Four Months Ago
The desert sun beat down mercilessly on the rugged terrain of the Middle East. Gabriel "Gabe" Torres, later known as Striker, led his Special Forces unit through the arid landscape. Their mission was classified, their purpose clear: secure a recently discovered meteor fragment rumored to possess unusual properties. Properties that had drawn the attention of military intelligence and high-level interest."Command says the locals reported strange phenomena around the impact site," his second-in-command noted.
Striker adjusted his tactical visor, scanning the horizon with calm precision. "Stay sharp. We don’t know what we’re walking into."
As they approached the site—a fissure in the earth pulsing with an otherworldly glow—the fragment emitted waves of subtle energy. The hair on the back of Striker’s neck prickled. Even then, his instincts were honed, but this felt different, as if tiny whispers of the future tugged at his mind.
"Geiger readings are off the charts," one team member warned.
"Maintain formation," Striker ordered. "Extract the fragment and get out."
They moved methodically, but as they secured the meteor, a sudden energy surge erupted. It knocked the team off their feet, a blast of light enveloping them. When it faded, the desert fell silent again, but something had changed within Striker. His instincts sharpened, an uncanny sense for anticipating danger forming at the edges of his consciousness. He felt more than just enhanced reflexes—something akin to foresight, a subtle precognitive edge that would later define his approach to combat.
Present Day
The city skyline loomed ahead as Striker rode his motorcycle through the night. Four months had passed since the desert incident. His military career had come to an abrupt end—debriefed, discharged, left to navigate a world increasingly shaped by meteor-induced abilities.In the ensuing months, he had honed his newfound gift. It wasn’t flashy like flying or conjuring illusions. Instead, it gave him a combat edge—an ability to predict an opponent’s move a heartbeat before they made it. This precognitive combat sense made him formidable, and he learned to weigh the moral cost of each decision more keenly. While he believed in decisive action, he also struggled with the ethics of violence, questioning how far one should go to maintain order.
As he approached downtown, an explosion rocked the district. Smoke plumed into the night sky, sirens wailed, and panicked civilians fled. Striker parked his motorcycle and assessed the scene. His enhanced perception picked out distant screams, crackling fires, and heavy footsteps of someone causing destruction.
"Time to get to work," he muttered, strapping on his tactical helmet.
He moved swiftly through alleys, each step calculated. His subtle precognition guided him, warning him when debris would fall or a bystander would stumble into harm’s way. As he turned a corner, he found the source of the chaos: Subject Delta, one of the Reborn—test subjects rumored to be linked to Sovereign’s experiments—unleashing seismic blasts that shattered windows and crumbled walls. The man’s eyes were wild, his face twisted by pain and confusion.
Civilians were still in the area. Striker felt the moral weight of the moment. He had the skill to end this threat decisively, but at what cost? Could this individual be saved? The Vanguard had shown that some could be reached, but Striker believed in swift, decisive action when lives were at stake.
"Hey!" Striker called, stepping into the open.
Subject Delta turned, voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "Stay back! I can’t control it!"
"Let me help you," Striker offered, voice steady.
Delta shook his head violently. "No one can help me! They did this to me!"
He slammed his fists down, sending another shockwave. Striker, anticipating the move, leaped aside with preternatural timing. He landed near a mother and child frozen in terror. His predictive sense told him where the debris would fall. He pushed them clear an instant before concrete smashed the ground they’d occupied.
"Get to safety!" Striker urged.
Turning back, he found Alex Mercer (Superman) descending from the sky, alerted by the chaos.
"Who’s that?" Alex wondered aloud, seeing Striker engaging Delta.
Striker dodged another seismic blast, heart heavy with the decision he must make. He drew a specialized tranquilizer dart from his belt. A non-lethal measure—he did not want a kill, just a quick end to the threat. This aligned with some moral ground, a balance between violence and mercy.
"I don’t want to hurt you," Striker said to Delta. "But I can end this without more suffering."
Delta snarled, "You can’t stop me!"
Before Striker could respond, Delta unleashed another shockwave, collapsing part of a building. Debris rained down. Alex intervened, catching large chunks and shielding more civilians.
"Stand down," Alex commanded, hovering near them.
Striker sized up Alex. This was the hero who embodied hope and mercy—admirable, yet often too slow to act.
"You're in my way," Striker said bluntly.
"I’m here to help," Alex replied. "Let us handle this."
Striker shook his head. "Your handling isn’t working."
Delta hesitated, confused by the presence of these heroes. Alex tried once more, "We can help you control your powers."
A flicker of doubt crossed Delta’s face. Striker saw the opening—hesitation. Without waiting for a drawn-out negotiation, he fired the tranquilizer. The dart struck Delta’s neck and the Reborn staggered, collapsing into unconsciousness.
"What are you doing?" Alex demanded, alarmed.
"Ending the threat," Striker replied calmly.
Delta lay unconscious, alive, but neutralized.
The rest of The Vanguard arrived, assessing the scene. Mira (Echo) probed the emotional aftermath, Marcus (Vortex) surveyed the damage, Li Chen (Mirage) remained watchful, and Elena (Pulse) stood ready with medical assistance if needed.
"Who’s this guy?" Marcus asked warily, eyeing Striker.
"I’m Gabriel Torres, codename Striker," he said. "You’re welcome."
Alex stepped forward, displeasure evident. "We don’t use methods that risk lives like that. That dart could have killed him."
Striker met Alex’s gaze unflinchingly. "It didn’t. I calculated the dosage precisely."
"That’s reckless," Elena interjected. "We prefer to de-escalate without risking lethal force."
Striker scoffed. "While you talk, more people get hurt. My approach prevented further destruction."
Li Chen folded her arms. "At what moral cost?"
Striker’s jaw tightened. "I saved lives. Isn’t that what matters?"
Alex took a deep breath. "We’re grateful for the help, but we have a code."
"A code that gets people hurt," Striker countered. "You need someone who can make hard calls."
Sirens grew louder, emergency services approaching. The team knew they must leave the scene to the authorities.
"We’ll talk elsewhere," Alex said quietly. "Come with us."
Striker considered, then nodded. "Fine."
Later, in The Vanguard’s briefing room, the atmosphere was tense. Striker stood apart, arms crossed.
"First, thank you for assisting with Subject Delta," Alex began. "But we must address your approach."
Striker raised an eyebrow. "My approach stopped the threat quickly, minimized collateral damage."
"At great risk," Elena pointed out. "One miscalculation—"
Striker interrupted, "I don’t make mistakes."
"Everyone makes mistakes," Mira countered gently. "We deal with people who are often victims themselves."
Striker’s expression hardened. "Victims who can level a city block. You can’t afford to hesitate."
Marcus leaned in, "So your solution is a potential kill shot every time?"
Striker frowned, wrestling with his own moral boundaries. He believed in decisive action, but he wasn’t a murderer. "I used a tranquilizer, not a bullet. I made a tough call to save lives fast."
Li Chen shook her head. "That’s not how we operate. We value compassion."
Striker exhaled sharply. "Compassion won’t stop someone like Sovereign or Shadowstep."
Silence fell, heavy and charged.
Elena broke it. "You mentioned you’ve been tracking metahumans. How extensive is your intel?"
Striker met her gaze. "Extensive enough. Someone’s experimenting on people, creating weapons like Subject Delta."
The team exchanged concerned glances.
"We’ve encountered similar patterns," Mira admitted, "but leads have been scarce."
Striker nodded. "I can help. I don’t fully agree with your methods, but our goals align—stopping these threats."
Alex considered this. "We can use your tactical expertise, but you must operate within our guidelines."
Striker hesitated. The moral dilemma weighed on him. He valued efficiency, but he also saw the genuine care these heroes had for all life. "I can adapt, as long as it doesn’t jeopardize innocent lives."
"Fair enough," Alex agreed cautiously. "A trial run, then."
Over the next few days, Striker integrated with the team, though friction remained. In training exercises, his precognitive edge impressed them—he anticipated moves before they happened, making him a formidable sparring partner. Yet he wrestled with moral questions: how far was too far to ensure safety?
"He’s good," Marcus admitted after a spar. "Almost too good."
"His abilities give him a tactical advantage," Elena observed. "But his mindset worries me."
During a break, Mira approached Striker. "You carry a lot on your shoulders," she said softly. "I sense conflict in you."
He glanced at her, guarded. "Occupational hazard."
"Empathy isn’t weakness," she offered. "You can protect people without losing your humanity."
Striker’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. He recalled the desert, the surge of energy that changed him, granting him foresight and leaving him pondering the cost of violence. "We’ll see," he said at last.
An alert sounded—a disturbance at a research facility on the city’s outskirts. Reports indicated multiple hostiles, possibly more Reborn. The team mobilized, Striker included.
"Standard containment procedure," Alex said. "Minimal force."
Striker remained silent, reserving judgment.
At the facility, they confronted Subject Theta and Subject Wraith, both unstable and dangerous. As the battle raged, Striker’s precognition guided him, letting him avoid lethal strikes and instead incapacitate foes efficiently. Still, he chafed at what he viewed as the team’s delays in seeking a peaceful solution.
In the end, they subdued the Reborn with minimal casualties. But the tension between Striker and Alex worsened.
Back at headquarters, the debriefing was fraught.
"You jeopardized the mission," Alex accused.
Striker retorted, "Your hesitation put us all at risk."
"Enough," Elena said firmly. "This isn’t productive."
Mira looked between them, empathic concern in her eyes. "We need a way to work together."
Striker exhaled. "Maybe this was a mistake."
Alex’s expression softened. "Striker, I see where you’re coming from. But we must balance effectiveness with compassion."
"Compassion won’t stop Sovereign," Striker snapped, his inner turmoil evident.
Silence fell again.
"What do you know about Sovereign?" Elena pressed.
Striker met her gaze. "More than you. She’s creating weapons, and she’s planning something big."
The team absorbed this grim news.
"Then we need your intel," Alex said. "But we must agree on our approach."
Striker considered the moral lines drawn before him. He wasn’t heartless—just determined. "I’ll share what I have. But if we want to stop her, we may face hard choices."
"We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it," Alex replied steadily. "Together."
As dawn approached, Striker stood with The Vanguard, facing an uncertain future. He grappled with moral dilemmas, with the cost of violence and the complexity of compassion. Yet, for now, he would stand beside them, hoping to find a path that honored his conscience while protecting the innocent.