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The small appliance store felt worlds away from the battlefields, from the burning rifts and monstrous beings that had nearly taken everything from him. Yet here Alexander stood, once again blending into the fabric of civilian life, though now with the weight of the last few days still fresh on his shoulders. The faint hum of refrigerators, the metallic clink of washers, and the quiet bustle of customers filled the store with the sounds of ordinary life—one that Alexander was beginning to find strangely comforting, even if fleeting.
Mrs. Jenkins, the kind elderly woman who owned the store, had been noticeably concerned when Alexander returned to work after his mysterious three-day absence. As she stood behind the counter, her brows knitted together in worry, she couldn't help but let her voice tremble a little when she approached him. "Oh, Alex, dear," she said, her tone gentle but insistent, "you've been gone for so long. I was worried something might have happened to you. I thought maybe you got sick, or—"
"I'm fine, Mrs. Jenkins," Alexander interrupted softly, giving her a reassuring nod. His deep voice, while calm, seemed to carry the weight of experiences far beyond what she could imagine. He straightened a stack of boxes on a shelf, his movements fluid and precise, as if trying to re-establish the rhythm of mundane tasks. "Just had to take care of some... things."
Mrs. Jenkins eyed him with maternal suspicion, but she knew better than to press him for more. Alexander had always been a bit of a mystery to her—an enigma with a gentle soul hidden behind the eyes of a man who had clearly seen more than his fair share of trouble. "Well," she sighed, shaking her head slightly, "you take care of yourself, alright? This store can survive without you for a few days, but I'm not sure it could survive much longer without your help!"
Alexander allowed a rare, brief smile to touch his lips before turning back to his tasks. He moved through the store, checking inventory and ensuring that everything was in order. The agents of A.R.G.U.S., however, were never far from his mind. Even now, he could feel their watchful eyes on him from outside the store, their presence as uninvited as ever.
For weeks, A.R.G.U.S. agents had been monitoring him, their gaze never wavering. They lingered on street corners, in coffee shops, pretending to blend in, but they were anything but inconspicuous to Alexander's enhanced senses. Every whispered conversation, every shift in movement—it all registered like clockwork in his mind. And yet, Alexander had chosen to ignore them, acting as though they were nothing more than harmless spectators. To him, they were moths fluttering around a flame, always drawn to the heat but never daring to get too close.
But it wasn't just A.R.G.U.S.. In the shadows of the city, the League of Villains had taken notice of him as well. Their minions—small-time thugs and hired mercenaries—had been skulking around, hoping to size him up or drag him into their web. Despite his earlier warnings, it seemed they hadn't taken his message seriously. Alexander found it almost amusing how persistent they were, thinking they could recruit or destroy him when they couldn't even grasp what they were dealing with. Each skirmish was brief, and often ended before it truly began—one swing of his fist, one flash of his heat vision, and their threats melted away like shadows under a blazing sun.
Still, it annoyed him. Not the fighting, but the distractions. There were far greater threats lurking on the horizon, and these foolish attempts at intimidation only served to slow him down.
As Alexander moved through the store, the channel droned on in the background, Mrs. Jenkins having switched it on while she balanced the store's books. The anchors seemed caught in an endless cycle of debates and praise for the heroes of the world.
"The Justice League has done it again!" one anchor exclaimed with fervour. "Another victory for our protectors! Thanks to them, the planet is safe, and once again, the people can rest easy knowing they're being looked after."
Alexander didn't look up, but he could hear the unwavering adulation in the anchor's voice, as if the heroes could do no wrong. It seemed the media never grew tired of glorifying their victories. And why would they? Heroes sold headlines. Heroes made people feel safe. But for every person who praised the League, there was always someone ready to criticize them.
On the other side, a different anchor's voice cut through with a tone laced in frustration: "But at what cost?" she argued, her eyes narrowing as the footage of a devastated citizen of The Star City played behind her. "look at those Innocent lives caught in the crossfire! Is this really what we should be celebrating? Yes, they save the world, but the collateral damage they leave behind is undeniable."
A debate ensued, as it always did. On one side, there were those who worshipped the heroes for their valor and sacrifice. On the other, those who questioned the long-term consequences of their actions. The divide was ever-present, and it played out on national television like a soap opera. but that's what the people want
Yet, beneath the surface, there were other stories, quieter stories—ones that didn't involve the high-octane drama of super-powered beings battling in the skies. The news transitioned to segments about health care reform, government assistance programs, and initiatives for volunteers to help the poor, the hungry, and the homeless. The shift in tone was jarring but necessary as if to remind people that, despite the chaos of their world, there were still ordinary struggles worth fighting for.
As Alexander listened, he felt a strange disconnect. Here, people argued about the nuances of heroism and destruction, while somewhere, Inferior plotted in the dark corners of the universe. The world was on the brink of something far greater than these mundane debates, and yet they carried on, oblivious to the storm that was coming.
Still, for now, Alexander remained in this world, in this store, working in the shadows. And though the war in the heavens raged on, for a brief moment, he allowed himself the illusion of normalcy.
The world could wait. For now.