Ren stood firm, spreading his legs in order to give him better balance for any sudden onslaught from the vigilante in front of him. Nightreaver body remained motionless, but Ren saw Nightreaver's head follow him as he shifted around in his stance.
"I've been doing this for years. Do you really think someone like you could just stand up and defy me?" Nightreaver said, chuckling a little.
"Years? I haven't heard of you before…" Ren uttered, holding his ground.
"That's because I've been keeping myself from being spotted by cameras and news crews. Until the earthquake, there was no need to be anything but a rumour within the criminal underground. Now, there's cameras everywhere and looting in the streets. Someone has to stand in the way of that before it gets out of hand," Nightreaver said, then studied Ren for a moment. "What's your excuse?"
Ren looked away for only a moment, thinking about his answer. When he looked back to speak his piece, the vigilante who had been standing almost directly in front of him had disappeared without a trace.
Ten minutes later....
After his brief encounter with an already somewhat established vigilante, he decided not to push his luck and returned to where he was holed up. He hid his gear and washed up with some collected rainwater. In front of Ren was a broken mirror, and with a smile, he held up the headgear of his suit, masking part of his face with it. He needed a name. Nightreaver had gotten his by spreading it to the criminals, which ended up in police reports and then the news. Aura got her name because the blurry coloured streak she looked like when flying reminded people of the aurora borealis.
Ren would be naming himself Lucid and spreading that name among the people he helped.
With a smile, he allowed himself to daydream a little. The chants of an imaginary crowd filled his ears, shouting for a name he had just invented.
Lucid…Lucid. Lucid!
The hum of a thousand voices called out to him. A hand landed on his shoulder, while another grasped his own hand and shook it firmly. A dozen lights flashed in front of him as pictures were taken. He could see the iconic swirling newspaper effect from old movies and his own face there, shaking hands with the President on a podium.
With a dismissing chuckle, Ren pushed the scene out of his mind. That kind of thing would never happen, and even if it did, he was not sure if he would enjoy it as much as he did the daydream. Then came a shriek from a nearby street. Lunging now into determined action, he took the headgear and put it on, rushing out the door to recover the rest of his outfit.
One year later....
Things got worse before they got better, as they always do.
San Francisco, Los Angeles, and the entire coastline stretching between them was faced with turmoil. Reconstruction required some of the richest men in the world and a shocking mutual motion by the Republicans and Democrats, as well as the cooperation of a new and slowly growing group of people with mysterious powers. Between the ruins of the two great cities, a shining new gem was given birth, Pacifica. The most modern city in America, the heart of which would give Seoul and Tokyo a run for their money. This city would become a heart that pumped blood into the ruins of San Francisco, Los Angeles and other affected cities in California.
At the same time, the National Guard was withdrawn piece by piece, replaced by IPMC and other, smaller security companies. Returning or remaining civilians were treated poorly, but they were forced to cope until new housing could be finished.
Ren has been struggling for the past year with finding his own place, some communities growing to know him better than others. He hadn't met other heroes or vigilantes in the streets, at least not any worth noting. Some kids who put on a mask and tried to take a bite out of crime wouldn't quite qualify. Aura had become a symbol of the reconstruction effort and was constantly busy with helping builders and meeting up with powerful figures eager to shake her hand and make vague promises on political points.
Meanwhile, Ren had focused on street-level crime and making sure civilians were safe.
After a particularly rough week out in the streets, Ren has been forced to stay in recuperation for a fair bit of time. His naivete had eroded away by that week, and he was faced with the fact that he didn't really know how to fight. As such, he had approached a few places to see what kind of fighting styles were being taught in the growing city. The variety was decent, and he picked a martial art to be trained in American style Capoeira.
Capoeira has a focus upon agile movements. It is as marvelous to watch as it is deadly, combining highly acrobatic dancing with kicks and punches, although the use of knee-strikes and elbow-punches are preferred to more traditional fighting styles.
Ren continued going to classes a few nights every week, honing himself as best as he could. The teachers were surprised by his rapid progress, completely oblivious to the fact that he was practicing his fighting outside of the classes. After all, there's no better way to learn than experience.
Even so, there was a definite pleasure in going to the classes. It just so happened that the class had several very attractive people either attending or teaching, and a little eye candy was great for relieving some of the stress from the heroics.
.....
It was one of those nights again. The Pacifica Star building at the heart of the growing downtown market district was all lit up, shining above everything around it. Ren thought he could just make out the wealthy businessmen wining and dining in the glass cage that made up the penthouse at the very top. A three-story luxury mansion in the clouds.
Meanwhile, in the half-finished housing project two miles downwind, the police sirens screamed like banshees, swarming around one of the buildings. The workers had been forced out by a group of street thugs and gangsters trying to make a play for territory, all at the expense of anyone that was earmarked to have an apartment in the building.
Then it happened. The first gunshot. Suddenly, the area became a warzone.
The police sirens became louder than ever as the streets were cleared of civilians. It was time Ren rushed into action. By now, he had some experience with such events, and there was a method to his madness.
Ren took to the skies, feeling the rush of wind against his face once again. It was a liberating feeling every time his feet left the ground, and he had mastered the art of flying to the point where it caused hardly any noticeable drain on his body, even with prolonged time in the skies. Ren was not as fast as Aura seemed to be, flitting across the sky in a blur, but he had nothing to complain about. Slowly, he guided himself down to the rooftop and lowered himself to stand very confidently on the flat, cold surface.
The roof of the overrun building was empty. They always were. The bad guys always left the roof unguarded. From the street, Ren heard a police officer on the megaphone telling the thugs to drop their weapons. The gunshots had died down again.
"Lower your weapons and let the hostages go!" the megaphone blared, distorted as the voice echoed off concrete walls.
The hallways and rooms of the concrete skeleton echoed coldly as Ren confidently marched through. The thugs that had taken over were clearly not very well organized or numerous, but enough to cause the local police department trouble by squatting. If they had hostages as well, the threat they posed to the local community had suddenly spiked. He was not about to let that happen.
Ren had cleared two entire floors in a light jog when he saw the first thug, a purple bandanna wrapped around his head and a handgun drooping from his fabric belt, which held up a pair of loose jeans. Just to emphasize the late-90s gangster image, the dark-skinned man wore no shirt and a golden chain around his neck with a small cross dangling from it.
When Ren came across him, the thug smiled with golden teeth flashing with the red and blue lights. When Ren moved on, those teeth were littered on the floor, next to the thug's head.
Ren methods were fast and hard, leaving plenty of the street thugs begging for their mothers. They were not a threat to him, even as they swarmed and tried to surround him. In close quarters, their guns were easily removed from the equation, and that left only startled brawlers to take care of.
There was a feeling in Ren gut, however, that all of it was much too easy. He was not prepared for the scene that finally presented itself when he reached the room where the thugs were holding the hostages.
The floor was a lake of red flowing towards Ren's feet as he stood at the door. A single light shone in the room, several dangling forms casting horrid shadows against the back wall. The wall behind them had red lettering painted upon it, the slowly shifting liquid dripping down the wall and conforming to the bumps of the concrete.
NEW DAWN.
As he stared at the brutal scene, he heard gunshots behind him, as well as the loud banging of booted feet. He had heard it before. SWAT was clearing the building. He couldn't be seen here. Not now.
He rushed out and started climbing up the building once more. He heard the clatter of a cylinder at his feet and saw it roll around, the word "Flashbang" printed on the side in black. With a hand up trying to shield his face, he rushed forward. Then the boom hit him.