol. Make sure people's heads stay down, and make sure any criminal out there thinks twice before trying anything."
You nodded sharply, already knowing the drill. Every time an Endbringer struck, the cities not under direct assault went into lockdown mode. The chaos wasn't just in the destruction zone; it rippled out, shaking the foundation of society everywhere else. You headed toward the barracks and armory, mentally running through the list of tasks you needed to handle. Get your men, get the supplies, and put up a strong show of force.
There was always the risk that some villains would take advantage of the situation, thinking they could get away with more while the world's eyes were focused elsewhere. A lot of them kept their heads down during an Endbringer attack, but some—some liked to test their luck. You weren't going to let that happen here. Not on your watch.
It was going to be a long few days. No one ever slept much when the Endbringers were on the move. You were already steeling yourself for the exhaustion, the grind of keeping everything together while the world teetered on the edge of collapse. But this was your job.
As you suited up and prepared to face whatever the next hours would bring, you couldn't help but think of Saint Petersburg. Of the people there, huddling in shelters, hoping they'd make it through the night, of the capes fighting the impossible fight. You didn't know what it would look like when the dust settled, but you knew one thing for certain—it was going to be a nightmare.
And all you could do was make sure your own streets were safe.
The fight hadn't gone too bad—or at least, that was the word going around. Endbringer fights never went well, not really, but this one hadn't been the catastrophe it could've been. Less devastation and fewer casualties than the worst of them. But still, you could feel the heavy weight of exhaustion in the air.
You stayed behind after most of the chaos had settled, hanging around to ask some questions. Not the heavy, probing kind, but the type that might make people shift uncomfortably in their seats. The kind of questions that seemed harmless enough but felt wrong so soon after surviving the unspeakable. You needed to know, though, and so you asked.
[Asking the Heroes: DC 60/110]
[Roll: 38+9(Diplomacy)+10(GRAIL)+10(Attention of the Laws) = 67]
Your eyes drifted across the room, landing on Eidolon slumped in a chair, his costume shredded and his whole posture sagging with exhaustion. He wasn't moving, wasn't even making an effort to pretend to be fine. He just sat there, radiating a strange mix of fatigue and... something else. You couldn't quite place it, but being around him set your teeth on edge. It was a visceral feeling, like revulsion bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. Something about him pinged as wrong, and you weren't keen to test that hunch, so you moved on.
Dispatch was nearby, sitting against a wall with his tank set aside, sipping from a water bottle. He wasn't injured, not in the way you'd expect from an Endbringer fight, but nobody walked away from those battles unscathed, no matter how clean their armor looked. He gave you a half-smile when he noticed you approaching.
"Hey," he greeted you with a crooked smirk. "You wouldn't believe how nasty water can get."
You could tell it was mostly a front. Sure, he was probably fine physically, but the strain was there, hiding just under the surface. You didn't push it, though. You'd seen enough of these post-battle facades to know when someone wasn't in the mood for a deep dive.
"I can believe it," you replied, taking a seat next to him. You'd seen your fair share of nasty water in your time—water could carry life, but it could just as easily carry death. Most of the time, this was due to disease, not the way Levithan wielded it.
"How was the fight?" you asked, keeping your tone light and non-intrusive. You didn't want to seem too pushy, even though you were.
Dispatch exhaled, his smirk faltering. "Rough," he said after a moment. "Managed to clip the bastard, but he broke my back."
You glanced at his back, noticing now how he was sitting stiffly, gingerly. Probably a healer's work patching him up, but that kind of injury didn't just disappear because someone slapped some powers on it.
"You clipped him?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. That was new.
He nodded, rolling his wrist as if trying to shake off the memory. "Yeah, set up my field near him—just trying to block him off, slow him down. It got his leg, tore a chunk out when I dropped it. The bastard bled everywhere." He chuckled, though it lacked any real humor. "That's when he broke my back. Hit me with his tail. Sent me flying."
You filed that piece of information away. Time distortion could wound an Endbringer. Noted.
You reached out, patting him on the shoulder. His smirk crumbled a little at the edges, betraying the weariness he'd been trying to cover up.
"Well, thanks for sharing," you said, rising to your feet. But as you turned to leave, Dispatch grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down onto the bench.
"Hold up. Why are you asking all these questions?"
There was a brief pause as you considered your answer. A lie wouldn't work here, but the full truth? Too much. So you settled on something in between.
"I'm trying to learn more," you admitted, keeping your voice steady. "Figure out how to kill them, if that's even possible."
For a second, Dispatch stared at you. Then he laughed—a sharp, almost bitter sound. He clapped you on the shoulder, shaking his head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but Thinkers much smarter than you or I have been trying to crack that puzzle for years," he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "Don't hold your breath."
His laughter grated at you and stoked a tiny ember of annoyance deep inside. Six months of research, digging into the minutiae of Endbringer fights, and he was laughing at your efforts? You held back the frustration, though. You were used to people like him.
Instead of arguing, you just gave him a curt nod, stone-faced, and stood up again. You had more heroes to talk to and more threads to tug at. There was still information to be found, and you'd be learning all that you could from them.
You've learned something about Endbringers, how time or spatial warping attacks are the only practical way to harm them, and how sometimes, for just a moment, they'll react much more harshly to those that have harmed them, a far cry from the mere beasts they pretend to be.
