Nova crouched silently atop a rain-slick rooftop, the city's hum beneath her punctuated by distant sirens and the occasional honk of late-night traffic. The sharp scent of damp concrete mixed with the faint smell of burning oil from a nearby alley. Her suit, a sleek matte black with glowing amber accents, clung tightly, yet it felt heavier tonight—not from the fabric, but from the burdens she carried.
Her fingers tapped nervously on the wrist gauntlet, currently just a patched-together array of outdated NSA surplus tech — clunky, unreliable, and on its last legs. In the dim glow, the visor's amber HUD flickered erratically, a stark reminder that she was working with scrap, nothing near the sophisticated gear some "big time" vigilantes flaunted.
A sudden radio crackle broke the silence. "Possible robbery in progress at 8th and Maple. Units en route." The informant's voice was tense, the urgency clear. Nova's pulse quickened as she leapt from the rooftop, somersaulting smoothly onto the fire escape before sprinting toward the scene.
As she arrived, shadows danced under flickering streetlights. Two masked figures were rifling through a storefront window, intent on quick loot. Nova's heart thudded against her ribcage. She could take them down—but with her malfunctioning gauntlet, the risk was higher. Her energy shields were sporadic, and her solar blasts barely squeezed out of a fraction of their usual strength this far from daylight.
She flicked on her visor's HUD, scanning for escape paths, warning signs—anything. The gauntlet sparked faintly as she raised her arm to fire a solar burst, but the energy fizzled, sending a weak glow instead of a blazing light. The thugs turned, startled, and with only her agility and quick reflexes, she darted forward, narrowly dodging a makeshift spear.
The confrontation was messy, rushed. One thug swung wildly; Nova parried, but without her usual tech edge, she felt the sting of the strike graze her arm. After an intense chase down shadowed alleys, she succeeded in disarming them, but the adrenaline left her breathless and frustrated.
"This isn't enough," she muttered, retreating into the night. The sting on her arm throbbed, a sharp reminder that good intentions weren't enough without the gear to back them up.
Back on the rooftop, she pulled out a battered, flickering comm unit and tried to reach out through the fractured network of vigilantes—most unwilling and wary, each hidden in their own solitary fight. A crackling voice answered briefly, then dropped out.
Her chest tightened. Trust was a rare currency among them, worth more than any gadget. The fear of being caught, arrested, or worse, branded criminals by the NSA, kept vigilantes isolated. Some chased noble goals, seeking justice where the law failed. Others, she knew, simply sought thrills—playing hero without a thought for consequences, endangering themselves and innocents alike.
That was the heart of it.
The NSA and police saw them as threats—chaos wrapped in shadows. Supers distanced themselves, wary of alliances that could tarnish their hard-earned legitimacy. The fractured vigilante world was trapped between those forces, fractured by fear and suspicion.
Nova slumped against the cold stone ledge, eyes scanning the distant glow of government buildings — their windows like watchful eyes. She recalled recent rumors: an NSA crackdown, new tech bans, and an ominous task force aimed at eradicating "unauthorized" heroes.
Her fists clenched. Could she and others survive another round? Or would they be hunted down, their wills broken?
"Maybe," she whispered, "maybe it's time to gamble on building trust. To find allies who believe in something more than just surviving the night."
Her mind flicked to the idea of finding others like herself—vigilantes struggling in the shadows, isolated and wary. Trust was scarce, but maybe, just maybe, there was a way to build connections that went beyond fear. It was a risk—a dangerous gamble—but one that might be necessary to survive and make a real difference.
Rising, Nova felt the weight of the city settle on her shoulders—not just as a cloak of responsibility but as a relentless reminder of what was at risk. The night held dangers beyond criminals: betrayal, capture, and the loss of everything she fought for.
Her shadow stretched long across the rooftop as she vanished into the dark cityscape, a small spark of hope burning fiercely against the encroaching darkness.
~End of Chapter~
*This is a work of fiction and is intended for entertainment purposes only. I do not own The Incredibles or any of its characters, settings, or related intellectual property. The Incredibles is the property of Pixar Animation Studios and Disney. This fanfic is created purely for the enjoyment of fans and is not intended for profit. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.*