Through Potions and Books it's still, you isn't it?

Chapter one

Perhaps it was fate that brought Tommy to this exact rooftop he'd currently been standing on. Perhaps it was a god who whispered something in his ear, urging him to patrol this specific area of town. Perhaps it was his own foolishness for believing the heroes would actually leave him alone after the many months he'd spent running from them, always slipping through their fingers, never once allowing them to hold him in one spot for longer than a couple minutes. Or perhaps it was just a coincidence.

Either way, here he stood, on a rooftop in one of the poorer regions of L'Manberg. It had been quiet, too quiet but he chose to ignore his gut feeling yelling at him to leave this area. Looking over the city he spotted the hero HQ, the very centre of this godforsaken city that had done nothing for people like him. The tower stood out from the rest of the city, painted in warm lights and a colour palette that must've been chosen by a toddler (seriously, who chose blue, yellow and red out of all colours for the hero tower?). Tommy quietly thanked that one sane artist for the constant black mirrored windows, at least they added something normal to the abomination called Tower.

Next to the famous HQ two other small towers stood, the accommodation tower filled with flats for heroes and sometimes vigilantes who decided to work for the government. It was rare for the government to pick up vigilantes for the hero program, even rarer for them to continue as their chosen vigilante persona. The young boy assumed those vigilantes were kids from rich people who bribed the government with money to let them continue having fun in the richer areas of the city, getting some of the fame that usually only heroes got. Tommy seriously doubted that these kids ever stopped a proper crime, usually, they'd been traced by one of the top heroes (without the so-called vigilantes realising that is) to make sure they didn't get themselves killed. He scoffed at the thought of that, in that case, heroes were nothing but glorified babysitters.

The towers had been surrounded by many more buildings and shops of all sorts, some just as lit up as the tower itself, some not. Skyscrapers reach into the sky here and there, the mirrored glass windows allowing the young vigilante to get a proper look at himself. Red-stained goggles sat on top of his nose, hiding the true colour of his eyes. His mouth was covered by a simple black mask he had made himself using ripped sweaters, secured by extra clips on the back of his head. He hadn't had the resources for a voice modulator which meant he had to hold his tongue, no matter how much it pained him to do so. He really wished he could cuss criminals out, the constant taunting of What, cat got your tongue? got rather annoying after some time. But for his own safety, he forced himself to not speak, relying on the basic sign language he learned for this exact reason. It hadn't been much, barely the alphabet and some simple phrases like Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance? enough to help victims of crimes and usually he didn't have to rely on it since the citizens knew what to do. He hadn't exactly been a well-known vigilante but it wasn't like no one knew him either, there had been plenty of reports about him on the news and the fact that heroes were sent after him had filled him with pride.

A red hoodie with shoulder and back padding had been the most notable feature of his 'suit', the white hood of it covering his blonde, almost golden locks at all times. Black pants and cargo boots covered everything else with notable features (scars) on his body. The black gloves he wore at all times felt odd on his hands, the double purpose of keeping his power under control and keeping his hands warm whilst fighting and patrolling would now be put to use.

The young vigilante stood at the edge of the roof, facing the person on the opposite roof from him, a 42-story gap saving him from being captured immediately. His ability was striving underneath his skin, begging the blonde boy to pull off the gloves and use them, to show the hero in front of him what he was truly capable of. The real extent of his power.

Never again.

A brown trench coat flapped in the wind, the brown locks peeking through the dark red beanie fully covering the pale forehead of the hero standing in front of him. The otherwise hazel eyes are covered by a simple black mask with a white opening where the hero's eyes would be, tied together on the back of his head covered by the beanie. A sharp jawline and an even sharper smirk could be seen on the lower part of the man's face. The beanie and the trenchcoat were the only touches of colour in the hero's outfit, a black suit with padding and black cargo boots fulfilled his outfit. A utility belt was strapped around the man's waste, holding all sorts of items and colourful potions.