The shotgun roared, the blast a thunderclap of fla and tal.
Silk Siren’s eyes squeezed shut, her entire body flinching, braced for the searing pain that never ca.
Instead—a sudden jerk.
A hand, rubbery and pale, shot across the distance, stretched like a slingshot, and yanked her sideways. The blast missed by inches, peppering the ground with buckshot and shrapnel.
She hit the dirt, breath knocked from her lungs, and looked up in disbelief.
Harris stood between her and the robot, his stretched arm snapping back to its normal length. His gray mask was streaked with soot and gri, but his eyes—sharp, focused, calculating—locked onto hers with the weight of command.
"You’re welco," he said, voice clipped, then turned to the figure beside him. "Now I leave it to you, Fla-Lantern. You got this."
Beside him, Rhea stood still as stone, her hands curled into fists, the flicker of fire dancing across her knuckles like a heartbeat.
Harris didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed Silk Siren by the arm, steady but firm, pulling her away from the battlefield. "You’re too hurt to stay here," he muttered, his tone softened just enough to register. "Let’s get you clear."
As Harris lted into the background, guiding Silk Siren toward the unconscious forms of Titan Pulse and Gator Grip, Rhea stepped forward, the air around her beginning to shimr with heat.
Great—another ss dumped on her.
The robot—Timmy—swiveled its scorched head toward her, red scanner flaring like an angry eye.
"Bad! Bad! KILL! KILL!. ENGAGING TERMINATION MODE." It bellowed.
So what was it so far?
It charged, hamr swinging in one hand while the shotgun blasted a hail of bullets from the other.
Rhea thrust her palms forward, a wall of fire roaring up to et the assault. Bullets lted mid-flight, and the hamr glowed red-hot as it breached the flas.
When the blaze dropped, Rhea was gone. The robot halted, its scanner whirring as it swept the smoky yard. "Target lost!" it droned, tilting upward—just in ti to catch Rhea descending from above.
She’d leapt high, her silhouette frad against the bright sky, and now she fell with purpose.
As the robot locked on, she clapped her hands together, unleashing a massive burst of fire that slamd into its face.
"Eat this, scrapheap!" she yelled, the blast scorching its hull, sparks flying as circuits popped. The robot ducked, shielding its scanner with a raised arm, weathering the inferno until Rhea’s flas sputtered out.
The mont her feet hit the ground, it retaliated, shotgun barking.
Rhea smirked, palms flaring again—she blasted fire downward, propelling herself mid-air to dodge the rounds. Bullets whizzed past, grazing her boot, but she twisted gracefully.
A distant whump-whump cut through the air—a news chopper, hovering beyond the blast radius, its cara lens like an unblinking eye.
"Great, a fucking audience," Rhea muttered, landing in a roll before surging forward, boots tearing through the dirt.
The dance resud—chaotic, brutal, improvised fury.
Rhea wove through the rubble, flas trailing her like a cot’s tail. Every ti the robot paused to reload, she was there—blasting fire into its legs, lting its armored joints and searing through the casing.
"Co on, rustbucket—keep up!" she yelled, ducking a wild hamr swing that tore a trench through the earth.
She lunged, catching its arm mid-swing, boots slamming against its thigh as she scaled the towering fra like a jungle cat in riot gear. Sparks flew as she reached its chest, eyes glowing with heat.
"Ti to crack you open!"
Her fist slamd into the hull—once, twice, tal buckling under the blows. A seam split.
Without hesitation, she shoved her flaming hand into the gap, unleashing a roaring blast directly into the machine’s core. Inside, wires sizzled, servos snapped, and sothing vital scread.
Rhea kicked off, flipping backward midair just as the robot’s chest exploded.
BWHUMPH
Timmy the robot—or what was left of him—detonated in a bloom of molten shrapnel. His charred limbs rained down in smoking chunks, gears bouncing like coins across the dirt.
Rhea landed in a crouch, her breath ragged, the flas around her flickering out like dying stars. Smoke curled from her suit, her fingers twitching from adrenaline and heat.
The battlefield fell still.
She stood slowly, brushing soot off her mask, back straight. Her chest rose and fell, alive, victorious, and unyielding beneath the bright sky.
Sowhere above, the helicopter’s cara zood in—and caught the exact mont Rhea raised both middle fingers at it.
"Broadcast that, motherfuckers."
_________
The chopper thudded closer, touching down as a news crew spilled out—caras rolling, microphones thrusting toward her. A reporter, a wiry woman with a headset, waved frantically. "Hold up, hero! That was incredible—absolutely unreal! You took that thing apart like it was nothing!"
Rhea paused, her instinct to brush them off warring with the unexpected warmth of their words. She nodded curtly, arms crossing. "Yeah, well... it was in my way."
The reporter bead, undeterred. "In your way? You dodged bullets like a pro, turned that tallic monster into scrap with pure fire—people are gonna talk about this for weeks! The precision, the power—straight-up legendary!"
Rhea’s lips twitched, a reluctant smirk breaking through. "Precision, huh? Guess I didn’t totally suck." She uncrossed her arms, loosening up as the praise sank in.
Another crew mber chid in, eyes wide. "That mid-air flip? The way you climbed it and just—bam!—blew it to bits? You’re a natural! The city’s got a new star!"
Her smirk grew, a flicker of pride warming her chest. "Okay, okay—maybe I’m not bad at this. Thanks." She rubbed the back of her neck, her voice softening. "Really, thanks."
The lead reporter leaned in, microphone poised. "So, the big question—who are you? What’s the na of the superhero who just saved the day?"
Rhea hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "Candle," she said, then caught herself, shaking her head. "No, wait— I am Fla-Lantern." Her voice steadied through the mask, firm and final, a na she’d carry now.
The crew erupted in grins, the reporter nodding. "Fla-Lantern it is! Welco to the spotlight, hero!"
______
The video cut off, the screen of Kael’s phone flashing a bold headline: "Fla-Lantern’s Explosive Debut: New Hero Lights Up the Sky!"
He leaned back in his chair at the diner, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The receptionist approached, her apron smudged with coffee stains, a tray of empty dishes in hand. "Need another spoon, Kael?" she asked, glancing at his half-eaten pudding.
Kael’s smile widened, a glint of mischief in his sharp green eyes. "Nah," he said, tapping his phone. "But I’ll take ten chocolate puddings. Gotta celebrate a friend’s big day."
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