Shroud was fast asleep on his couch, bundled in every blanket Tommy owned. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough that Tommy could barely see the tuft of black hair poking through the mess. The hybrid had crashed the moment Tommy lowered him onto the couch. He was scared that the spiderling couldn't regulate his own temperature in Tommy's freezing apartment, so his first instinct was to trap the child in the blankets. Plus, if Shroud did wake up and chose violence, Tommy would have some reaction time as the arachnid tried to break free from the blankets.

Tommy sat in a foldable chair, the metal warm beneath his weight after sitting there for a few hours. He held the syringe in his hand. His fingers were pressed into the side of the glass. The violet colored liquid sloshed to the sides with a viscosity similar to water. There wasn't much left in the syringe, only about an eighth of the volume size. Tommy speculated that it was less than a single fluid ounce. He wondered if that would be enough for someone to identify the liquid. He knew for certain that it was a potion of some sort. The color was similar to the illegal drugs. It had the distinct property of manipulating the mind in some capacity. Tommy wasn't exactly sure, but he thought it was fair to assume that the liquid aggravated a person, getting them to commit violent deeds they normally wouldn't consider. That, or maybe it reverted a hybrid's mental state to that of the Mob they were crossed with. Whatever the case, the thing wasn't good.

Tommy could make some potions. He had learned as a child how to do that. The problem was that he didn't have the machinery to test the potion to find its ingredients. If he knew what the ingredients were, he would obviously be able to figure out the potion, or at least, the type of potion. There were no nearby places that sold that type of machinery, either, and even if they did, Tommy didn't have the cash for that. He would have to break into a laboratory. That would take weeks of planning to make sure he didn't get caught, especially since the only viable ones were in Snowchester and Badlands districts. The other thing he could do is head down to the streets to find an illegal potions dealer, but he wasn't stupid enough to trust one of those goons to help him.

There was one more option. It was technically the least dangerous option, but it would require Tommy to dawn a dead man's suit. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do that. He knew someone who was smart enough to find the contents of the potion with free access to a laboratory. It was someone that Tommy could trust in certain capacities, and this certainly counted as one of those capacities. That person would only respond to Vermillion. They didn't know Tommy, and the blonde wasn't willing to give up his identity, not even for an old friend.

Tommy had been agonizing about his options for hours. He had four of them, each with their own drawbacks. He could sneak into a laboratory; this plan would require the most planning and would require time that he didn't have. He could find a dealer on the streets, but that required him to trust the person he would be indebted to. He could become Vermillion for one more night to see his former friend, but that would lead to an argument and probably some misunderstandings. He could do nothing. He could put Shroud in some orphanage and throw away the syringe. He could pretend that he had seen nothing. That would be the smartest option, but it was the one that Tommy refused to consider. He couldn't just do nothing. If he did, people were going to get hurt. What if someone had found Shroud? Those people would have been hurt. Shroud would have been captured and unfairly put in jail. No one would care that it had been the potion messing with a literal child's mind. Tommy was the only one who would care.

Tommy looked back over at the child. That's right. He was the only one who cared. Shroud didn't have anyone else. Tommy, no matter how much he didn't want to, had to be the one to help because no one else would. Tommy swallowed thickly. He had to look past his pride. Shroud, and so many other hybrids out there, needed his help right now.

Tommy felt his grip tighten around the syringe, pushing onto his feet. He walked to the closet at the end of the hallway. He opened it to reveal a bunch of boxes with a few towels and rags resting on the shelf. Tommy pushed his way through the boxes to find something he had buried in the back. It was a black briefcase with frosted metal framing. Tommy ran his hand along the front, feeling the tough leather scrape against his fingertips. His hand slid all the way down until it touched the metallic number code lock. Tommy flipped the dials until they formed his password. The internal locking system slides to unlock the briefcase. Tommy hesitantly tugged the case open. He ran his hand against the clothing that was folded neatly inside, as pristine as the day Tommy had received the gift. He could still remember the smile on his friend's face as they pushed the briefcase into Tommy's awaiting arms, showing him how to unlock it. Even now, Tommy could feel the warmth that had enveloped his body when he had thrown his arms around his friend in gratitude. Tommy shoved the bittersweet memory away as he pulled the outfit out of its metallic confines.

Tommy changed into the outfit fairly quickly. It was a dark red bodysuit with white pieces of armor including pauldrons, a belt, knee pads, gloves, and boots. He clicked on a thin, elegant looking mask that covered the bottom half of his face from his nose to his neck. Tommy pulled on the hood that came with the outfit, covering the tufts of his hair with it. He leaned down towards the briefcase. Twin knives laid motionless, their sharpened points facing in opposite directions. The blades were obsidian black, but the hilt was wrapped with dark, almost maroon leather ribbons that protected Tommy's hand when he wielded them. He wouldn't need them. He wasn't going to fight any criminals or save anyone. Still, Tommy reluctantly grabbed onto them, pushing them into hilts held to his hips by a black ribbon tied that resembled a belt. Tommy double checked his outfit once before slipping out the window from his bedroom.

—

Vermillion jumped from one rooftop to the next. He didn't slow down, continuing to bound forward on agile feet that rarely touched the ground. He kept his body compact, holding himself as tightly as he could to minimize the air resistance. It was also to hide his body enough that if someone saw him, they would think he was just a traceur doing parkour in the late hours of night. It was a fun and free activity that some teenage boys and girls did in their spare time in Logstedshire. It was good practice for the day that the cops would unfairly chase after them because someone described a handful of traits to the police that could fit literally anyone. Vermillion knew how specific that sounded, but when he had asked the kids why they leapt from building to building, he was either given that answer or the kids saying it was just good fun. Either way, Vermillion hoped he could fit in as one of those kids to the casual observer.

It became wishful thinking once he crossed the district line. People in the other districts didn't jump across buildings for multiple reasons. They had other ways to have fun. They were usually busy with school or work. They actually had parks and recreational facilities. The police didn't chase after them for being a random kid with brown hair and eyes who looked the taddist bit suspicious. Heroes and villains were the ones who jumped from one roof to the other, and the civilians didn't want to get in the way. Those were all valid reasons.

Vermillion hoped that the other districts wouldn't recognize him like the people from his own district would. He had been known as an uncivilized nuisance instead of the Red Angel to the neighboring districts of Logstedshire, and he was positive that those farther out didn't even know who he was. He wasn't an official hero. He didn't get paid or marketed like all the others. That was fine by him. He didn't need to become some billboard sensation. Well, he would like some of the money. That would have made his life a lot easier.

Vermillion stops short when he sees a shadow moving around beneath him. He drops to the ground, pressing his body against the roof and peeking over to see what would happen. A man holding a bloodied knife crept along the bottom of the alley. Vermillion would have jumped down to incapacitate the man, but he held back to wait for the true hero. Seconds later, he was rewarded for his patience as a figure came rushing from the edge of the alleyway. The hero ran all the way towards the man, tackling him to the ground before the man had time to react. The hero kicked the knife away from the man, holding his arms behind his back. Vermillion watched with a weak flame of pride trying to burn in his chest. Vermillion put that flame out the moment he felt it catch on the pyre that was his memories. Vermillion didn't care about the hero. There was nothing between the two but hatred, and Vermillion would rather die than admit otherwise.

The hero dragged the man towards the front of the alley. Vermillion crept along to watch the hero hand over the man to the police. He was given thanks by the officers, and they pushed the man into the police car. In a few minutes, the alley was abandoned by the police officers. The hero stayed where he was standing, and Vermillion took that as his cue to vault over the edge of the building. He used his powers to slow his fall. Even though it had been years since he last used his ability, he knew instinctively how to utilize his ability. It was second nature, something that had quite literally been ingrained into him.

The hero turned around quickly to see how tried to sneak up on him. His eyes widened when Vermillion stepped out of the shadows. The hero's hands fell slack beside him as his dark greenish blue eyes searched Vermillion up and down. He reached a hand out hesitantly, and Vermillion remained standing where he was. The hero shook his head, snapping out of whatever funk he had found himself in. "You're not real. You aren't real. You can't be."

"Big K, look at me. Do I look not real to you? I feel real fucking real. Here, touch my hand, you little bitch. You'll see I'm not a ghost," Vermillion said with an eye roll. He expected this kind of reaction. Kamikaze, or Big K as Vermillion was exclusively allowed to call him, had been one of the first people to find out that Vermillion had died along with Ender and Blaze. Vermillion didn't like to remember that moment. The second the news was finished, Blaze had wandered off while trying to fight off tears and Kamikaze had been stuck in deep denial. Vermillion hated seeing his closest friends that... weakened. He always thought of them as the strongest people he knew. He hated seeing them torn apart by what should have been simple news.

"Warden told us that you had died," Kamikaze said as he brought his hand up to touch Vermillion's shoulder. His face tightened when he felt the warm cloth beneath his skin. Kamikaze drew his hand back like he had been burned.

"To be fair, Warden thought I was dead. But nope! I'm alive no matter what that fucker or Dream says," Vermillion said, waving his hands back and forth like it didn't matter. He knew that it did, though. He knew that he had severely hurt Kamikaze by disappearing, and he was certain that he was hurting Kamikaze by showing up out of nowhere.

"Where the hell did you go then? Why did you let everyone think you were dead when you clearly fucking aren't?!" Kamikaze demanded with anger rising in his tone. Vermillion could see the sadness glowing in the deepest parts of his eyes. Kamikaze gripped the sides of Vermillion's shoulders, holding him in place with all the strength the hero possessed.

"I need you to look at the drug in this syringe. It made a young hybrid go batshit crazy, and I made a promise to myself to find out what the fuck happened to him. If I find that the situation is bigger than I think it is... I don't know. I might solve the shitty situation all by myself," Vermillion said, pulling one of Kamikaze's hands off his shoulder to slip the syringe in his palm. Kamikaze stumbled back, pulling the syringe to his face to watch the liquid swirl like Vermillion had done mere hours ago. Vermillion smiled slightly behind his mask. He missed his friend, and he was being reminded of that fact the longer he watched Kamikaze fall back into the easy motions of their friendship. "The hybrid was a young spiderling named Shroud. He's currently passed out at my place. I think he's an orphan. This thing was in his neck when I found him. He tried to attack me like he really was a spider."

"That's a big deal. If anyone catches wind that hybrids are starting to exhibit hostile behavior, Logstedshire will be swarmed with anti-hybrid extremists. I can't imagine the amount of violent backlash that will cause. There would be so many riots that will probably end in casualties on both sides, and if even one anti-hybrid is hurt, they'll say hybrids can't be trusted and this will perpetuate the cycle of violence," Kamikaze said with wide eyes. Vermillion pushed a smile down. Leave it to his best friend to understand the exact fears that were keeping Vermillion chained to this case. He might have given up being a hero, but he couldn't stand by and watch the people of his district get slaughtered for something that wasn't their fault. He could just see Shroud lying in a pool of his own blood; a young spiderling who was just trying to survive meeting a brutal end because someone had injected him with a drug. "I'll do it. I'll help you find out where this potion came from. If we know the ingredients, we can backtrack the records to find out who is buying what and from who they are buying it from. We'll find whoever is producing this drug, and we'll put them in prison before anything happens."

"I think you are confused, Big K. We are not doing shit. This is my district and responsibility. I'm not getting you caught up in this bullshit," Vermillion shook his head. Kamikaze was one of the main heroes of Snowchester. He had a duty to his district to protect the people there. Vermillion was fine with Kamikaze using a little bit of free time to help him, but he wasn't expecting Kamikaze to drop everything to help him. There would be no reason for Kamikaze to help. The hero wasn't a hybrid, and Snowchester didn't have hybrids. Kamikaze would lose more by getting involved than he would gain.

"Your district? Your responsibility? Did you have that same mentality when you made everyone think you were fucking dead?!" Kamikaze demanded angrily. Vermillion smiled sadly. He knew that Kamikaze wouldn't forgive him easily. They had been friends for such a long time. They had seen each other through a lot of painful experiences. Vermillion didn't know exactly what was going through his friend's mind, but he knew that it was probably a lot of conflicting emotions. Vermillion knew that if someone he once loved and presumed dead came to him to tell him that they were never dead, he would be all types of angry and sad. "There had to be a reason why you stopped being Vermillion and faked your own death. Tell me what happened... please."

"There's nothing to tell. I fucking quit. That's it," Vermillion snapped bitterly. Why did everyone assume that there was some noble reason for him to throw in the towel? What if he was just a coward that couldn't deal with helping so many people anymore? He could have stopped being a vigilante because he didn't have the time. There didn't need to be profound significance in his actions.

"I have known you for a long time, Vermillion. Not only do I know when you're lying, but I also know that there is no way in hell you would give up being a hero for you district for some stupid reason. I don't believe you, not one bit," Kamikaze said with a narrowed glint in his eyes. His entire body rose up with a newfound purpose, and Vermillion remembered one of the reasons why he had became friends with Big K. Kamikaze always had this unshakeable spirit that Vermillion admired and envied. Kamikaze had never given up on Vermillion, and the latter would be eternally grateful for that. He just couldn't keep this relationship alive. He couldn't force his friend to experience that again.

"You don't know shit about me, then. Look, I'll be back in a few days to find out what that fucking drug is. Don't do shit about it without me, alright? I did quit and fake my death like the fucking Chad I am, but I will ressurect my own ass. I thought Logstedshire was fine without me, but looks like I was wrong. Hybrids already get shit on by everyone else. I refuse to let them die for a stupidass reason like this," Vermillion said, shaking his head. "And... I did quit. That's all I fucking did. There was no reason. I just didn't want to be Vermillion anymore. Get that shit through your thick skull. I won't tolerate my former friends believing any bullshit."

Kamikaze might have said something in retaliation, but Vermillion pushed off his toes to launch himself into the air. He landed on a nearby rooftop, and he didn't waste any time in getting back to his district. He couldn't stay in Snowchester for too long. Kamikaze was not the only hero that patrolled the district, and Vermillion did not want to face him.