Tommy wears his favorite hoodie, his sturdiest pair of jeans, and his most well-kept pair of shoes. He pulls the hood over his hair, looking down at the sidewalk to allow the shadows to fall over his face. He carries his radio. It quietly blurts out the last known sightings of certain vigilantes, muffled only by the fabric of his hoodie. He clings to it even tighter as he crosses an imaginary but visibly felt line that dices up the island into smaller chunks based on how much crime is allowed to spread. The streets grow dirtier. The buildings are shorter and thinner with dilapidated parts like starved children hiding themselves in the flashing darkness from the broken street lamps. Items deemed as useless are left discarded haphazardly on the ground, ready for someone to collect them and give them purpose. Screams create a constant background noise, a mix between horror and arguing. Dozens of eyes exist within the shadows, waiting to strike like vipers in a vase. Tommy doesn't meet anyone's eyes.

He shivers, but that has very little to do with the temperature or the whistling wind. He is absolutely terrified. He has purposefully gone into one of the shadier places on the island. He is carrying around an object that while most people here wouldn't recognize, they would hurt Tommy for. Those who would recognize the radio would kill Tommy for it. They might kill just for the fun of it and take the radio as recompense for Tommy wasting their time. While it isn't fair to assume the worst from everyone in this area, the statistics make it very clear that one should always be wary. If this place can be avoided, it should be. If it can't be avoided, try to look as poor and harmless as possible. Tommy might have the harmless part down, but he hasn't muddied up his clothes or chosen his own life over the radio.

The one thing that keeps Tommy trekking is the thought of Wilbur. The people in this backstreet are nothing to the Syndicate. Wilbur is being tortured right now by people who know exactly where to hit and with how much force to ensure pain without fatality. Wilbur is going through all of that right now with no hope for the future or a means to escape. Tommy has to be the brave one right now, even if every step forward makes his heart jump like a fleeing rabbit.

Tommy hears a clicking noise. He looks up slowly, daring not to move any faster than that. He sees a man's dirtied sweatpants first. He doesn't see a shirt, but he does see a chest covered in scars and tattoos. The man is holding a gray and black gun to Tommy's head, his finger firmly against the trigger. Tommy takes control of his breathing. He meets the man's dark, greedy eyes. The thought of Wilbur tied up urges Tommy to start speaking, "What do you want?"

"Drop the radio, kid. And I wouldn't mind seeing what's in your pockets," The gunman demands, a cheeky smile rising to his face that makes Tommy swallow thickly. Tommy opens his arms. His radio starts to slide away from him. He leans down onto his knees to gently place the radio on the ground. He winces when the bottom gets covered in the murky puddles in the alleyway, but he has no other choice. At least he didn't have to drop it and potentially break it.

When the radio is on the ground, Tommy eases back up onto his feet. He keeps his head down and back hunched to make him look less imposing, but Tommy doesn't really think that's a problem. The man in front of him has a gun. Tommy doesn't have weapons. There's no reason for this man to consider Tommy any sort of threat. If he does, there are a lot more issues going on inside his head that Tommy doesn't have the time or will to care about.

Tommy reaches into the pocket of his hoodie. He doesn't find anything in there, but he didn't expect to. He doesn't like when something weighty is in his hoodie pocket. It distracts him too much and throws off his sense of balance. He does put things in his jean pockets, though. Tommy tries to recall what he has in there as he pushes his hands into his front pockets. He finds his keyring with all the attached keys. Tommy winces as he drops it to the ground. He hopes he isn't causing Madeleine too many problems right now. If someone takes the shop keys, she might lose everything. Tommy would certainly lose his job.

Tommy starts to reach into his back pockets when he hears a loud booming noise really close to him. Tommy flinches back, nearly tripping over himself to get away from the man. Tommy looks into the man's eyes. He looks annoyed as he points the gun towards the sky. Tommy looks down to find his hands trembling. He's instantly reminded of what it was like standing in the store he used to go to. He remembers the pain in his shoulder, and how much fear filled his heart. The thought of dying roared inside his mind then, and it rises in pitch now. There's no Wilbur to save Tommy this time. It's all Tommy. If his gamble doesn't work, he might really lose his life right now. Wilbur would die, too, and that's the only reason Tommy is able to push down his panic to reach into his back pockets.

"Hurry up," The gunman hisses, leveling the gun back at Tommy's head. Tommy speeds up a little. He pulls his communicator out of his back pocket. Like the radio, Tommy leans down to set it beside the radio. He lets it lean against the radio, hoping the puddle water doesn't ruin the communicator. Tommy's fingers pull away from the radio, keys, and communicator hesitantly. Each object carries a lot of value to Tommy. The radio has brought him comfort since the day he first bought it. The keys are a symbol of the truest act of kindness anyone has ever given him, the home he made for himself on the second floor of that tailor shop. The communicator was the first expensive purchase he ever made, and it now allows him to talk to the people in his life that are slowly becoming important to him. But one of those people is Wilbur, so Tommy fully pulls his hand away.

"Is this really all you have?" The gunman hisses. Tommy's frown deepens, anger flaring his heart. These three objects are important to Tommy, and he doesn't like someone so callously assigning them little worth. Tommy's angry retorts hang in his chest when the gunman keeps the gun aimed at Tommy as he leans down to examine the objects more closely. "Move on, will ya? I don't need you anymore."

Tommy takes a hesitant step back. The man knocks the communicator over, creating a splash. Tommy takes another step back. This splash masks the sound of someone dropping down in the alleyway behind the gunman. Tommy takes another step back. The gunman lifts up the keys, trying to discern what building they open. Tommy takes another step back. The person behind the gunman rushes forward. Tommy stops moving. The gunman looks up to meet Tommy's eyes, and the person behind the gunman reaches out to grab the gun. The gunman's entire body jerks, and he tries pulling the trigger back. The gun is a pile of gray powder in his hands. The gunman's eyes widen. Tommy feels a slow smile rise across his lips as the gunman's head is shoved into the nearby wall, knocking him unconscious.

"Here you go, citizen! Sorry about taking so long," The person exclaims, picking up the radio, communicator, and keys. They were a muted blue factory jumpsuit with a scratched out patch on their chest that used to say a name. They wear a pair of goggles and a red bandanna around their nose and mouth. Pulverize is a vigilante that works in this area. His name very neatly explains his main power: he can turn anything inorganic into dust from a single touch on command. Tommy doesn't know that much more about Pulverize other than that even with the extensive research he did prior to leaving the tailor shop.

Once Tommy's belongings are returned to him, Pulverize turns back to the man he subdued. He sticks a flashing yellow clip onto the hem of his pants. When the clip snaps together, the clip beeps once and starts flashing green. Pulverize nods firmly, lifting back onto their feet with the spryness of a teenager. Pulverize turns away from the gunman and Tommy. The blonde slips his communicator and his keys back into his pockets quickly, calling out, "Wait!"

Pulverize does stop. He looks over his shoulder at Tommy. Although Tommy can't fully see Pulverize's eyebrow, he thinks the vigilante is raising an eyebrow in confusion. Most people don't care for vigilantes, even when one saves their life. Tommy thinks those people are foolish, but he isn't stopping Pulverize because he wants to express his gratitude. Instead he says, "I need to see Salamander. We're... business associates."

Pulverize fully turns around. Although his eyes are tinted from the goggles and masked by the secret charm, Tommy knows suspicion when he sees it. Pulverize's hands twitch at his sides. Tommy swallows, raising one of his hands up in innocence while the other one holds onto his radio. "I don't mean any harm! I couldn't even take out one guy with a gun. What the fuck am I supposed to do against Salamander?"

Pulverize stops. He puts a hand on his chin in contemplation. He glances around at the subdued man and Tommy, even paying special attention to Tommy's radio as if it would turn into a weapon somehow. Pulverize's eyes widen after a moment. "Oh, I get it! Alright, I'll take you to Salamander. In return, I want a new suit!"

Tommy takes a half-step back in surprise. He feels all the color drain out of his face. Pulverize laughs at him. He waves a hand at Tommy's concerns about his identity already being found out. "I noticed that a couple of villains were wearing new suits. When I mentioned this to Salamander, he told me that there was a new tailor doing business. The only reason a random person would want to see Salamander is if they were this tailor or if they were an undercover hero. I'm taking my chances here, but I really don't think you're an undercover hero."

"I am a tailor," Tommy sighs. He doesn't like that there is now another person who knows his identity. He doesn't like that he has yet another person's suit to make. But he also doesn't like that Wilbur is spending time as the Syndicate's prisoner. Tommy might not know much about Pulverize, but from what he does know, Pulverize is a good vigilante. Tommy came this far for Wilbur. He might as well go the extra mile. "Take me to Salamander, and I'll make your fucking suit. We will iron out the details later."

"Absolutely!" Pulverize agrees with triumph and excitement in his tone. Even though they only said words, Tommy feels the loose chain of a deal wrapping around his wrist, connecting him to the vigilante in front of him.

Pulverize pushes up his sleeve, showing off a rather sleek watch. Pulverize taps a button on the watch's screen. A whirring noise fills the air as a shadow falls between Pulverize and Tommy. The latter nearly trips backwards in an attempt to get away from the shadow, but Pulverize gets closer. The shadow is attached to a long and thin black board that reminds Tommy of a skateboard without wheels. There are hollow rings on either side of the board, pulsating with a green and yellow energy. Pulverize steps onto the hoverboard. He reaches a hand out toward Tommy.

Tommy hesitantly accepts Pulverize's hand. He is pulled onto the hoverboard. Pulverize wraps Tommy's arms around his waist, the radio pressing into Pulverize's stomach. Tommy is able to form the thought about how Pulverize isn't wearing any armor when they are rising in the air. Tommy's grip turns bone-crushing. Pulverize wheezes, reaching to loosen Tommy's arms. Tommy doesn't budge, and Pulverize groans while accepting his fate.

Tommy hesitantly looks over Pulverize's shoulder at the city below them. They aren't too far away from the rooftops, but Tommy knows a drop onto the streets is going to kill him. He winces, taking in a few deep breaths. He tries to see this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The view is nice, even when terror is poisoning most of his excitement. Tommy clings to Pulverize even tighter, wishing he specified that Pulverize needed to bring Tommy to Salamander completely intact.

"I'm really skilled with machinery, but I don't have a lick of talent with fabric. I can barely mend the suit I do use, let alone make a whole new suit with all the matching colors and pleasant designs. You seem to be really good at that, but I haven't noticed any machinery on your suits. I was thinking that we could work together to make my suit. I want to have mechanical functionality, but I also want it to look cool and stylish," Pulverize yells over the wind. Tommy listens to him, nodding against his shoulder. Tommy is barely processing the words, but he saves them away to be examined at a later date. He'll figure out a decent looking suit for Pulverize after he deals with Wilbur.

Finally, the hoverboard drops down onto a roof. Pulverize tries to step off, but Tommy is clinging to him so tightly that he can't budge. Pulverize releases an awkward laugh. He tries to untangle himself from Tommy's arms. Paired with his resistance, this enables both of them to fall onto the roof. Tommy lands on his side, thankfully preserving both his radio and his communicator. His keys aren't as lucky, but they seem to be doing more damage to Tommy and his jeans than what has been done to them.

Tommy can sense the injuries on Pulverize without needing to see them. His fingers tighten around his radio as he tries suppressing his powers. He opens his eyes, watching as the light disappears from his fingertips. He leans up to see if Pulverize noticed. The vigilante is standing up, stretching with his back to Tommy. The tailor sighs in relief, pulling himself onto his feet. Pulverize lifts the hoverboard up, sitting on it. Tommy puts his radio down on the hoverboard. He uses the sleeve of his hoodie to start cleaning up the mud still left on it from the gunman's mishandling of it. Pulverize watches with mild interest, not saying a word, not even about the suit he wants.

"What's the emergency?!" A voice demands behind Tommy. As he turns he notices Pulverize pointing his thumb at Tommy, designating the blonde as the emergency in question. Tommy continues to turn. He watches Salamander's worried expression turn into a glare as he meets Tommy's eyes. "What emergency could a tailor possibly have? Did he run out of thread or something?"

"I need to talk to Nemesis," Tommy replies, ignoring the joke made at his expense. He can feel Pulverize's eyes dart from Tommy to Salamander.

Salamander scoffs. "Even if I could contact Nemesis, I don't want to get in the middle of whatever fight you have with her."

"My friend was taken by the fucking Syndicate! I need to get my friend back," Tommy yells, stepping away from the hoverboard to Salamander. He knows he isn't going to win this fight, especially when the air begins to simmer around Salamander, but he once told Phantasm that it wasn't about winning: it was about surviving.

"Nemesis would never agree to help," Salamander responds. There is an emotion in his tone that reminds Tommy that he isn't the only one currently fighting with Nemesis. Salamander has his own problems with her, ones that derive from the same decision she made but for different reasons. Tommy isn't only asking Salamander to get between his fight with Nemesis, but Tommy is also asking him to put his fight with her on pause for a moment. Tommy feels a little bad about that, but someone's life is hanging in the balance so he doesn't feel too bad about it.

"Let Nemesis decide that on her fucking own, why don't you?" Tommy retorts. Tommy is making another gamble, but the ones he made so far have paid off. He came to this area hoping that Salamander would save him. While Salamander wasn't the one to do so, Tommy still got here, anyway. He is willing to take another risk asking Nemesis for help infiltrating the organization she joined so he can save someone they mutually like. Tommy has his doubts, but he'd rather take a chance than regret.

"Fine," Salamander declares. He pulls out his communicator. He taps a few things across the screen. His communicator buzzes in his hands a few seconds later. Salamander pushes his communicator back into the pocket he originally placed it in. "It might take awhile."

"I don't care. I'm willing to wait," Tommy shakes his head. He will stay on this rooftop for the entire night if he has to.

Salamander rolls his eyes, shifting his body weight away from Tommy a little more. Pulverize jumps up from the hoverboard. He leans forward, getting into Tommy's peripheral. "Come on, Salamander, I think the tailor's friendship with the victim is admirable. Who wouldn't want someone to go this far to rescue them?"

"Don't fucking call me that," Tommy hisses, looking around as if someone could be eavesdropping on them. It's bad enough that more people than he would like knows that he's the tailor for some dangerous villains, he doesn't want even more people finding out.

"Is couturier a better title? It does arguably sound cooler," Pulverize responds, as if the title itself is what Tommy had a problem with. Tommy glares at Pulverize, meeting his eyes even though his tinted goggles and the secret charm somewhere on his person.

"Pulverize, we shouldn't be slacking off," Salamander commands, narrowing his eyes at what seems to be his new partner. He's glad they're leaving. Not just because of how annoying Pulverize is to Tommy, but also because Tommy doesn't want to deal with Salamander's and Nemesis' problems. He assumes it would be awkward for Nemesis to meet Pulverize, though that one he isn't completely sure of. Nemesis might know Pulverize before all of this, or maybe Salamander and Pulverize have no connection deeper than them both being vigilantes independent of each other.

"See you soon, Couturier!" Pulverize exclaims, setting Tommy's radio into his hand. Pulverize starts walking away, and Tommy swears he can hear metal jangling like a chain pulling taut. Tommy ignores the weight of a deal left undone in his stomach, only to hear Pulverize telling Salamander about that very deal.

Tommy huffs, looking away from both of them. He drops down to sit on the rooftop. He puts his radio in his lap. He fiddles with the dials. He was hoping to hear a word about recent victims of kidnapping. He does hear about it, but none of the reports are about the Syndicate. They're all about the Binary Killer. The hybrid hunter has been more active as of late, apparently. Tommy feels horrible for the victims, but he doesn't stand a chance against the Binary Killer, not when he can't take care of a gunman by himself or when he has to resort to the help of villains to save his friend.

Tommy feels a second heartbeat. He switches off the radio, standing up. By the time he's on his feet, Nemesis is standing on the parapet of the rooftop wearing the suit Tommy made for her. She scans the rooftop, possibly looking for Salamander, and stops when she notices him. With all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, Nemesis stares at him with shock and pain. She takes a step off the parapet, landing on the roof with grace in her motions but awkwardness in her aura. Her hands come together, and she takes hesitant movements toward him.

"I need help getting in touch with Shadow Girl," Tommy asks, cutting through the awkwardness like a pair of scissors through cloth. He looks at the gemstone on Nemesis' forehead instead of her eyes.

"Why aren't you asking me for my help?" Nemesis asks softly. It sounds like there is pain in her voice, almost betrayal.

Tommy's eyes cut down into hers immediately. He hopes to find a joke there, but she is being completely serious. Tommy almost laughs in incredulity, but he maintains his composure. He glares at her pointedly. "You're too fucking devoted to the cause. All of you are, really, but Shadow Girl has to help me because she swore not to harm Wilbur."

"Wilbur?" Nemesis repeats. She is shocked, but she also seems confused. There is something odd in her reaction. She looks like someone who just got whiplash, as if Wilbur was the absolutely last thing on her mind.

Tommy notices it, but he can't pinpoint it. In his own confusion, he gets even angrier. "Yes, Wilbur, dammit! Ravager fucking kidnapped him, Nemesis!"

"I'll help you," Nemesis says immediately when Tommy finishes talking. He flinches back. This time, he has whiplash. A part of him did think Nemesis would agree to help but only after a lot of convincing. He didn't think she would automatically agree without even an appeal to her humanity.

"Why?" Tommy asks, genuinely curious and unable to reignite his anger with how troubled he is.

This time, Nemesis does hesitate. She twiddles her fingers, looking everywhere except Tommy. Her lips part subtly. When she does look back at Tommy, she answers a little too assuredly for Tommy's liking. "You and Wilbur are my friends, even if you don't consider us as such. I want to protect you both, even from my new allegiance. I'll contact Shadow Girl now."

Nemesis pulls out a communication device that the Syndicate must use. She sends some sort of message. Tommy shuffles on his feet, clinging to his radio even tighter. He is extremely confused, but he thinks he got what he wanted. Nemesis is going to help because she wants to, and Shadow Girl is obligated to help Tommy because of her promise. With these two, Tommy has a chance at rescuing Wilbur.

After a few seconds, Tommy feels another heartbeat. Shadow Girl steps out of a portal. Nemesis rushes to her immediately. Since they're on the other side of the roof and whispering, Tommy doesn't hear anything they say. Nemesis has his back to him and Shadow Girl's face is shrouded, so Tommy can't discern what they're talking about or what their emotions are based on expressions alone. Tommy forces the pout off his face as the two villainesses head over to him. Shadow Girl stands between Tommy and Nemesis like some sort of buffer. She looks between them both, asking, "What's our plan?"