"Breaking news: Active shooter situation at Oakleaf High–"
The words punched the air from his lungs. His fists clenched as he struggled to accept what he was reading, a disturbing reality in which an active shooter was terrorizing a nearby school.
He had witnessed four years of the world's most brutal war, but those horrors had taken place on distant shores. Not here. Not on his home soil.
To learn that children were being terrorized in their own school, seventy-eight years after the war that was supposed to end all wars, filled him with sadness.
He had closed his eyes all those years ago, dreaming of a brighter future where children would be safe. Instead, he had wakened to this nightmarish reality, where they were in danger of being murdered in their own classrooms.
"How far is the school from here?" he turned to Ms. Arakawa, his question met with a look of concern.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" she asked. "You were in a coma for seventy-eight years."
"I was," he admitted, fully aware that his powers had yet to fully return. "But I can't simply stand by while children are slaughtered."
He put on his costume. Red, white, and blue. Colors that were supposed to mean something.
"You really are him," Ms. Arakawa breathed as she caught sight of him in full uniform, awe coloring her voice. "The boy who lied about his age to fight in the war. The young hero who sacrificed his life to save the world."
He stayed silent as she taught him how to use the map on his phone, then wished him luck.
"Thank you," he replied, taking a deep breath before launching into the sky, flying toward Oakleaf High.
This was his first mission since rising from his seventy-eight-year coma. The world had changed in ways he couldn't begin to understand, but one thing remained the same: the need for a hero.
The city blurred beneath him, a dizzying network of steel and glass. It couldn't be more different from the America he remembered. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline flooding his veins.
He was alive, once more thrown into the fray. He had one more chance to do what he had always done best: use his powers to protect the innocent, to save those who needed him.
As he neared Oakleaf High, a wave of nostalgia hit him. He had been a student once, before he lied about his age to join the war.
The thought of children in danger, of anyone in danger, reminded him why he had fought all those years ago. The past may have been another world, another time, but the need for heroes remained unchanged.
The wind rushed past him, his red cape billowing behind him like a banner. A signal to the world. A message to the terrified students and teachers inside: Help is on the way.
"Patriot. Starboy. Galahad."
He whispered the names of his old friends like a prayer, drawing strength from their memory as he propelled himself faster toward the school.
He was Allstar, the last of the Golden Age of heroes. And though the world had changed, he had not. He had sworn an oath to be a hero, and no amount of time would ever change that.
He wasn't as strong as he once was, still weakened by decades of stasis. But his powers were slowly returning. He could fly again, see through walls, hear whispered words from a mile away.
His first stop was the police barricade, where officers huddled behind squad cars, their faces a mix of concentration and worry. They hadn't dared enter the school yet, the risk too great, the uncertainty too paralyzing.
Disappointment tugged at him. These men were supposed to be the modern-day defenders of the city, yet they seemed frozen in fear, too afraid to risk their lives to save the children inside the school.
"Allstar?" The police chief blinked in surprise, then sighed in relief upon recognizing him. "I'm so glad you're here."
"What's the situation?" Allstar asked, wasting no time.
The chief hesitated before answering.
"We're waiting for the shooter to run out of ammo," he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "Once he does, we'll rush in and–"
Allstar let out a quiet sigh, then activated his X-ray vision and super-hearing, scanning the school to assess the situation himself. It didn't take him long to find the shooter.
The shooter was young. Too young. Fifteen years old at most. Allstar grimaced, wondering what had driven the kid to point a gun at his classmates. Mental illness? Drugs? Or something else?
He had volunteered for the war when he had been even younger than this boy. But he had done so because he had dreamed of a world where children would be safe, not one where they huddled in dark classrooms, shaking in fear.
Through the walls, he heard muffled sobs and whispered prayers. Children were crying, afraid of dying. There was no worse sound a hero could hear with super-hearing. He clenched his jaw, muttering a silent vow to save them. All of them.
He noticed with relief that the shooter hadn't killed anyone yet. So far, only warning shots, meant to intimidate rather than harm. There was still a chance to end this without violence, before the boy destroyed not only his own life but the lives of others.
He had a location, a colorless picture of the scene inside, painted through X-ray vision and super-hearing.
It was time to act.
Flying upward, Allstar landed softly on the school's roof, feeling the familiar tug of anxiety. This wasn't a battlefield. There were no enemy soldiers, just one misguided soul causing chaos and pain.
Please. He whispered the thought to himself, silently praying for the strength to resolve this without bloodshed. Let me reach him.
Using his powers, he phased through the roof, landing in an empty classroom with barely a sound. He was close now, he could hear the shooter's voice. Steeling himself, he straightened his cape and stepped forward.
Taking a deep breath, he entered the hallway. His bright-colored costume caught the shooter's attention immediately. The boy's eyes widened in shock, then hardened into grim resolve.
"Stay back!" the shooter shouted, gripping his gun tighter.
Allstar studied him carefully. A scrawny fifteen-year-old with messy dark hair.
"Let's talk about this." He raised his hands in surrender, his voice calm and empathetic. "What's your name?"
"Why do you care?" The teenager's gun remained pointed at him.
Allstar could have told him that bullets were useless against him, but he let the boy believe he was in control. Even so, every muscle in his body remained tense, ready to move if necessary. But first, he had to try words. This wasn't a battlefield. This was home. And he wanted to end this without anyone getting hurt. Even the boy pointing a gun at him.
"My name is Alvin," he said, keeping his distance and his tone even. "I'm from a small town in Kentucky."
"I know who you are." The boy's knuckles turned white as he gripped his gun tighter. "You're Allstar!"
"I am," Allstar admitted. "But my friends call me Alvin." He smiled gently, trying to ease the boy's tension. "What do your friends call you?"
"I don't have friends." A single tear slipped down the teenager's cheek. His hands trembled, but he held on to the gun.
"Can I still get your name anyway?" Allstar asked, hoping to understand him.
After a moment's hesitation, the boy answered. "Mike."
"Mike." Allstar gave a small nod, then asked, his voice serious, "Why are you doing this?"
"You wouldn't understand." More tears fell. "I'm not strong like you. I've always been bullied… because I'm weak. Because I'm pathetic! My dad thinks I'm a disappointment. He says I'll always be a loser."
"You wanted to prove your father wrong." Allstar met his eyes. "That's why you brought a gun to school. You thought it would make you feel strong. But it didn't, did it?"
Mike said nothing, but his silence spoke more than words could.
"You took the students and teachers hostage, but realized you don't have it in you to kill anyone," Allstar continued. "You're waiting for the police to rush in and kill you, aren't you?"
"Yes," Mike admitted, his earlier resolve crumbling.
"It doesn't have to end that way," Allstar said. "Your father might think you're a loser, but you don't have to let his insecurities dictate your life. You can be a good person, even after this."
"That's easy for you to say." Mike gritted his teeth. "You were always a good person. The perfect hero–"
"No, I wasn't." Allstar shook his head. "I was a deeply ignorant kid from Kentucky. I had an idealized view of war. But the first time I saw actual combat? I froze. I was never perfect. None of us are.
"You were about to do something unforgivable today," he continued, "but you stopped yourself before you crossed that line. And that means there's still hope for you."
His words seemed to break through Mike's despair. The boy's shoulders slumped, and the gun clattered to the floor. The fight drained out of him.
When the authorities entered, Mike surrendered peacefully.
Allstar let out a quiet breath of relief. His first mission since waking from his coma had gone as well as he could have hoped.
But he had a feeling the next one wouldn't be so easy.