How long had it been? He no longer knew. He raised his hand to his face, eyes carefully roving over the white outlines that represented his physical existence. He scrutinized the small pinpricks of light that dotted across the surface of his palm. One motion would end the billions of lifeforms that lived in the galaxy that dotted his right thumb. His existence used to be so simple. Go to school, get good grades, save the day, drink a smoothie. How many years had it been since he first saved the universe? He no longer remembered. He only knew his age at the time. He was ten years old. His eyes drifted to his right. Another being similar to him rested there, forever meditating. Female in form, she would never move from her place in the Forge. The dual personalities perpetually debating. He had long since quelled the debate in himself, but often he wondered whether the power was worth it. Brutus and Serena had faded long ago. Their explanation had been like their relationship, rocky at best, but it was simple. Once a Celestialsapien achieved true enlightenment, the power was theirs to command. It never happened before in all known memory. At least, not after the Forge of Creation existed. However, even with all this power, there were limits imposed implicitly by the others around him. He flexed his hands in anger. The last memories of his family were all he had left to remember his previous life. He never realized how carefully Brutus had chosen his last words before his consciousness faded to join the greater collective in the Forge.
"Remember, the weak mourn for the lives they cannot live. The strong, mourn, and move on. You have earned this power, and there is none other I would trust the fate of the universe to. It will be a heavy burden, yes, but you have proven to be stronger than even I could have ever imagined." The young Celestialsapien frowned. He was not strong. He was weak. Oh so very weak. He wanted his existence to end, to join his loved ones in the afterlife that was wrenched from his very grasp. He wanted to turn back time, to relive the moments that created him and stop himself from ever taking up the mantle of hero. He was bitter. Countless eons of loneliness and longing destroyed his will and spirit. A stray thought entered his mind. Then, a plan. Of course. Of course, he thought. His hand tore across the fabric of reality, tearing apart the small shell that encapsulated dimensions. He stepped through, hell bent on bringing his plan to fruition.
For once in her high school life, Taylor Hebert was having a good day. In fact, she was actually skipping along the pavement as she walked home. She didn't see Sophia, Madison, and Emma the whole day! Even their stupid little followers didn't say a single word. Apparently, they had some sort of joint "career exploration" trip for the next two days, and for once, they actually forgot to make extra plans for their absence. The thought made her somber up as she approached her house door. Even though she was only in her freshman year of high school, her life was something she'd thought was only possible on television. She was harshly bullied. Smear campaigns, whispers in the hallways, and general ostracization. In fact, it wasn't a far stretch to call it a rudimentary psychological attack, Taylor thought as she stepped into the living room. Her dad, Danny Hebert, wasn't home yet. His job as a Dockworker's Union representative often kept him late. Even then, Taylor knew that he came home even later because of other issues. Her dad never drank before her mom, Annette Hebert, died. The death of her mother had caused the man to collapse. Before, he was a somewhat scraggly man, but a happy one. He was a fountain of enthusiasm and what Taylor called a "go get'em" attitude. Now, he was little more than a walking skeleton. Taylor frowned, it wasn't right to call him that. He was still trying his best, she thought to herself. And she'd keep trying with him, she thought morosely. She walked up the stairs, and plopped herself in the chair at her desk.
"Hello." A dual toned voice said, a mix of what seemed to be a young man and one much older. Taylor responded in kind.
"Hi." It took her five seconds to realize what she responded to. Taylor froze in her seat at her realization and slowly turned around. She looked at the human shaped black figure in the corner of her room. Her mind made many different realizations at once. One, some guy, because that was definitely a guy given his cut and... impressive build, was in her room. Two, that guy was a cape, because she doubted anyone in their right mind would wear something like that without being a cape. It literally looked like he took the night sky and turned it into a costume for christ's sake! Three, a guy cape, of unknown origin, was standing in her bedroom and lazily playing with her curtains. Taylor slowly reached into her back pocket for her pepper spray, preparing to hit him and run for the phone downstairs. He looked away from the curtain he was playing with, his gaze wandering until his solid green eyes settled on her.
"The pepper spray is a pretty good idea for thugs, and maybe some weaker capes of Earth Bet. But I'm not exactly a thug, and I'm certainly not weak." The dual toned voice said again, amused and whimsical at the same time. Taylor could almost see the amused smile through his mask, almost as if he was jokingly scolding a child. She stopped going for the spray, her hand slowly retreating from her jeans pocket to her lap. If he could tell she was reaching for it, and still managed to be amused she shouldn't even bother trying or else he might decide on not being amused anymore. She withdrew her thoughts to herself quickly, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of this situation. Scrambling for time, she just blurted out the first thing she had in mind.
"Earth Bet? Do you mean you're from Earth Aleph? I thought they didn't have capes there." He turned to her and tilted his head, as if he was pondering something amusing.
"Not exactly." Was his short response. She could feel him smirking at her, as if he was superior. In the back of her mind, she knew he was, as they were called parahumans for a reason, but that still didn't make the situation any better. She took the thread of the conversation and pulled. Anything to keep him talking and occupied so she could have more time to think.
"Are you here to rob us? Cause as you can see, we're not exactly well off." This time he actually paused in his movements. His eyes bored into her, his stare searching through what Taylor felt like was her very soul.
"No. I am here to ask a question." His response carried an air of indignity, almost as if he was offended. Oh. Ooooh, he was offended. In the midst of her panic, it never occurred to Taylor that he could be a rogue, or even a hero. The realization still didn't answer why an extra dimensional cape was playing with her curtains, but the thought of him at least not being a villain soothed her frayed nerves a bit.
"Well, if you come back in a few hours, my dad will-" Taylor was cut off by the raised hand of the cape.
"Let me rephrase that. I am here to ask you a question." Taylor's breath hitched in confusion, trying to figure out if there was anything she had done recently that would draw the attention of what had to be a powerful cape. Seeing no response, the man continued.
"What do you think of Heroes, Ms. Hebert ?" What, like the Protectorate? She supposed she was grateful, and she honestly thought they were cool. Using their powers to protect those weaker than them, willingly fighting the nightmare fuel that were Endbringers, and even the public persona appearances they held up to greet the civilians. Miss Militia was her favorite, with Armsmaster being a close second. And, maybe if she were a hero, no other poor girl would have to go through the same pain her family did. Taylor told the man as much, save for the last part.
The man hummed in thought, his odd dual voice breaking the silence in Taylor's bedroom. He stepped a bit closer, away from the window on the other side of the room, and Taylor could finally get a good look at him. To simply put, his costume was beautiful. No seams, stitches, and not a single break in its pattern. But, what was truly breathtaking, was its effect and impression. Taylor felt like she was staring down the very universe as he walked up to examine her, the odd white outline of his body creating a pronounced effect with the pattern of stars.
"Would you like to be a Hero, Ms. Hebert?" She snapped away to look him in the eyes. They were narrowed, and calculating. He was serious. He. Was. Serious. Taylor was having trouble breathing. Why her? Why a random 14 year old girl? She wasn't stunning in the looks department. She wasn't ugly, she knew as much from the occasional glances she got while walking around, but she wasn't someone who drew attention. And charisma? Confidence? Heroic traits? She was bullied! If she had charisma she wouldn't even be in Winslow. If she had confidence she wouldn't be swimming around in self loathing every other hour. If she was heroic… If she was heroic, she could have saved her mother. So why? Why!?
"Why?" Her voice started as a whisper. She slowly gained traction as she took deeper breaths trying to steady herself.
"Why me?" She continued, starting to stand up. The culmination of self loathing and torture finally bringing to the forefront of her mind thoughts that she tried to bury deep inside her mind.
"What the hell makes you think I would be a good hero?" She was nearly screaming and crying at the end. The stress of her thoughts breaking through her composure.
"I see many things, Ms. Hebert. I can see the present, the past, and all the paths of the future, in perfect clarity. And when I look at you, I see a young girl, down on her luck. Bruised, beaten, treated like trash by the world around her. But not broken. Your father is broken. A man living a half life. Yet, even with the social torture you go through daily, you have not faltered. That doggedness is powerful. More powerful than any Brute. More creative than any Tinker. So, I ask you again, Ms. Hebert. Would. You. Like. To. Be. A. Hero?" He held his hand out at the end, offering it to her in acceptance. Taylor was still wiping her tears. Trying to get a handle on her sobbing she simply nodded, not trusting her words, and placed her hand in his. The man nodded. And in the back of his mind, one sentence range true. All according to plan.