Techie (Niall Horan AU)

1. Repairs

NIALL

The night was calm and clear, twinkling stars shining from their place in the heavens. The full moon illuminated the bustling city of New York below it, as well as two figures in particular running on the rooftops.

One was clad all in black, the other in deep shades of red. The man in black was running as fast as he could across the rooftops, a metal briefcase in hand. Every so often he would glance behind him, anxiety making him run even faster. What if he was right behind him? What if he caught him? What if-

His thoughts were interrupted when something caught the back of his collar, yanking him back to reality. The man fell back, the wind being knocked out of him as he hit the hard concrete roof. The case slipped out of his hand, sliding across the rooftop, only to be stopped by a dark red combat boot. The man on his back quivered in fear, wide eyes staring at the mask that hid the identity of the man he had been warned to never cross paths with.

The metal case had been picked up by the masked man and thrown to the side, far away from the scared man's reach.

"Haven't your parents taught you stealing is wrong?" The masked man sneered, stepping ever so closely to the criminal.

The criminal was scared out of his wits, rushing to crawl away from the dangerous masked man. He didn't dare say a word, only let out a frightened cry as the masked man lunged for him, grabbing him by the jacket collar and lifting him up. The man's hands reached for his attacker's, trying desperately to claw himself free. The masked vigilante smiled darkly before throwing the criminal's body across the rooftop, watching as he landed with a hard thud. The criminal yelped in pain but swiftly got to his feet, running towards a ladder that led down the building. The vigilante didn't move as the criminal ran, only raising his arm up and preparing to deliver his kill shot via his favorite weapon: a small launcher by his wrists that could shoot anything from bullets to nets for capture.

Irony was a sick twist of fate when the weapon didn't go off, a barely audible clicking sound escaping it as the goon got away. The vigilante was confused, looking over it before cursing silently. It must have broken when he was fighting the criminal. He hadn't even noticed.

I thanked God Harry had finally stopped, my chest heaving and my sweater making me sweat like I was in a sauna. I was never athletic, and having to climb a bunch of stairs to get to the roof wasn't one of my best skills.

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I finally got onto the roof, my heavy backpack feeling like a lead weight that was slowly crushing me. My legs were burning hotter than the searing fires of hell, and I was quite sure I was having an asthma attack for about seven seconds until my lungs finally began to function again.

Despite my condition, I still had enough energy to laugh at the poor crime fighter.

"Aw, did poor Ace break his favorite toy?" I teased, watching as the vigilante huffed before removing his mask, a tiny unruly ponytail of curls sticking up everywhere and glaring green eyes boring holes into my soul.

"It must have gotten damaged in the fight. I thought you said you had improved it, Niall." Harry complained, my finger raising up to silence him.

"I said I improved the aim, not the durability. It's a delicate weapon Harry, you can't be running around and hitting people with it like some demented kindergartener." I corrected him, taking a well deserved rest on the roof as I plopped down on the cold concrete. I opened my black backpack and dug around in it for my tools, holding my hand out for Harry's shooter. It was unlocked from his red uniform and placed in my palm, Harry deciding to take a break with me. His lanky yet muscular frame sat down next to me, scrutinizing eyes looking over my work.