Welcome to the Talonverse! The Talon Alliance series has been in the works for a very long time and I'm using Camp NaNoWriMo to finally kick things off.
This is set in the same universe as Echoes of Steel (which will be more of a side project), and also many of the characters are featured in my Pride Month oneshots, so those are my two shameless plugs.
The pigeons of San Francisco were a common sight, perching on awnings and roosting under overhangs. Even the plastic owls or the metal spikes installed on the rooftops didn't deter the birds from turning their whole city into their nesting grounds. Martin saw whole flocks of pigeons sometimes on his usual walk home from work, and though they were considered a nuisance to many, they never failed to make him smile, like few other things could.
"Out of all the birds out there, why would you choose a pigeon? They're basically flying rats," his friend Reyna had asked him once.
"That is true, but at least they're flying rats," had been Martin's response. Now, as he watched a pigeon pecking around on the street fly away to safety as soon as a car turned the corner, he thought that birds had it easy.
About twenty years ago, when Martin was a baby and his mother was still alive, a petty villain by the name of Menagerie had appeared in the city. She had terrorized the guests of the San Francisco Zoo on multiple occasions, commanding tigers, gorillas, or even meerkats. This led to Menagerie and at least two of her alter egos getting permanently banned from the zoo. However, the closest that she had gotten to doing any real damage was during the Pigeon Incident. That day, massive flocks of birds had mobbed teams of reporters and television stations across the city, appearing on every news channel. And suddenly Menagerie was being broadcast on local news as she ranted about how corrupt and oppressive the city's Department of Heroes was, as the pigeons swarmed in the background. It had taken weeks for the local news station to clean up all the bird droppings. When the pro heroes arrived on the scene, the pigeons carried Menagerie away, until she ran out of breadcrumbs and was finally dropped by the birds, falling straight into the heroes' hands. The Pigeon Incident had required copious amounts of planning and bread, but it was still talked about to this day.
Menagerie's takeover had posed a valuable lesson to the people of San Francisco: out of all the meta abilities out there, communicating with animals wasn't exactly the most exciting one, but with a little preparation and creativity, it could still be very impactful. Metas were required by law to register their abilities with the Department of Heroes for a reason. However, Martin thought that Menagerie's power was still better than what he had gotten, and he would pay to see a supervillain come up with a nefarious plot using his power. Instead, he had learned a different lesson from the Menagerie incident. Pigeons were humble animals, overlooked and unremarkable, but numerous, and thus a force to be reckoned with if they could be rallied for a common cause. Perhaps, people were the same. According to the latest population census, metas made up around only five percent of the city's population, and even that was much higher than the world average.
Martin reluctantly left behind the trio of pigeons that were squabbling over a half of a bagel and continued down the street, cutting through a back alley and expertly avoiding the puddles and trash. It was always a drastic change in climate when he used the back streets, but he knew it would save a lot of time. And as expected, he quickly made it back to his apartment.
No sooner than he had taken off his shoes and set down his briefcase, Martin's phone buzzed in his pocket. His father was like clockwork.
Martin quickly answered the call, and immediately heard his father's voice. "Martin? I just wanted to say happy Friday. Did you make it back home okay?"
"Of course," he responded. Martin never got lost.
The calls were a Friday night ritual for Martin and his father. Martin was relieved to hear that his father was still active and spending time in the sun, up north in Montreal, and that no, his arthritis wasn't getting worse. His father asked about Martin's office job and his latest fencing tournament in turn. Neither of them were avid conversationalists, or even expressive people for that matter, but they tried their best.
"Stay safe, Martin. I love you."
Martin felt a pang of guilt. Father would be so worried if he knew what he was about to do.
Martin recalled the story that his father had told him once: the racing pigeon Whitetail, who had disappeared during a race, only to return to his home roost five years later, completely unscathed. "Your mother was like Whitetail," Father had told him.
Mitzi Vogel's power was innate and instinctual. Father had called it her "sixth sense," a sense of direction. Much like a homing pigeon, she always knew where to go and how to get there.
But now, Martin was Whitetail. From everything he had been told, he was just like his mother, with the same straw-colored hair and pale blue eyes. Along with the same, rarely relevant power.
Soon after Martin had bid his father farewell and goodnight, his phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from his friend Cyrus, to a group chat with him and Reyna.'Hiii we still on 2nite?'
Martin softly smiled to himself, as his hesitance was quickly replaced by eager anticipation. His friends were counting on him, and Whitetail couldn't keep his team waiting.. He typed out a response. 'Of course, it will be the same place as always. Travel safely and stay vigilant. I look forward to seeing you two.'
Cyrus' 'Sure! :D' and Reyna's 'aight' made Martin's complete, punctuated sentences seem completely overkill, but that was nothing new for the group.
Martin quickly glanced at the time. Even with his navigation, he would have to get ready quickly and leave soon to meet his friends on time. His power gave him a good sense of those types of things.
Martin's costume was already laid out in his room—he had made a point to be prepared. Whitetail was a fencer first and a pigeon second, and he wore protective padding underneath his white coat with exaggerated long coattails. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind adding a little bulk to his lanky frame.
His square wire glasses were swapped for contacts, as they were when he was fencing, but the rapier he carried was real, with a keen edge and a sharp point. Then he grabbed his helmet, a modified fencing helmet with a black mesh mask over his face and a slightly pointed 'beak' shape. Lastly, Martin picked up a small, circular steel pin from his dresser, turning it around in his hand. He felt the raised design on the metal, a sleek graphic he had designed himself, of a bird's head with a pair of crossed feathers underneath, emulating a skull and crossbones.
With the symbol of The Talon Alliance pinned on his chest, Whitetail was finally ready. He left his apartment and easily found the familiar path, weaving through alleys, as he headed to their designated meeting place. This time, he didn't let himself get distracted by the pigeons.
Martin had studied the pro heroes of the past years, and he knew that branding was of the utmost importance. Every good superhero—and villain—had an ethos, a specific driving concept behind their persona, or as Cyrus would say, a "vibe." The famous inventor hero Cavalier had managed to combine medieval and cyberpunk aesthetics with her robotic mount and mechanical lance. The rogue villain Father Nature was a wild anarchist with his plant powers, but he was also originally a farmer from the Midwest and it showed.
And Whitetail's team? He had known from the beginning. They were birds.
When Whitetail arrived at their usual meeting place, an inconspicuous narrow lot between two buildings, Peregrine was waiting for him, leaning against the side of a building with one leg bent. Nobody could hope to beat her in a race, no matter how optimal the path that Whitetail took was. Her blue-tinted goggles were trained on him with her usual intense stare, always slightly intimidating even though she barely came up to his chest. Yellow and white racing stripes stood out along her black jumpsuit, and she wore the same silver pin as Whitetail.
"Whitetail." Peregrine gave him a small nod and lowered her hood, revealing a mess of curly dark brown hair that reached her chin.
When Whitetail saw her, he relaxed his guard and followed suit, removing his helmet. "It's good to see you." Peregrine was also the team's lookout, and even though she was currently fidgeting anxiously with the rifle she carried, she was always watching and listening.
As Whitetail had trusted, Peregrine was quick to point out Swansong coming from a nearby rooftop. Whitetail turned and saw him jump down from the high, three-story building, his silver Talon Alliance pin glinting in the glow of a fluorescent streetlight. Swansong's descent slowed as if he was a feather drifting in the wind, until he came to float just above the ground in front of the other two. His costume was a pure white bodysuit with a golden collar and sleeves. A golden flute was in his hand, and he had a long, flowing silver cape made of a tulle-like material. His face was partially hidden with his orange visor hat, which invoked a beak on his silhouette, but his slicked-back black hair was always neat. Both his cape and hair appeared almost wind-blown, and Whitetail marveled at how he managed to do it. If anyone had a "vibe," it was Swansong.
Like the others, he pushed up his visor when he saw them, a soft smile on his face. It was good to see each other's faces, but now, they were teammates before they were friends. "So, is there any news?" Swansong asked.
Whitetail shook his head wearily.
"The Department has been keeping things under wraps, even more than usual," Peregrine huffed and cracked her knuckles.
"Well, it seems only logical," Whitetail responded. "The pro heroes are the only ones that should be entrusted with these types of jobs."
"Well, there's always patrol?" Swansong offered sheepishly, looking between the two.
"No news is good news, we are working towards a safer city after all," Whitetail added, more to remind himself than anything else. With that, he put his beaked fencing helmet back on and drew his sword. "Let's go. It will get late," he said briskly.
Whitetail held his rapier out towards his friends, noting how it still felt strange to carry. It was heavier than a fencing sword, yet moved more easily at the same time. He wasn't fighting for sport anymore.
Peregrine put on her hood and held out her rifle over Whitetail's rapier, and Swansong put his flute on top.
"We are The Talon Alliance!" they gave a hushed cheer.
The three dashed off into the night, scouting the streets for anyone in need of help. Whitetail led the way, but his mind was still whirling as it hit him: they were still young, just barely out of their teenage years. How was The Talon Alliance going to build their ethos? Beyond the pros, metas weren't exactly appreciated, even in one of the most diverse city-states in the world. He needed to be a hero, to be loved and respected and trusted above all.
Or else he would end up like his mother.
Unsurprisingly, it was Peregrine who spotted something. She held up her hand, and Swansong and Whitetail both stopped to look at her expectantly. "There!" she pointed.
"Um, Peregrine?" Swansong asked, confused, as he and Whitetail only saw the side of a building.
She cocked her head for a moment. "Right. I was looking through the wall again, wasn't I," she murmured. "Follow me!"
Whitetail knew that it was hard for Peregrine to maintain her x-ray vision while they were moving. But they all knew to give it their all. "Thank you, Peregrine."
Peregrine zoomed around the side of the building, grabbing a lamppost to drift around the corner. Whitetail and Swansong exchanged glances before running to follow her.
They found themself at a small 24-hour convenience store. Light was coming from inside and the 'OPEN' sign still flashed, but the windows were strangely fogged over.
Whitetail cautiously touched the door handle and his eyes widened in surprise. "It's… cold." He could feel the cold even through his thick glove, and he had to pull to remove it before it fully froze to the door. He flexed his fingers to warm up his hand again. "That's not fog. It's frost."
"What can you see?" Swansong asked Peregrine.
"There's a guy. With a face," Peregrine stated bluntly, buying time as she concentrated on seeing through the wall.
Whitetail couldn't help but crack a small smile. "Please do elaborate."
"It looks like… I can't tell if he works there or not, he's… doing something behind the counter?" Peregrine grabbed onto Swansong's arm to steady herself as she looked into the store. The sudden shifts in depth of perspective could make her dizzy. "But there's ice everywhere. It has to be a meta."
"Are they a threat?" Whitetail asked, straining to see through the windows, but he was only able to make out vague shapes.
"There's only one way to find out," Peregrine joked, and Swansong gave a nervous laugh at that.
It made sense to wait and collect more information. In fencing, it wasn't always beneficial to make the first move. But he also knew how quickly the aggressor and defender could trade places, and Whitetail didn't want them to be spotted and lose that advantage. "People could be getting hurt in there. Prepare yourselves."
Behind him, Peregrine had taken out her gun and Swansong had his flute ready. In the back of his mind, Whitetail knew that he was also worried about the pros arriving and taking this job away from them.
Whitetail flung the door open. It was bitterly cold in the store, and even though Whitetail's coat was thick, it wasn't very insulating, and he knew his teammates probably had it worse. The Talons were immediately greeted by a man behind the counter, with his face hidden by a silver visor and a pale blue cloak. He brought to mind the illustrations of mages from the tabletop war games that he had briefly dabbled in.
"Freeze!" the cloaked man yelled and gave a crazed laugh, before raising a gloved hand and making a gesture like an uppercut. Suddenly a thick pillar of ice, ending in a sharp point, came out of the frozen ground right in front of Whitetail.
Whitetail quickly smashed through the ice with the pommel of his rapier and rushed forward. He knew just where to step, maintaining his sure footing despite the layer of ice on the floor. "Be careful, it's slippery," he muttered, as Peregrine held on to a shelf to steady herself and Swansong floated just above the icy surface. He also noted that even though there was a thin layer of frost on all of the shelves, nothing seemed very disrupted or out of place besides the open drawers behind the counter. Possibly a petty robber. But where was the cashier?
"What do you want?" Whitetail called out, pointing his rapier at the presumed villain.
"I am Cryoblast!" was all he said in response.
Whitetail had followed the news extensively and meticulously categorized the different villains and vigilantes of the city in his mind, but he had never heard the name before. "Would you… be new to this?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Well, I've never heard of the lot of you either," Cryoblast responded with a huff, his cloud of breath visible in the cold air. Whitetail couldn't argue with that, but it still hurt.
"We are The Talon Alliance," Whitetail responded, in what he hoped was a low and intimidating tone, as he raised his sword and pointed it at Cryoblast. It was a rehearsed line, definitely not one that he had practiced in front of the mirror many times. He quickly assessed the situation. The store was pretty cramped, so it probably wasn't a good idea to start shooting at such close quarters. It was best to avoid severely wounding people as much as possible, as well as limit property damage. Beyond the pro scene, there was a fine line between hero and villain.
This left The Talon Alliance with one option. Whitetail turned to his floating teammate. "Swansong?"
Cryoblast began to scoff as he saw the white and gold clad hero lift his flute to his lips. "What's that going to do?" But he quickly paled when Swansong began to play.
The small store was filled with a highly intricate, but rather dissonant and eerie sounding melody. Even though Whitetail had braced himself for it, he felt himself being struck by a wave of uneasiness and fear, and his sword hand shook slightly as he continued to point his rapier at the villain. Peregrine, standing next to him with her rifle lowered but still at the ready, seemed to grow uncomfortable as well as she nervously shifted back and forth.
Swansong floated up a little higher in the air and continued to play.
Cryoblast backed away slowly as he cringed at the music. "Stop that!" he yelled out in panic. Another ice spike came out of the floor at Swansong, but the musician kicked it and pushed off from it, floating backwards to safety. But he had stopped playing.
Cryoblast vaulted over the counter and skated across the icy floor, nearly colliding with the freezer in the back of the store that held ice cream and other frozen things.
Whitetail quickly followed, only to see Cryoblast throw open the door to the freezer. "We don't have to fight! I promise I'm a ton-dra of fun!" Suddenly he was met by a blast of cold air and pelted with snow.
Despite the situation, Whitetail respected the groan-worthy pun as he shielded his face from the blast. "Tundra. That's good." Keeping up good banter was important for being a hero. Or at least that was the way it was depicted on the news.
Whitetail brushed the sleet off of his costume. "Tell me, Cryoblast." He spoke as calmly as he could, trying not to let his teeth chatter. "Why are you here, and why are you doing this?"
"I'm a meta like you, I can't be a nobody forever! … wait, are you even a meta?"
Whitetail grit his teeth and ignored Cryoblast as he dodged another ice spike. "Did he take anything? Make sure there's nobody else in here," he called out to his teammates. Cryoblast obviously didn't want to cooperate, so they would need to make sure that he hadn't done any damage… besides the ice, of course. And they would be careful to act only in self-defense, as it was easy for their words and actions to be twisted against them
Peregrine tried to get to the counter, but she slipped and fell on the ice. Swansong quickly floated over to help her up. But when Cryoblast turned towards them, Whitetail stepped in front of him, holding his rapier in a defensive stance.
"You want a fight, huh?" Cryoblast created another icicle that grew sideways out of the wall right by his hand, which he broke off and pointed at Whitetail. "En garde!" He pronounced it like 'Enn gar-dee' and Whitetail's eye twitched. But he smirked underneath his helmet and obliged.
The Talon Alliance weren't exactly veterans, but this was the first time that Whitetail found himself in something close to an actual sword fight. He quickly realized that fencing was hardly considered preparation for the real thing. Cryoblast was relentless. He grew another icicle and broke it off with his other hand, and hacked wildly at Whitetail with both improvised blades.
Frost was starting to creep up Whitetail's boots, and he stamped his feet to clear it. He realized that Cryoblast could freeze him in place if he gave his opponent a chance, and shifted his stance onto the balls of his feet. He had to keep moving. He did his best to fend off the two blades, parrying each of the wild slashing attacks with practiced skill, but he found he was slowly losing ground.
But Whitetail could also see that Cryoblast was reckless and clearly unskilled. Whitetail looked for an opening, a slight imbalance in Cryoblast's stance, and he lunged, skidding a little bit on the ice. He managed to slice off a bit of Cryoblast's cloak as the cloaked man stumbled backwards.
Whitetail couldn't help but note that there was no buzz of the scoreboard. The point didn't end when contact was made.
"Hey! I sewed that myself!" Cryoblast angrily threw one of his icicle swords at Whitetail, and the fencing hero barely ducked out of the way. That was definitely an illegal move.
Suddenly, Cryoblast created an ice spike underneath Whitetail. The fencer quickly jumped to the side and smashed the ice with his sword's pommel, but when he landed, he felt his foot slip and his leg buckle, and he fell backwards onto his butt
Cryoblast twirled his remaining icicle sword around. "A champion fencer? Are you gla-sure about that?" he gloated.
As Whitetail recovered and slowly rose back to his feet, preparing to dodge another ice spike, he saw Peregrine out of the corner of his eye. She pushed off from a shelf and slid all the way across the floor, feet first, without Cryoblast noticing. She then spun around on the ice and kicked his legs out from under him. "Sure as the one that sank the Titanic," she quipped, agilely perching on all fours on the floor with her rifle slung over her back, as Cryoblast hit the ground hard next to her.
Cryoblast growled at her. "It's only funny when I do it!" He raised his hands and formed claws, making a gesture like he was squeezing something between them.
Several small ice spikes shot up around Peregrine, trapping her before she could get up. With a hooking gesture of Cryoblast's finger, one last ice pillar snagged her rifle off her back and carried it up, freezing it to the ceiling. Peregrine body slammed one of the spikes and flinched with the impact, but tried to push herself out of the cage.
Whitetail ran to help her, but Cryoblast tripped him again using an ice spike and he fell flat on his stomach. However, it was clear from the villain's stance that he was growing tired. Elemental powers tended to be among the most taxing on the body, especially at range.
Maybe they could apprehend Cryoblast without severely harming him. "Swansong?" Whitetail called out.
"But-" The musician had floated up to retrieve Peregrine's rifle, and was using the butt of it to chip away at her ice cage.
"We can take it! Just do it!" Whitetail scrambled back to his feet, and Peregrine gave a resolute nod as she continued to try and wriggle her way out from between the icicles.
Swansong still hesitated slightly, but then he began to play, this time a much slower song. Whitetail found himself struck by lethargy and exhaustion. Cryoblast stifled a yawn and struggled to stay standing, as his arms hung limply by his side.
Whitetail fought to clear his mind from the haze of inflicted emotions, just like they had practiced, and lunged forward, slamming the pommel of his sword into Cryoblast's stomach. The villain crumpled to the icy floor, and Whitetail quickly sheathed his sword and wrestled him onto his knees with his hands behind his back. It was a trivial observation that Cryoblast controlled his power through his hands. His wrists were deathly cold when Whitetail grabbed them, but as expected, the villain was unable to fight back.
Swansong lowered his flute, while Peregrine finally smashed through the ice and retrieved her gun from him.
That was when the door to the shop was kicked open.
Whitetail was aware that it must have been a very strange sight. A young man with excessively formal attire and a fencing helmet, with a rapier by his side, standing over another man wearing a full-on long cloak. A hooded woman in a striped jumpsuit using a rifle like an ice pick. And a man in the corner carrying a golden flute of all things, now no longer floating, but shivering in the corner in his flashy skintight white and gold costume. Not to mention the fact that the entire room was covered in a thin layer of ice, though the residual ice spikes all quickly disappeared.
"Brr, what the hell are you guys doing in here?" The officer, a tall woman wearing an assault vest, with shaggy chestnut hair and pale blue eyes, looked around at the ice-covered shelves and floor. She flashed a badge with the emblem of the San Francisco Department of Heroes, and Whitetail tensed instantly.
She was from the SFDH, meaning she was likely a meta. Whitetail guessed super strength from her build and wrapped knuckles, along with the weight of the body armor she was wearing, but those types of powers were harder to recognize. (Peregrine's compact build and short legs didn't telegraph her speed at all, and it was thankfully practically impossible to tell that Whitetail had a supernatural sense of direction by looking at him.)
The Department was here, and Whitetail could barely disguise his growing feeling of dread.
"I'm Officer Val from the Department of Heroes. Hands off of him," she commanded gruffly, pointing at Whitetail.
Despite telling himself he should stand his ground, Whitetail felt his heart beat faster and he let go of Cryoblast immediately. He silently scolded himself. He could only hope that his nervousness wouldn't be visible through his helmet.
Swansong and Peregrine both came to stand on either side of Whitetail, as Cryoblast slowly rose to his feet.
"Everybody, weapons down." Despite not having any sort of weapon, Officer Val took a threatening step forward. Whitetail waited until he saw Cryoblast hold his hands out in front of him, then he took his rapier and set it by his feet, and Swansong and Peregrine followed suit. She quirked an eyebrow at Swansong as he set down his flute, but continued. "You." She pointed at Cryoblast first. "Tell me what happened."
"These people broke into my store. I was only trying to protect myself," Cryoblast told the officer easily. "When they came in, I panicked and froze everything."
Whitetail clenched a fist, but when Val turned to him, he kept his voice level. "We are The Talon Alliance. We were concerned for the safety of citizens when we saw the entire store was frozen over. We were only trying to investigate, but we were attacked as soon as we came in the door."
"The sign said it was open," Peregrine added, but Val silenced her with a glare, and Whitetail almost snapped at the officer right there.
That wouldn't have done them any good.
"Okay, you… Talon Alliance." Val gestured at the three of them. "You say he attacked you." All three nodded, and the officer narrowed her eyes.
"And you are…" Val pointed at Cryoblast.
"I'm Cryoblast!" he jerked a thumb at himself. "And they were the first ones to move!"
"Officer Val, do you want our IDs?" Peregrine asked, and Swansong and Whitetail stepped slightly in front of her as Val turned back towards The Talon Alliance.
But she only nodded slowly. "Heh, you know the protocol. Sure, show me your meta identification."
Whitetail knew where Peregrine was going. It was possible that this Cryoblast person was not a registered meta. But he hated having to expose himself and his friends in the process. Even if it was standard protocol, it didn't feel right.
Whitetail took the three ID cards stamped with the SFDH sigil from the pocket in the inner lining of his jacket and held them out to Val. "Right here, ma'am." He had taken to carrying Swansong and Peregrine's cards, as their costumes couldn't really fit pockets.
Whitetail hated it, handing over all their information to the Department just like that, but he reminded himself that it only would get worse once they went pro. Most professional heroes, like all celebrities, considered privacy to be a luxury.
Peregrine had once complained that it defeated the whole point of having hero identities and keeping the fight anonymous, even if the SFDH was theoretically a neutral and private party. But being a pro hero was better than the alternative, as many metas were regarded with suspicion in the workplace after just a few incidents of unstable powers.
Val took the little cards that had pictures of Martin—not Whitetail, Martin—and his friends, and examined them briefly. "I understand the flute now… and a speedster, huh." She nodded at Peregrine. "My brother also has super speed."
"Yeah…" Peregrine cocked her head slightly, unsure what to say to this as she nervously shifted from foot to foot.
"And you don't have powers?"
Whitetail swallowed dryly and nodded. He felt Swansong put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Yes, officer. A hero, but not a meta."
"It would be best if you all carried your own cards in the future. Cryoblast?" Val prompted, handing the IDs back to Whitetail and getting right back to the job at hand.
Whitetail relaxed slightly, until he saw Cryoblast start to reach under his cloak, his hands hidden. Was he going to attack, and would he target the Talons or Val? But the cryokinetic only pulled out a card of his own, and Val examined it, before nodding.
"Well, you're all registered, you're all running around in costume, and something clearly happened."
Whitetail's mind raced for some way to give them the credibility that they needed. "Shouldn't there be a security feed?" he asked.
"Oh, I must have frozen over the cameras in my panic," Cryoblast cut in, but Whitetail could've sworn that he saw him smirk. "I'm so sorry, officer." He wrung his hands.
"Yeah, sure." Val finally gave a small nod. "If nobody got hurt and you'll be the one to clean up your own property…" She shrugged.
"You're just going to leave him be?" Whitetail asked. "He tried to hurt us and he could've endangered others in the store."
"Who are you going to believe?" Cryoblast cut in. "Me, or a bunch of kids in silly costumes?"
"His costume isn't exactly serious either," Peregrine mumbled as she nudged Whitetail, but he didn't respond.
Whitetail's heart dropped as he realized what was about to happen. He had quickly learned that 'kids' was often used as a relative term.
"Sorry y'all," the officer responded with a shrug of her armored shoulders. "We're not going to press charges without any evidence, but… maybe you should leave the whole hero thing to the pros. It's too easy for misunderstandings to happen."
Both Swansong and Peregrine turned to Whitetail expectantly. He was always the one with the analysis and the plan.
"Let's get outside," was what he finally said. "It's freezing."
Whitetail thanked Val and gave Cryoblast a wide berth, wanting to put some distance between them and the location of the fight. But Whitetail wasn't going to be needed much longer. If he had even been needed in the first place.
"I can walk you guys home, I know how late it is," Martin offered. Cyrus could float away from any danger and Reyna could run across the Golden Gate in less than a minute, but it was courteous to ask. "Or… do you want to stay over?" It could get pretty lonely at his flat, but he would never admit it, not even to his two best friends.
"Just like high school, heh. If it's not too much trouble, of course," Cyrus responded.
Reyna earnestly nodded in agreement, though she had perked up at the offer.
The walk back to Martin's place was somber, and now that the adrenaline had faded, Martin had realized how cold his hands were. Cyrus kept on the ground, and he pulled his cape around him for some extra warmth, his golden flute hooked onto his matching belt.
"Do you think he really owns the place?" Reyna asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
"He had a super name and a costume," Martin mused. "It felt like information was being withheld, but at the same time he didn't seem to have malicious intent… or at least be capable of such schemes." He didn't often think aloud, but he was tired enough that it was hard to hold everything in his head, like he usually was capable of.
"Maybe he was like us," Cyrus mused. "Just getting his name out there, in any way he knows how."
As soon as they made it back to the complex, up the stairs, and into his apartment, Martin cranked the heat up to the max even though it was the middle of June.
Reyna immediately flopped onto the couch. "Well, that was a disaster," she scoffed, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering at a much higher frequency than a normal human.
Martin got out piles of blankets and made hot chocolate, and they were once again friends instead of teammates, even if the rifle, rapier, and flute piled on the end table made for an odd sight.
For just a moment, Martin felt like they were fresh out of high school again, dreaming of being heroes together before the demands of their new adult lives took over. And now that they had finally made it, when The Talon Alliance had first gone out on patrol together six months ago, it didn't feel as grand as their dreams.
None of them had the heart to venture into Martin's father's room, even though it had been almost three years since he had moved away, so the three of them in one bed was a pretty common arrangement. But Reyna, for some reason, liked to sleep on the couch. "My stepbrothers usually hog the bed anyway, so I'm used to it. It's better for my back," she recounted. She cracked her neck.
Cyrus didn't mind sharing the bed with Martin, something that had caused Martin great panic when they were still in high school (and when Cyrus was dating Reyna), but it had gradually evolved into something more comfortable. Martin's feelings had been fruitless then and they would only get in the way now.
"Were you worried about your card?" Cyrus asked Martin, taking a seat on the bed next to him. As tired as he was, Martin didn't think sleep was possible just yet.
"Of course." Martin recalled how he had frozen up when the officer had first called on him. "But it's quite clearly a great risk either way. If they knew about my connection to her, they would lose all trust instantly. The innate powers are more commonly inherited, and I don't believe there are any other navigators in the city."
"Martin," Cyrus said gently. "You always talk about how you want people to trust us, but you're lying to the Department. You're an unregistered meta."
Martin lay back on his bed. "I can't exactly admit that I lied and tell the Department to make me a new card."
"All I'm saying is that we have to think about the types of heroes that we want to be."
"I can figure something out." He would have to.
"You always do," Cyrus murmured.
Martin turned onto his side, away from Cyrus. It was good that at least one of them believed in The Talon Alliance.
I'm working towards 30k words by the end of the month, so hopefully this isn't the last you'll see of me and the Talons! Any and all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.