Celerity

Call Me Celerity (Chapter 2)

**Celerity**—a name whispered in the darkest corners of Rochester, a vigilante who moved like a phantom through the city's veins. Nancy had become something more than human, and her nightly patrols were both a burden and a calling.

The moon hung low, casting elongated shadows across the alleyways. Nancy's dark yellow suit clung to her skin, its fabric rustling as she leaped from rooftop to rooftop. Her superhuman senses picked up the faintest sounds—the scurrying of rats, the distant wail of sirens, and the rhythmic breaths of the city's insomniacs.

Tonight, she sensed trouble brewing near the old train station. The air tasted of desperation, and the flickering lampposts revealed a scene of violence. A man in a tattered coat held a knife to another's throat—a mugging in progress. Nancy's heart clenched; she couldn't ignore it.

She descended silently, her boots touching down on the cracked pavement. The mugger's eyes widened as he saw her, the dark red mask framing her gaze. His trembling hand faltered, the blade slipping from his grasp. Nancy moved faster than thought, disarming him with a twist of her wrist. The victim stumbled backward, gasping for air.

"Who are you?" the victim croaked, blood still staining his collar. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear and awe.

Nancy hesitated. She had no name, no identity beyond the suit that clung to her skin. But in that moment, she needed one—a moniker that would echo through the city, a beacon of hope or dread, depending on who whispered it.

"Celerity," she said, her voice low and steady. "Call me Celerity."

The victim nodded, his gratitude etched into every line of his face. "Thank you, Celerity. You saved my life."

But Nancy knew it wasn't that simple. She had saved him tonight, but how many others would need saving? How many more alleys would she haunt, how many more blades would she deflect? The weight of her powers pressed upon her, a reminder that she was no savior—just a girl who moved too fast for her own good.

As the sirens wailed in the distance, Nancy vanished into the night. Celerity—the name clung to her like a shroud. It was fitting—a blend of speed and purpose, of shadows and sacrifice. She wondered if she'd ever see the sun again, if her life would forever be a dance with danger.

The city slept, unaware of its newfound guardian. Celerity would continue her patrols, her footsteps echoing through the empty streets. She was no hero, no avenger—just a girl who had become something more, something less. And as the darkness swallowed her, she wondered if redemption was possible at the speed of sound.