Vernon's Base — 1 Day Before the Matchup
The sun didn't rise in this part of the city.
Not because of clouds.
Because of smog. Smoke. Darkness choked out by the very energy pulsing beneath the villain hideout.
Inside, Vernon stood before a crude, flickering projector.
The face on the screen was not Crow. Not anymore.
It was a black silhouette with static-filled eyes and a stitched mouth an artificial image Vernon and Vera made up to keep the myth of Crow alive.
To the world, he was still out there. Plotting. Waiting.
To them?
Crow was a memory. A mission. A symbol.
And symbols didn't die.
"The operation begins tomorrow," Vernon addressed the group.
His voice rumbled like thunder through the rusted pipes.
"You've trained. You've bled. Some of you almost died. And for what?"
He paced slowly across the broken floor.
"For a world that left us in the dark. For a system that lets people with powers pretend they're hero."
