The city buzzed with unrest.
Not just the usual noise of late-night traffic and neon advertisements fluttering against the black sky—but something more.
Something unnatural.
Screams echoed down concrete alleys. Explosions rocked the distant industrial block.
Faint lights blinked in the sky like dying stars, barely seen through the fog of smoke that now blanketed the central district of Lower East Galvan.
Patrol drones malfunctioned one by one, dropping from the sky like mechanical insects with their wings fried.
A blackout grid spread in every direction, swallowing entire blocks in pitch darkness.
Within it—chaos.
Seven caped figures bolted down the street, breaths short, feet slamming the pavement in frantic rhythm.
Their suits were mismatched—some wore old-model combat uniforms, others patchy makeshift armor over civilian clothes.
Their faces were pale. Sweating. Every one of them bore the blue-trimmed insignia of F-Rank Superheroes.
