The wind carried a metallic scent as David and Chloe stepped off the bus stop near the outskirts of the city. It was the kind of place people avoided—not because of what was seen, but because of what wasn't. The streets were empty. Shuttered stores lined the sidewalks like ghosts of a past life. And just beyond the chain-link fence ahead stood their destination.
The warehouse.
Rusty. Weathered. Abandoned in appearance. But inside, Chloe's sister was being held—David had seen it.
He stared at the building in silence, clutching his mask in one hand.
Chloe stood beside him, visibly anxious but determined. She looked up at David, her voice breaking the silence.
"Before we do this…" she began, "why did you decide to help me?"
David kept his eyes on the warehouse, like he was afraid to look at her.
"I thought you weren't a good person," she added. "You said you didn't help people."
A long pause followed.
David finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "That night… in the alley… when I saved that woman…"
He closed his eyes, recalling the moment, the perspectives that flooded his mind—the fear of the woman, the aggression of her attacker, the silence of the night itself.
"I didn't do it because I wanted to be a hero. I did it because if I didn't, I knew I'd lose what little of myself I still believe in."
He glanced at her.
"I see the worst in people every day, Chloe. I live in their thoughts, their fears, their secrets. It's hard to believe in anything good. But when I stop myself from helping, I feel like I'm turning into the thing I hate. Helping people... it reminds me I'm still human."
Chloe's eyes softened, and for a moment, her usual persistence faded into something gentler. She nodded.
"Then let's help her together."
---
They crouched behind a row of discarded crates as David slipped the mask over his face. Through the eyeholes, the world narrowed—focused.
He reached out with his mind.
In a flash, a kaleidoscope of perspectives slammed into him.
The rat under the fence. The stray cat watching from a rooftop. A teenager smoking behind a dumpster. Even the warehouse itself held echoes of memory—the groan of doors, the echo of boots.
He steadied his breathing and chose.
Through the eyes of a man leaning against the warehouse wall—tattooed neck, lean frame—David saw everything.
Two guards inside. One pacing near the main entrance, the other in a back room, watching over a girl tied to a chair. She was bruised but alive. Her face matched the one Chloe had shown him. Her name was Emma.
He pulled back suddenly, gasping for air. Blood trickled lightly from his nose.
Chloe rushed to his side. "David?!"
He wiped it quickly, but she grabbed his wrist.
"What was that?"
He hesitated, then looked her in the eye.
"Every time I use my powers too much... my brain takes the hit. The more perspectives I dive into, the more unstable it gets. First, I get nosebleeds. Then headaches. But the worst part…"
He looked away.
"I lose pieces of memory. Random ones. Sometimes a name. Sometimes what I did the day before. Last month, I forgot my own birthday."
Chloe stood frozen, her expression twisted between shock and guilt.
"And you're still doing this… to help me?"
David gave a small smile. "Like I said… if I don't help people, I stop being me."
---
Chloe swallowed hard and nodded. "Then let's finish this fast."
David stood up slowly. "Two guards. One's got a knife. The other… has powers. He has a Snake tattoo."
Her face went pale. "That's their leader."
He turned to her, slipping the mask fully on.
"We'll split their attention. I'll draw the leader out. You sneak in through the back window. You said you know how to pick locks?"
She nodded. "My sister taught me. Ironic, right?"
David smirked under his mask. "Let's use that irony."
He cracked his knuckles and took a deep breath.
"Time to be the person I keep trying to pretend I'm not."