New York City, June 20, 1951
The streets of New York breathe a different kind of life at night. It's quieter now, but the city's pulse is still there—the flicker of neon lights, the far-off wail of a saxophone, and the faint buzz of conversation spilling out of late-night diners. In a place like this, danger lurks in the shadows, but so do we.
My name's Mark Fletcher. By day, I'm just another high school kid finishing up finals and dreaming about summer. By night, though, I'm Nightwing, the guy who keeps these streets a little safer. I've got a couple of friends who do the same— Michael Wilson—yeah, the one they call Spider-Man—adjusts his mask, a confident smirk on his face. And Loe Halloway who goes by The New Angel. We're the unstoppable trio.
Tonight's been typical for us. We got a tip about some gangsters causing trouble at the docks. They were pressuring shop owners to pay for "protection," which is just a fancy way of saying they were shaking them down for money. It's the kind of crime we see often, but it was enough to get us out here to deal with it.
Now, the gang members are all lined up against a wall, tied up and grumbling. Just waiting for the police to come and take them away.
Michael, still in his mask, dusts his hands and looks over at me with that trademark smirk. "So, Mark," he says, his voice teasing, "what's the plan for summer? More late-night brawls, or are you actually thinking of kicking back for once?"
I return the grin, leaning against a lamppost. "You know how it is. There's always trouble brewing somewhere. These streets aren't going to police themselves, and I doubt you're gonna take a break either."
Michael's chuckle is quick, almost like he's ready to swing into the next fight. "Can't help it. Someone's gotta keep the bad guys on their toes. Besides, I'm just getting started."
Loe, who's been wrestling with the last thug—an especially large guy who seems a little too comfortable for someone who just got his teeth handed to him—grumbles under his breath. "You two can stop patting yourselves on the back and help me out here. This guy's built like a tank, and I've had enough of him squirming around."
Michael and I exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Even behind his mask, you can tell Loe's rolling his eyes. That's his thing—always the one to keep us grounded when we get a little too full of ourselves.
Still, moments like this are why we do what we do. Not for the glory, but because, at the end of the day, we're still just a bunch of kids trying to do what's right.
.......
Meanwhile in the dimly lit office of a high-rise building, Alphonse Capone, a grizzled 63-year-old crime boss,sits behind a grand mahogany desk. The room is decorated with rich, dark wood and heavy drapes that block out the city lights. On the desk, a half-empty glass of whiskey trembles as he grips it tightly.
Alphonse's face is a mask of frustration and rage. His deep-set eyes narrow as he glares at his men, who stand lined up before him, shifting nervously under his intense gaze.
"You still haven't found her?!" Alphonse's voice thunders through the room. The force of his shout makes the glass of whiskey shake.
One of the men, a burly, bald figure, steps forward with a quivering voice. "No, sir. We've been searching for a week, but we still don't have any leads on where she might be."
Alphonse's anger flares. His face reddens, and without warning, he hurls the whiskey glass against the wall. The glass shatters into sharp fragments, and the splattered whiskey stains the floor. The loud crash makes his men jump, their fear evident.
"Useless!" Alphonse roars, his voice filled with venom. "If you haven't brought her back to me by the end of this week, you'll all face my wrath. Do you understand?!"
The men, visibly pale and terrified, nod quickly. "Yes, sir!" they respond in unison, their voices trembling.
"Now get out and find her!" Alphonse commands, his voice a dangerous growl. "No one should know about our operation. No one!"
The henchmen scramble to leave, their footsteps echoing in the hallway as they hurry to find the missing employee. Alphonse watches them go, his jaw clenched in anger. His office is silent now, save for the faint sounds of the city below and the occasional shuffle of his own restless movements.
Alphonse's eyes are sharp with determination. The hunt for the escaped woman must be thorough and swift—failure is not an option. The consequences of not retrieving her will be dire, and he is prepared to make sure his orders are carried out with the utmost urgency.
.......
Mark Fletcher's eyes fluttered open to the gentle caress of morning light filtering through his curtains. He stretched, yawning deeply, and let out a contented sigh. Summer had arrived with its promise of freedom, and the thought of long, unstructured days filled him with anticipation. Today felt like it was going to be a good day.
The peaceful silence of the early morning was broken by a familiar voice calling from outside his room. It was his younger sister, Mary Fletcher.
"Brother, breakfast is ready!!!" Her cheerful tone was a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the morning.
Mark's smile widened as he replied, "Coming!!" He pushed off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, eager to start the day.
Since their parents' passing, Mark and Mary had been living with their aunt, who was currently away on vacation with her family. The siblings had chosen to stay behind, and their aunt had reluctantly agreed, trusting them to be responsible. Mark, particularly, was not interested in spending his summer at social events or lounging around. He was committed to his double life as a vigilante, ready to work alongside his friends Michael Wilson and Loe Halloway.
Mark padded down the hallway and into the dining room, where the delicious aroma of breakfast was already wafting through the air. Mary was at the stove, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her face glowing with the warmth of the kitchen. The sight of her cooking always brought a sense of comfort and normalcy to Mark, a brief respite from the responsibilities of his night-time persona.
Mary turned as he entered, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh brother, come here and help me with this!" she said, her voice light and teasing.
Mark grinned as he walked over to the table. The spread she had prepared was impressive—lasagna with its cheese bubbling enticingly and a rich tomato sauce that filled the room with a mouthwatering aroma. "Mary," he said, taking a deep breath, "this smells just wonderful. You've outdone yourself."
Mary laughed, a pleasant sound that rang through the kitchen. "I'm glad you think so. I've been at it since early this morning."
Mark helped her set the table, their movements synchronized with ease. As he placed the plates down, the clinking of cutlery and the fragrant steam rising from the lasagna created a cozy atmosphere. Despite the recent upheavals in their lives, these quiet, shared moments were a comforting anchor.
As they sat down to eat, the conversation turned to their plans for the day. Mary was aware of Mark's commitment to his vigilante work and supported him wholeheartedly. She and Michael Wilson had formed a close bond, and their shared understanding of Mark's double life brought them even closer.
With the morning's breakfast finished, Mark felt a renewed sense of readiness. The day was full of potential, and the promise of adventure with Michael and Loe awaited him. As he cleared the table, he couldn't help but feel that this summer, though unconventional, was shaping up to be one of the most meaningful yet.
........
Loe Halloway, known as The New Angel, started his morning in a rather unconventional manner. As he lay in bed, his sleep was abruptly interrupted by a sharp sting on his rear end. He jolted awake with an indignant yelp.
"Ouch!!" Loe exclaimed, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.
His adopted father, Thomas Halloway, the former vigilante known as The Angel, stood over him with a stick in hand, his expression a mix of sternness and amusement. "I said breakfast is ready." Thomas declared, his tone carrying the weight of authority.
Loe, still wincing, shot an irritated glance at Thomas. "Old man, that really hurts."
Thomas's grin widened, clearly enjoying Loe's discomfort. "That's what you get for not hearing my call. Maybe next time you'll wake up on time."
Loe grumbled, "Well, whose fault is it that you kept me out late last night, huh?"
Thomas's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. "This kid talking back," he said, his voice taking on a mock-threatening tone. "Come here, let me give you another lesson."
Before Loe could react, Thomas gave him another light swat with the stick. "Ouch, ouch, ouch!" Loe protested, hopping out of bed and rubbing his backside. Despite his complaints, there was a warmth in his voice that betrayed his affection for the old man.
Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Enough of that. Breakfast is on the table, and you're not getting any more sympathy from me."
Loe made his way to the kitchen, grumbling under his breath but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." he muttered, though the words lacked real annoyance.
At the breakfast table, Loe plopped down with a huff, but his eyes sparkled with a mix of annoyance and affection. Despite his protests, he was secretly grateful for the routine, the discipline, and the care that came with it. Even if he'd never admit it out loud, he cherished these moments with his father.
As he joined his father at the table, the aroma of breakfast filled the kitchen, mixing with the sounds of their morning routine. Despite the rough start, Loe felt a sense of comfort in the familiarity of these moments, knowing that the day ahead promised its own set of challenges and adventures.
......
In the Late Morning, a young woman, no more than 18, hurries through the crowded avenues, her face hidden beneath the brim of her hat. Her clothes are disheveled, and she moves with a frantic urgency, glancing over her shoulder as if pursued by unseen dangers.
"I need help," she murmurs to herself, her voice trembling with fear. "Who could help me?"
Her desperate search leads her to an alleyway where a commotion catches her attention. There, amidst the chaos of a skirmish, she spots two figures engaged in a fierce battle with a group of criminals. One of them, clad in a sleek blue and black suit with a mask covering his face, moves with agility and precision. The other, draped in a flowing cape and mask, fights with an aura of commanding authority.
The criminals, clearly intimidated by their opponents, call out in fear and frustration. "It's Angel! The Angel and Nightwing are here!"
The young woman watched in awe as the masked figures took down the criminals with impressive skill. She caught her breath and whispered, "Angel... what a wonderful name."
Indeed, the caped figure was Loe Halloway, known as The New Angel, and the one in the blue and black suit was Mark Fletcher, the vigilante Nightwing.
In the midst of the battle, The New Angel and Nightwing demonstrate their skill and bravery, dispatching the criminals with a combination of strength and precision. The girl, still hidden, watches with a mix of hope and trepidation. The sight of these heroes in action offers a glimmer of hope that she might finally find the help she so desperately needs.
But who is this mysterious girl, and why is she in such peril? What secrets does her background hold, and what drives her to seek out these vigilantes? Her story, and the reasons behind her flight, remain shrouded in mystery.
Stay tuned for the next chapter to uncover the answers to these questions and follow the unfolding drama.
To be continue