Max Peterson was late for work. Again.
He sprinted through the cracked streets of New Harbor, his oversized messenger bag slapping against his lanky frame with each stride. The navy blue courier jacket with orange trim that marked him as Harbor News staff was wrinkled and stained, much like everything else in his wardrobe. A stubborn lock of brown hair flopped into his eyes, and he blew it away with an exasperated puff.
Max dodged the twisted metal that once formed skyscrapers, now bent like straws after what people simply called "The Collapse." The morning sun cast long shadows through the half-destroyed buildings, illuminating the strange purple moss that had started growing everywhere since the dimensional rift appeared three years ago.
"Coming through!" Max shouted, leaping over a puddle of something that definitely wasn't water. His scuffed boots barely cleared the edge. Ever since the chemical spills from MegaCorp's underground labs had mixed with the nuclear fallout, strange substances appeared overnight. Some said they gave powers. Most just gave rashes.
Above him, the broken moon hung in the daytime sky, its fragments forming a perpetual ring around what remained. Scientists still argued whether it was the alien invasion or Dr. Malevolent's gravity cannon that had cracked it. Maybe both.
Max checked his watch – an actual mechanical one, since electronics worked sporadically at best these days. Ink stains marked his fingers from handling the morning edition. "Oh crap, crap, crap!"
Mr. Donovan was going to kill him. Being a courier for the last functioning newspaper in New Harbor wasn't glamorous, but it paid in actual food rations rather than the questionable "NutriPills" the government distributed.
As he rounded a corner, Max nearly collided with a crowd gathered in the street. They were watching one of the many screens that still functioned throughout the city, broadcasting emergency news.
"...reports of another attack by the notorious Viper Gang near the old water treatment plant," announced a severe-looking woman with improbably perfect hair. "Authorities warn civilians to stay away as the Guardians have been dispatched to handle the situation."
The crowd murmured excitedly. The Guardians – real superheroes with actual powers – were New Harbor's protectors. They had emerged after The Collapse, when the strange energies unleashed by the combined disasters began changing certain people.
"Probably exposure to something in that purple rain last month," an old man muttered beside Max.
"Nah, I heard it's genetic. Something about dormant DNA activated by the dimensional portals," countered a woman clutching a cat with too many eyes.
"You're both wrong," a child said confidently. "It's the aliens. They're experimenting on us."
Max smiled to himself, bright green eyes crinkling at the corners. Everyone had theories about where powers came from, but nobody really knew. All that mattered was that some people now had them, and thankfully, most used them for good.
The camera panned to show Velocity, a blur of red as he sped around the Viper Gang members. His dark skin contrasted with the white accents of his uniform, and the red lightning bolt shaved into the side of his close-cropped hair was unmistakable even at speed.
Beside him floated Lumina, her hands glowing with blinding light. Her white and gold Guardian uniform seemed to capture and amplify the ambient light around her. The camera zoomed in on her face – warm brown eyes literally glowing golden as she used her powers, blonde hair radiating like a halo around her determined expression.
Max felt his heart skip a beat. Everyone in New Harbor had a crush on Lumina – with her confident posture and radiant smile, how could you not? But Max's admiration went beyond her looks. Her courage, her kindness, the way she always stopped to help civilians even in the middle of battles...
"Move it, Peterson!" A sharp elbow jabbed Max's ribs, snapping him out of his daydream. It was Randy, a fellow courier and perpetual pain in Max's backside.
Unlike Max's perpetual dishevelment, Randy's courier uniform was pristinely pressed, his brown hair carefully styled with what must have been precious scavenged product. His muscular build made Max's lanky frame seem even more awkward by comparison.
"Admiring your girlfriend?" Randy sneered, his competitive smirk firmly in place. "Keep dreaming, loser. Like she'd ever notice someone like you."
Max felt his face flush. He slouched further, a habit from years of carrying heavy deliveries. "Whatever, Randy. Don't you have packages to deliver?"
"Already done my morning route," Randy said smugly, brushing an imaginary speck off his immaculate sleeve. "Some of us don't sleep through our alarms."
Max ignored him and pushed through the crowd. He was really going to catch it from Mr. Donovan now.
---
"PETERSON!"
The entire courier office winced as Mr. Donovan's voice thundered across the room. Max slunk toward the dispatch desk, preparing his excuses.
Mr. Donovan stood with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as always, his bushy mustache quivering with indignation. Reading glasses perched precariously on his nose, and a pencil was tucked behind his ear, nestled in gray hair that hadn't seen a comb in years. Despite his average height, his stocky build and booming voice gave him an imposing presence.
"Sorry, sir. There was a huge crowd blocking Thompson Avenue, and then—"
"Save it," Mr. Donovan growled, his voice rough from years of shouting in newsrooms. "That's the third time this week! Do you think newspapers deliver themselves? Do you think people don't want to know which parts of town have turned radioactive overnight?"
"No, sir," Max mumbled, shifting his weight nervously and fighting the urge to fidget with his bag strap.
"You're lucky I don't fire you on the spot." Mr. Donovan shoved a stack of papers into Max's hands, ink-stained fingers matching Max's own. "Double route today. East Side deliveries and the Guardian Tower."
Max's head snapped up, green eyes wide with surprise. "The Guardian Tower? But that's—"
"Restricted to authorized personnel only, yes," Mr. Donovan said. "But they specifically requested our paper be delivered. Apparently, even superheroes like the crossword puzzles." He reached into his desk and pulled out a laminated badge. "This will get you past security. Don't lose it, or it's coming out of your rations for a month."
Max clutched the badge like it was made of gold. The Guardian Tower! Where the superheroes lived and planned their missions! And Lumina would be there...
"What are you waiting for? GO!" Mr. Donovan roared.
Max bolted out the door, his fatigue forgotten. This was turning out to be an interesting day after all.
---
The East Side deliveries went smoothly, though Max had to take a detour around a newly formed sinkhole that was glowing an ominous green. The strange mutations of the landscape had become so common that New Harbor's residents just adapted, creating makeshift bridges or marking hazards with colorful warning signs – often with humorous messages like "Caution: Probably Portal to Hell" or "Mind the Interdimensional Gap."
By mid-afternoon, Max stood before the towering structure that housed New Harbor's protectors. Unlike the ruined buildings surrounding it, the Guardian Tower gleamed, its surface a strange metal rumored to have come from the alien ships that had appeared during The Collapse.
Max approached the security checkpoint, his heart pounding. The guard, a stern-faced woman with cybernetic implants visible around her left eye, held out her hand.
"ID and purpose," she said flatly.
Max fumbled with the badge, his nervous smile making an appearance. "Newspaper delivery from Harbor News."
The guard scanned his badge with her cybernetic eye, which glowed briefly. "Cleared. Proceed to the reception area only. Any deviation from the authorized path will result in immediate removal." Her expression suggested "removal" might be through the nearest window.
"Understood," Max squeaked.
The lobby of the Guardian Tower was nothing like Max had imagined. Instead of high-tech glamour, it looked like... well, an ordinary office lobby, albeit cleaner than most places in New Harbor. A bored-looking receptionist tapped at a computer terminal.
"Newspaper delivery," Max announced, trying to sound professional despite his slouching posture and rumpled appearance.
"Just leave them there," the receptionist said without looking up, pointing to a side table.
Max's shoulders slumped further. So much for his grand adventure. He'd hoped to at least glimpse one of the Guardians, maybe even Lumina...
A tremendous crash shook the building, followed by alarms blaring throughout the tower. The receptionist jumped to her feet.
"Code Red! All personnel to safety protocols!"
Before Max could react, the far wall exploded inward. Through the dust and debris stepped a massive figure in black armor, electricity crackling across its surface. A featureless helmet with a glowing blue visor concealed any trace of a human face, while blue-white energy arced between gauntleted hands.
"Shock," the receptionist gasped.
Max froze. Everyone in New Harbor knew Shock – the most notorious villain to emerge after The Collapse. His power to generate and control electricity made him nearly unstoppable.
"WHERE IS IT?" Shock's voice boomed, distorted through his helmet. "WHERE IS THE ARTIFACT?"
Max should have run. Any sane person would have. But something inside him – perhaps foolishness, perhaps bravery – made him step forward, forgetting his usual slouch for a moment.
"Hey!" he shouted. "You can't just break in here!"
Shock turned slowly, his featureless helmet regarding Max with what felt like amusement.
"And who might you be? The Guardian's errand boy?"
Max swallowed hard. "I'm... I'm just the newspaper guy."
Shock laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "Then you've chosen a very unfortunate time for a delivery." He raised his hand, electricity gathering at his fingertips.
Max closed his eyes, bright green irises disappearing behind tightly shut lids. This was it. Death by supervillain. All because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"He's with us," a clear, commanding voice rang out.
Max's eyes flew open. Standing between him and Shock was a figure glowing with brilliant light. Lumina.
Up close, she was even more stunning than on the screens. Her blonde hair seemed to capture and radiate light, forming a natural halo effect around her perfect posture and composed features. Her white and gold Guardian uniform was form-fitting but practical, designed for both movement and protection. The golden glow in her brown eyes intensified as she raised her hands, light gathering between her palms.
"The courier is under Guardian protection," she continued, her light growing brighter. "Stand down, Shock."
"Ah, just the hero I was hoping to see," Shock said. "Perhaps you can direct me to what I seek."
"The only direction you're going is back to containment," Lumina replied, her professional demeanor never wavering.
Max stood frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Lumina – THE Lumina – had just saved his life. And she'd called him "the courier," like he was someone important, someone worth protecting.
Little did Max know, this moment of accidental heroism would change his life forever. Because in New Harbor, rumors spread faster than the strange purple moss. And by nightfall, stories would circulate about the brave courier who stood up to Shock – stories that would grow with each telling.
In a world where perception could become reality, that was a very dangerous thing indeed.