Night had fully swallowed the city, but the streets never really slept.
Inside an abandoned building on the city's edge, a group of men sat around a table stacked with maps, photographs, and strange devices that hummed faintly.
They weren't thugs or ordinary crooks.
They were Watchers.
The room was dim, lit only by the glow of their monitors. A man in a dark coat leaned forward, tapping his finger on the screen showing Sean's face from a distant street camera.
"He's the one," the man said in a low, cold voice. "The artifact has started merging."
Another Watcher scoffed. "A street rat? That's our target? He looks like a beggar."
The leader's eyes didn't leave the screen. "That's exactly why he's dangerous. He moves without leaving ripples… but the artifact leaves a faint trace we can't ignore."
He turned to another agent.
"Send word to the Agents nearby. Tell them to observe, but do not engage yet. This one isn't an ordinary user. He holds the leader's artifact."
A heavy silence filled the room at those words.
One Watcher muttered, "Then… the leader might really be alive?"
The leader didn't answer.
He simply stared at Sean's face on the screen, eyes narrowed.
---
Far from their hidden headquarters, Sean sat outside a small carinderia, finishing a cheap meal.
He had stopped renting the motel for now, knowing he couldn't afford to waste money daily.
Instead, he planned to look for a boarding house soon—somewhere quiet and less noticeable.
His phone buzzed.
Pretty again.
"Hala, morag busy naka ron. Wala naka nagparamdam ha."
("Wow, seems like you're busy these days. You're not even showing signs of life.")
Sean smirked faintly, typing back.
"Nagtrabaho ko para magka-budget. Dili ra man ko magpakabuhi sa istorya ra."
("I'm working to save money. I can't survive on sweet words alone.")
Her reply was quick.
"Buang man ka oi! Naa ba diay budget sa mga pamasin nimo?"
("You're crazy! You think there's a budget for your silly hopes?")
With another laughing emoji.
Sean couldn't help but chuckle softly.
Pretty had a way of keeping him grounded, even in this city full of strangers.
---
But deep inside, his mind was elsewhere.
He could still feel it—the strange sharpness in his body, the way his muscles reacted quicker than before, the calmness that settled in during tense moments.
He knew it wasn't normal.
And tonight, he intended to test it.
---
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, an unfamiliar face entered the story.
A woman in a sleek black coat walked through a crowded marketplace, her steps graceful but deliberate. Her name was Vega, an independent artifact user from another continent—known only by her codename, "Whisper Fang."
Her artifact wasn't like Sean's.
It was a pendant hidden beneath her shirt, capable of stealing voices and identities.
As she moved through the crowd, her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
> "Artifact detected in your current sector. Unconfirmed user. High priority. Approach if possible."
Vega's eyes narrowed.
"So the hunt begins again," she muttered.
---
Back near Sean's spot, the night grew heavier.
He walked along the quiet alleyways, purposely heading toward the rougher side of the city—the places where thugs gathered, where danger wasn't a possibility but a certainty.
He wasn't looking for trouble.
He was looking for answers—about himself.
It didn't take long.
A group of street punks cornered a drunk man near the trash bins, laughing as they searched his pockets.
Sean watched from the shadows.
They didn't notice him at first.
But this time, instead of using the artifact, Sean moved on instinct.
He approached calmly, his hands loose, his face unreadable.
One of the punks noticed him and snarled, "Oi, unsa man ka diha? Apil ka, ha?"
Sean didn't answer.
He stepped forward, swift and precise, slipping between two of them in a sudden blur.
A quick strike to the first punk's ribs made him gasp and crumple.
Another grabbed a metal pipe, swinging wildly—but Sean ducked, grabbed the thug's arm, and twisted it behind his back with unnatural ease.
It was happening again—his body was moving faster, smoother, almost as if it had practiced this dance before.
But Sean's eyes stayed calm.
He wasn't showing off.
He was testing himself.
---
The remaining punks fled, dragging their fallen companions away in fear.
Sean stood still, breathing slowly.
In the distance, another set of eyes watched him—from the rooftop above.
Vega.
Her lips curved into a small, intrigued smile.
"So, you're the one they're all after," she whispered.
She slipped away into the night before Sean could notice.
---
Later that night, Pretty's last message arrived on his phone, pulling him back from his thoughts.
"Ayaw patuga-tuga diha, ha? Di baya ka superhero."
("Don't go doing reckless things there, okay? You're no superhero.")
Sean stared at her words, his face unreadable.
He slowly smiled, typing back with quiet confidence.
"Ako ra'y kahibalo unsay naa diri sa akong lawas. Basin pa diay, buang ko nga superhero."
("Only I know what's inside me. Who knows? Maybe I'm a crazy superhero.")
He sent it.
Then his eyes lifted toward the city skyline, where countless lights shimmered like distant stars.