Owen Jesslaw is the most competent person he knows.

Sure, you can debate that fact. Owen loves debating. He's a self proclaimed champion at it. In fact, he's so good that most of his debates are over in a minute. Flat! If that's not empirically impressive, he'll eat one of his favorite beanies. (And he will, don't test him on that.)

The obvious go-to is Roald, if you're trying to undermine Owen's claim of being the only one in his immediate peer (ish) group with a level head on his shoulders. And, granted, Roald is practically perfect – the very model of a modern poli-ci major slash prince from a family that mostly attends state dinners and sits in on Parliament meetings when things get a little dicey and other countries need photographic proof that everything in Tortall is Fine and Dandy. Roald's fantastic, no doubt. Calm, serene, good sense of humor. But he has the tragic noble streak that really doesn't do much for him. Well, it does well for everyone around him, but no one that bends over backwards and refuses to upset a single person can hardly be called competent.

Kel's another pretty solid rebuttal, but one that Owen can shut down in the same heartbeat that he shuts down Roald. Kel's not what one would call reasonable. Mostly because she's just too reasonable. No one that's never binge watched the entirety of a television show or skipped even a day of healthy eating can be considered competent. That's so far to one of the spectrum, you just fall right off into madness.

No, Owen's absolutely the most competent person he knows. Period. No one else could manage to keep their entire friend group together, ace all of their classes, put themselves on the fast track to law school, and help their city's local superheroes all in one go. Because no one is as competent as Owen.

The footage of that day's capture finishes uploading with a cheery ding, and Owen swings around in his desk chair, eyes practically glowing with electricity as he dives into the file. It's some of his best work. He's never been this close before, but despite the proximity to the fight his hands were steady and, with a true artistic eye, his cinematography was out of this world. He could probably submit this to some film festival if it wasn't going to be this week's Hero Feed piece de resistance.

For a brief time at the beginning of the blog's life, it had been the Corus Currently (before that: the Corus Courantly, get it?, but that was a little too avant garde for even the anti mainstream crowd he'd attracted), and had done pretty well all things considered. But the moment The Protector and Chevalier had appeared on the scene, Owen knew precisely where his bread was buttered. He'd only kept up the pretense of reporting Corus news for a week or so before he transitioned entirely. Once he did, his readership had soared; what was once a side project read only by the university at large was now a local hub of information. And one that was even starting to pay the bills.

Still, he's not in it for the money. If advertisers see something worthy on his page, let them ask for slots and pictures. As long as it supports his journalism, he couldn't care in the slightest. Accommodating them is logical; reporting is necessary.

See? Competent.

Even now, hours later and having witnessed the fight firsthand, the footage is still gorgeous in every way and he can feel his heart continue to race with remembered exhilaration. While it plays on loop, Owen writes.

There are things in this world that change us. The status quo is an unreachable goal, a kind of utopia unto itself. Reality is not governed by what stays, but by what comes and goes. Corus is a steadfast, strong city, but it is unrecognizable from its former self after each second that passes. The streets are lighter or darker, the clouds move, and the people –

Well, there is nothing so unrecognizable these days as Corus' citizens.

This world changes and changes us by the minute. But some events are so profound that they don't merely shift our perspectives or routines. Some events have the power to uproot us bodily from our lives and set us on new paths. They can even irrevocably divert the churning tides of history itself.

We all remember the day that The Spidren appeared, not because he was any such mastermind of evil, but because his entrance marked a much more significant one: the fist reported battle of The Protector and Chevalier.

If you're familiar with this city, then you already know the heroes about whom I write. And if you're familiar with this blog in any capacity, then you know almost as much about them as I do. As many have told me, I've never been one to hold back, and I will admit that I've spent the last almost-year in near constant, dogged journalistic pursuit. It's no easy task to follow around caped crusaders when they're almost as skilled at throwing you off their tail as they are at cleaning up Corus' wicked, supernaturally powered element.

You all know that I have gotten as close as anyone can get to the action, and I have the cinematic and photographic evidence to prove that. Until now, of course, I assumed that's what I'd continue to do for the the foreseeable future: follow the leads, listen to the news, and try to continue to predict the locations of our saviors while pushing forward as much as I'm able to. It's a solid plan, and I know that it's appreciated – if not by them, then by you, my readers old and new.

That was the plan, until the monumental paradigm shift that was today. You've seen the title, you've seen the pictures, you've likely even seen the news already. Today is a vast difference in our little dance of reporter and reported, because today I had the honor of being caught in the dead center of the next city-and-history changing moment.

If you weren't already aware of Corus' masked defenders, you are now. No local news outlet has let coverage of the bloody rampage the man calling himself Player One had wrought earlier today. They're a little late to the party, and by little I mean there has been a woefully egregiously lack of coverage surrounded these two since day one. Only yours truly was on the scene to capture footage of that first, fate defining fight on film, and only my dedicated and loyal readers and viewers have been exposing the heroic, noble truth about them for almost a year.

Now they've captured the attention of the media beyond our control, and those stations are truly playing into their motto of if it bleeds, it leads. For almost a year, I and my contributors have attempted to remain as factually consistent as possible, and have reported on how careful and meticulous The Protector is to save lives, repair the city, and take down those criminals that would be impossible to apprehend without the addition of purifying powers. The Protector has lived up to her name in every possible way. She has been the signal beam of hope that cuts through our cloudiest, most doubt ridden days. She has stood up to the face of senseless violence and thwarted the schemes of villains that probably wished they had stayed in the Saturday morning cartoons they left behind. At every step of the way, The Protector has been everything we could need and nothing we've earned: our guardian, our defender, even our champion. Without her efforts, the citizens of Corus wouldn't have survived long enough to become the unrecognizable lot we are today.

Traditional news outlets are showing you a vision of carnage: Corus University in supposed shambles, toppled statues, a torn lawn, half of the library's facade missing. They're still showing recycled clips of EMT trucks and paramedics circling the campus like vultures, and detailing the same list of injuries and injured parties ad nauseum. I won't pretend that these individuals don't exist, of course, but in true Network fashion, this is only part of the story. This is only the part that can be stripped down, buzzworded, and sold to a public that doesn't care to be discerning in the face of easy access.

That is why I am here. I will give you the facts.

At 2:56 pm, TST, I was already recording for an unrelated project as I made my way towards the library. I had just crossed through the archway to the lawn when the first rumblings could be heard, an echoey thud that resonated across the campus of Corus University. The first shock was enough to disturb the books, papers, the ice in glasses.

For three minutes I, and my fellow students I'm sure, waited for the campus update system to automatically text us about what we assumed was an earthquake. If our hallowed institution got one thing right, it's its speed of communication. I cannot tell you the number of times a crime alert has woken me out of a deep, restful sleep. I am always glad to know the moment someone had their wallet stolen thirteen blocks off of campus.

The alert never came in. A lapse in judgement? A deficiency of the relay system? Or something more sinister? Some members of my group of friends, who will not be named, laugh whenever I bring up the fact that something might be seriously amiss. Isn't is a silver lining, then, that when the shadow appeared, looming directly over the far end of the lawn's entrance, that I was vindicated in my assumption?

At 2:59 pm, TST, the monster first came into view. I was able to capture the very first glimpse of the thing – the thing that had, apparently, named itself Player One. If only I had naming rights as well as camerawork credits. But that is not the world in which we live.

It took the thing no time at all to cross the lawn, but it hesitated before actually stepping over the threshold and through the arch. I say through because the thing was taller than that arch and paid no heed to the fixture that has existed since the campus' inception. That first damage – the shattering of that Conte Gateway – took place a few seconds after my atomic clock read 3:00 pm.

The thing moved fast for its immense size, crossing the vast length of the long by the time my clock ticked to 3:01. By that time I'd abandoned my straight trajectory to the library and instead ducked behind the fountain in the center of the lawn. I realized that something was wrong – that something was different. Maybe it was the shock of watching something so sturdy and unchanging shatter into unrecognizable pieces, but as soon as the thing set foot on the lawn I knew that this would not be the same.

After looking around for a few seconds, no more than thirty, Player One seemed to decide that the order of the day was wanton destruction. It charged up the frankly ridiculous looking gun on its arm. Now I've played through just about every first person shooter they make; there shouldn't have been anything intimidating about a guy who was too nonsensically dressed to even appear in Neopolois. I don't know what I or anyone else expected when we heard the whine of a charging laser gun. Probably we all thought that we'd gotten off lucky – other enemies have used far more frightening weapons than something we've all taken a turn firing in Inferno. A toy laser gun was no collection of throwing knives or close range bombs, after all.

At 3:02 pm, TST, Player One destroyed the central fountain.

There was an erupting blaze of light that seemed to suck up all the sound across the whole campus. I thought that only happened in movies, that moment of silence before the explosion. But as much as I wrack my brain, I can't seem to remember even the slightest hum in the interim between the shot and the wreckage. Neither can anyone else, if my investigative efforts have proved accurate.

I don't remember any screams. And I don't think there were any. If there were, I would have noted them, or caught the distant echoes on film as I leapt away from the fountain just in time. Behind me, at 3:02 pm, I felt the fountain more or less disintegrate, flying apart in impossibly tiny pieces. I know that because when I looked back, my cover was entirely gone. The ground was soaked with water, infinitesimal shards of marble were scattered in an unbelievable radius – marble makes a very particular sound when it breaks. I don't think I'll ever forget it.

At precisely 3:03:27 pm, TST, Chevalier arrived.

Yes, you read that correctly. You can scan the archives and my tags – it is an indisputably rare thing to see Chevalier on the scene first. Your first instinct might be doubt the authenticity of my claim, but check the video. You will see the same thing that I do: not just Chevalier's arrival, but The Protector's entrance as well. At 3:05:01 pm, she bursts onto the scene, weapon drawn and ready for battle.

The battle on the lawn lasted for seven full minutes. At 3:12 pm, Chevalier led Player One off campus under the impeccable leadership of The Protector. Due to the enormity of the battle, and the dying attention spans of even the most dedicated readers in this world, I've annotated the video for you rather than recount each play and blow here. Significant moments will trigger eye witness descriptions in the box below, so if you haven't watched it already I suggest taking a look.

At this point, I will admit to an unfortunate lapse of my sworn journalistic duties. Once the duo took off for the Haryse Woods, I decided that instead of following, I would survey and record the damage. You can see the damages themselves on the annotated video; in fact, you can see those damages on TNN, CBC, or any of the major news networks. You probably won't see anything but those damages for a while. As readers of Hero Feed, I trust that you all can watch and synthesize this information and draw your own, correct, conclusions.

I finished surveying at 3:17 pm, TST, and decided that it was high time to take my self sworn investigative oath seriously and track down the city's champions. On a normal day, this would be no small feat. But the drawback to being three times the size of a regular person is that you tend to leave a pretty clear trail behind you. I followed Player One's wake of destruction straight through towards the thicker part of the forest. At 3:19 pm, when I was nearly caught up, I was able to catch sight of that familiar white, purifying light shoot into the air and sweep across the tops of the trees, reaching out as if cognizant towards the campus.

In the name of candor, I will admit to a moment of relief. If you haven't read about it here, then I'm sure you've at least seen The Protector's powers at work. With a single shot most, if not all, of the damage from any attack is immediately healed. I knew in that moment that the school and town behind me were safe. Fortified in my knowledge that everything would work out for the best, I continued my path.

Unfortunately, by the time I arrived The Protector was gone, as was Player One. Of course I didn't accept the desolate landscape at face value – what kind of reporter would I be if I did something like that? I waited, hunting around any alternative routes that The Protector might have taken back. I didn't find her, but after three minutes I did find Chevalier. I'm entirely certain that my presence wasn't noticed. He was too preoccupied with his own state to notice much of anything, I'm sure.

I did not include this section of the video, and for that I'm sorry. The reasons for withholding the photographic evidence are my own, but I will say that after seeing Chevalier's state, I wonder if we will ever see him again.

This is the full and actual account of the day's events. You have at your disposal the entirety of this blog and all of its eyewitness recordings – nearly every battle that has been fought in the city of Corus has been captured on film and uploaded here with subtitles, notes, and descriptions. Additionally, you have the ability to flip through every medium of news available to you. I leave the pieces in your hands to determine what all of this means. What it amounts to.

Here is what this means to me: yes, the Corus University campus is bruised, battered, and scarred. Yes, I have close friends – family, for all intents and purposes – who are not walking away unscathed. I will continue to dream of the shattering of marble. I might even hear it while awake. Tomorrow, or whenever I return to class, I will likely walk by the still scorched and disassembled library facade.

But this is not all of my story. It's not even the most important part. The one thing above all that I will take away is that I am still able to dream of destroyed fountains. I am still able to see that wrecked library. I am alive and whole and in possession of everything I had when I woke up this morning. And everyone I know – every single person I have ever thought about, spoken with, held – will wake up again tomorrow, too.

What I take away is that there is not a single casualty that has come to light, even hours after the dust has settled.

I don't know what the future holds. You can taste the change like the charge of lightning in the air before it strikes. It's terrifying and completely exhilarating, because I know, without any shadow of a doubt, that we will be safe. Every tomorrow will come, and we will greet them together. Changed, sure. Hardened, maybe. But alive.

Alive because we have a Protector.

As he edits, Owen laughs. Yes, definitely a little sentimental as his social journalism professor would say with a sneer. Shmaltzy, melodramatic, sensationalized. Editorialized. ("If you don't want editorials," Owen had said once, "Don't teach a class about a narrative driven medium.") It's exactly what Owen wants this piece to be. And besides, all of it's true – every thought and hope and feeling is precisely accurate. If he's parsed and chosen and exaggerated certain selections and thoughts? It's hardly his fault if they'll be interpreted in a certain way.

The clues are carefully sewn, blended beautifully with moving odes and a storybook arc of hope and triumph. It's no less than The Protector deserves, after all. And this will accomplish exactly what it needs to.

Owen does not bother with his routine of near obsessive refreshing once he posts the story. In fact, he closes his laptop entirely (for which the laptop is probably grateful, seeing as how it hasn't been properly shut down in months) and climbs up into his makeshift loft where his personal projector is located. After successfully surviving, and documenting, an attack of this magnitude, he's more than earned a night of rewatching the director's cut of Frank's 82nd while annoying either Roald or Cleon into joining him via incessant text messaging.

Because all that's left to do now is wait.

See?

Competent.