That was meant to be such an easy win last night! The San-Claras need to get dropped a couple of pegs. A street gang turned underground empire in this city? Your guess is as good as mine why mom or Titan or literally nobody at all has done anything to them. Can you imagine the look on Jupiter’s face if I dropped his son’s body at his doorstep with a note carved into the kid’s face saying: You’re next. Love, S. But no. Logan just had to save the kid. Fuckin’ holier than thou bullshit, I think, trying not to grind my teeth as I step into the elevator heading for the lobby. Get off your white horse, asshat. The kid deserved it! If he tried killing me, he’d slaughter a regular Cape.
Not that regular superhumans are weak or whatever, but come on! Why play nice with a villain?
Patriot said it himself decades ago: We don’t negotiate with evil.
But here comes an idiot thinking he’s Jesus or whatever, saving the sinners and cozying up with the devil. Jupiter literally has vigilantes skinned, put in cardboard boxes, and shipped to Ultra Force’s HQ every other week!
Well, that’s what I hear on those weird dark-web forums, but that’s what villains would do, right?
The elevator stops on the fourth floor, and I try not to groan. “Of course,” I mutter to myself. “Because now I’ve got to make small talk with everyone who walks in here. Gee, how’re you this morning, Sentry? You wanna get breakfast with me? Hey, can you sign my t-shirt, you’re my hero!” I slap a smile onto my face when the door opens.
Red, backpack slung over her shoulder, makes a face. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”
“Morning to you, too, jailbird,” I say.
“Hey, Sam!” Summer says, suddenly beside me, chewing on one of those ridiculously high protein oat bars that pretty much only Speedsters can stomach without ending up in the hospital. “Want some? It’s nutty chocolate.”
“No, thanks!” I say cheerily. “I already ate.”
Christ, get your arm off of me already.
Kory, Jason and Jordan shuffle in next, thankfully a lot quieter than Summer. Kory yawns and blinks, wearing pajama pants and flip flops. Jason is staring hard at his phone and pushing his hand through his hair. And Jordan is in that period of the morning where she’s got headphones on and sunglasses fixed to her face, a cup of hot coffee in her hand and her lips firmly shut. About five other freshmen squeeze inside, so now my back is flat against the elevator with Red beside me and Summer chewing right into my ear, her arm still hanging around my shoulder. I try to keep my eye from twitching as the door shuts and the elevator lurches downward at an agonizingly slow rate.
“So,” Red says under her breath. “You and Ana.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter.
“So you’re actually gay?”
“What’s it matter to you?”
“Dunno,” she says. “Just figured it’s some kind of PR thing. Kiss a girl and get a million-billion likes and reposts and comments and whatever.” She unwraps gum and throws one into her mouth. “You guys official then?”
“I don’t date.”
“Liar,” Jordan says flatly, standing in front of me.
Summer gasps, then chokes on her protein bar. She thumps her hand on her chest, then says, “You’ve had girlfriends before? I always thought you were, like…well, y’know when you’ve gotta take a hound to get its ball—”
“Jesus!” I say loudly. Almost everyone goes quiet. Great, now I look crazy. “I don’t date, OK?”
More silence. The elevator squeals and rattles, stopping at the second floor to a group of people who groan at the sight of a full elevator, meaning I get flashed by a large Bruiser stomping around the second-floor hallway completely nude. I groan as the doors hiss shut, massaging my eyes because maybe I’ll be able to scrub that away.
“Shit,” I hear Jason whisper. It’s so quiet I doubt anyone heard it. I glance across the elevator and watch him switch off his phone and tuck it into his red letterman jacket. He massages his face and looks at the ceiling, then at me. He blinks, puts on a smile, and quickly looks away. His phone keeps vibrating in his pocket. He shuts it down and stuffs it into his jeans. For a guy with no powers, he’s pretty damned tall. Well-built. Athletic, almost like a gymnast, and with a good enough poker face for me to not pick up the sweat of nerves or the panic of a racing heartbeat. Breathing techniques. He’s slowing his heart on purpose. Keeping his hands in his pockets so I can’t tell if they’re getting sweaty or not. Or maybe I’m being paranoid, and Jason is minding his own business right now.
Except he keeps mouthing fuck over and over until we finally reach the lobby.
Speed-walking away from these people is nearly impossible. It feels like every single freshman in the school is going to the exact same place at the exact same time, and pretty early, too. I think it’s a newbie thing. A whole lot of nerves for detentions that don’t exist and shouting from lecturers who probably don’t give a shit. The only reason I left my room early is because I would’ve destroyed something valuable if I was left alone with my own thoughts, or done something dumb and left school grounds to go and pay Jupiter a visit. And yes, I know that he’s unofficially a Threat Level 9, but so what? I’ve not done my third round of testing yet. All I know, I’m a walking talking eleven and these people don’t even know it. I’m probably the only dual-threat Supe in this draft class.
But with how my schedule looks, I’m gonna be doing a lot more falling asleep in class than I am fighting and training to be the best. But hell, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do to keep being Number One, am I right?
As we walk, Jason strides beside me. Summer is busy bothering Red with another one of her farm girl stories, and Jordan is fully invested in her phone and coffee at seven in the morning. Kory sluggishly follows us from behind. The poor guy looks like a corpse. Frazzled black hair sticking up at weird angles, scratching his sides and yawning every second step. And I thought I had a rough night. I watch him nearly stumble into a full trash can.
“Mind if I ask you something?” Jason says, partially under his breath.
The air is cool enough for it to curl out of his lips. Sunlight is pale and almost bleak, streaking across wet grass and the gravel crunching under our sneakers. The air is pretty crispy, and a hell of a lot fresher than Old-Port.
“Ask another,” I tell him. “And if it’s about my mom—”
“It’s about you,” he says. I look at him. He’s looking straight ahead, one hand firmly around his backpack’s strap. Jason stops walking, and I slowly do, too. We let a dozen or so people move past us until we’re alone. He looks around, gets closer, and says, “You’ve got a lot more experience in the field than most of the class, so I need you to help me figure something out.” I raise an eyebrow and wave my hand for him to continue, because shucks, he’s gonna make me blush. “I’ve got this friend, right? And this friend wants to make a really bad decision, but he doesn’t think it’s a good decision to make, but a pretty necessary decision to make. Now, if he makes this decision, it might save a lot of people. Might. But if he doesn’t, then he’ll have a really bad day.” I nod and stuff one hand into my pants. Where’s this even going? “And I know superheroes are meant to be selfless, but this guy has tried so damned hard for his life to work out, and just when he thinks everything is gonna get normal, it starts falling apart.”
“Right,” I say, nodding. I shrug. “Well, your friend is gonna have to be a lot less vague.”
“Well my friend is gonna get killed and have his life ruined, is what I mean by a really bad day.”
I stare at him, then quietly say, “Do you want me to save you or something?”
He almost smiles. “I’m not great at asking for help.”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging one shoulder. “Old nemesis or somethin’?”
He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Dude, you’re being vague again.”
“Yo!” Red shouts. We glance at her. “Are you two done wasting time?”
“Save us seats!” Jason calls, then looks at me. “Look, I know you’re Number One and all, but if you left school, you’d have a way easier time doing it than I would. I just need you to get a message to someone tonight.”
“Why not right now?” I ask him. “‘cause you sound pretty stressed, man.”
“Not yet,” Jason says. “Just…please? I’d understand if you say no—”
I punch his shoulder. Gently. Don’t wanna break his arm. “C’mon, I’m the best superhero in our draft class, maybe even ever.” Jason rolls his eyes. I can’t help but grin. “Besides, this school is kinda getting on my nerves. Can you believe that they want me to play sidekick? Me? Just because I broke a rule I didn’t even know existed.”
We start walking again, and this time it’s Jason who speaks first. “Why don’t you just…leave?”
I stay silent for a moment, then say, “‘cause I want to be the best. I thought I made that pretty clear.”
“Yeah, but Liberty dropped out, and she’s pretty much the reason so many people our age opted for the Independent route. Honestly, I kinda expected you’d do the same.” I raise an eyebrow again. He shrugs. “Dunno, just a thought I’ve been having, because if I had powers like yours, I’d be out there all day, every day, and not here snoozing through intro to cape finance.” I laugh a little. “So you’re gonna stick it out for four entire years here?”
“Titan did,” I say. “And so did Booster Blitz and a dozen other Capes just like Liberty, so…why not?”
“‘cause you’re Sentry,” he says.
“I’m gay, by the way. If you’re trying to flirt with me.”
“Really?” he says. “That’s what makes you blush? Praising you for being able to lift a building?”
“You wouldn’t get it,” I say, waving my hand. “It’s a superhuman thing.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he says. My turn to roll my eyes. “So, help a fellow freshman out? For free, I hope?”
“I usually charge per hour,” I say, “but sure, I can squeeze you in, but you owe me.”
“Trust me,” Jason says, sticking out his pinky. “I never break a promise.”
Carter. If you’ve got a great memory, you’ll recall a few days ago when I smashed his face apart and left him in a bloody heap on sweat-stained training mats. I thought I’d seen the last of him, but I guess not, because there he is sitting at the back of the class, snug in a red PU hoodie, staring strangely at his phone like he’s never seen one before. And he looks perfectly fine, like I didn’t put most of my fist through his skull. A few of the girls keep glancing at him over their shoulders, muttering quietly and blushing when he looks up from tapping his phone.
And I’m almost offended that he healed that quickly.
He even has the guts to wave at me when I enter the classroom. I wave back, because hey, no harm done, right? Just two freshmen training their hardest to be the best. Hey, if he wants to try again, I’m free after class, too.
And this time I’ll actually try, I think to myself, grabbing a seat beside Red. It’s a regular classroom this time around, not one of those massive halls that I’d been inside so far. It kinda reminds me of highschool. Alex is wearing a vest too early in the morning, flexing his muscles for a group of girls only vaguely interested. Friendship waters are being tested. Small-talk is being made. Mostly everyone is on their phone, because the screen at the front of the class has a single instruction on it: get your socials ready, everyone! I don’t see a teacher anywhere in here, and maybe this is gonna be one of those interactive classes, where we stare at a couple of slides and go home early.
Jordan slides a note onto my desk from my left. I glance at her. She’s looking at her phone.
I peel open the sticky note, and it says: I think Carter wants to talk to you.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I frown and glance at him. He’s still looking at me, then waves again and smiles.
I turn back around and shudder.
Jordan laughs quietly behind her hand.
“Hello, hello, hello, everyone,” a man says, striding into the room with all the purpose of a police officer at a murder scene. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a graphic t-shirt a little too tight for his own good, has sunglasses hanging from his collar and bleached blonde hair. For a moment, I think we’re all too stunned to do anything except drink in his cologne and try not to wince at his tanning bed sunburn. His face almost crinkles when he grins, and there’s a set of teeth worth a couple hundred bucks right there. “I’m late, that’s my bad. I figured since you were all freshmen, you’d all be late, too!” He looks around, maybe expecting something. He gets nothing. He clears his throat and says, “I’m kidding. Tough crowd. OK, well, I get it. First thing in the morning. Cold classroom. You’d rather be in bed or making out or saving the world. And now you’re stuck with the greatest teacher in the school for nearly two hours. Could be worse, am I right?” This is gonna be a really long year. After another bout of silence, he rubs his hands together and says, “How about an ice breaker? I hope everyone has their Cape-Net stat pages open.”
Carter awkwardly raises his hand.
The man with the freakishly blue eyes points at him. “Go for it, my man.”
“I don’t know how to use this thing,” he says, waving his phone around.
“He doesn’t know how to use a phone?” I whisper, partially to myself.
Maybe I did more damage than I thought.
The guy up front snaps his fingers. “Right. Heard about you. How about…” He scans the classroom until his eyes firmly land on me. A grin breaks onto his face that makes me feel uncomfortable. “I wasn’t going to do this until next week, but I’m giving you all your first assignment.” A collective groan. He waves his hand through the air like he can bat it away. “I’m going to pair all of you up, and your goal is to get a joint Cape-Net account to at least three-hundred thousand followers in two weeks. Now, I know what some of you might be thinking: what’s the fuggin’ point? The point is branding. Some of you in this room are in the tens of millions of followers. Some of you are cracking into the hundreds of thousands. Some of you don’t even have social pages at all.” Red shifts in her seat, and so do a couple more people. “A superhero with good branding is a superhero that’s more valuable to the people. Why? Demand. Some of you won’t get drafted, let’s get that out of the way. It’s just the uncomfortable truth.” A lot more people shift in their seats. Jaws slowly tighten. “And if you end up going solo, then you’re going to need a platform. A platform that lets people know that hey, this Cape would be awesome to have in my city, why don’t I start some kind of rally or petition to get my local government to budget for them being there. That’s how important branding is. It quite literally runs the industry. Without optics, kids, a cape just doesn’t flutter the same.”
The girl with jet-black hair from orientation says, “Why would I co-produce an account? I’d get nothing from that. Besides, it’ll ruin my brand.” She flips her hair and looks at her sparkly nails. “I’m the most popular Cape in this class, anyway. The only person I’d even think about working with is Glory and literally nobody else here.”
“Valentine, isn’t it?” the teacher asks. She gives him a flash of a smile that vanishes a heartbeat later. “Well, Valentine, you’re right. You won’t get much out of co-authoring an account with someone with less followers than you, but what you will get is a better GPA with the extra credit this assignment is gonna carry.” We perk up at that, almost like a group of stray cats that just smelt fish in the air. “Besides, it’ll teach all of you to loosen up a little. You’re going to be around one another for the next four years of your lives. Learn to interact past networking, ‘cause that’s what you’re gonna hear everyone tell you. Network this. Network that. Follow me on whatever so we can do a brand deal together. Boring. Make friends. Post videos about it. Trust me, the public can always tell authenticity, and they love it. When Titan and Booster Blitz go partying together, you think they don’t know that someone is gonna post a video of them throwing back a couple beers? They know that, and it’s what makes them so appealing, because they’ve got a better team dynamic going on, meaning when it’s time to restructure past their rookie contracts, they’ve got leverage to say hey, I work well with so-and-so, we generate X amount of money for you guys, so why not dig a little deeper into your pocket and add another zero to that little piece of paper, get it?”
“So,” Alex grunts, still sitting proudly atop a desk, “all we’re really after is money?”
Silence, then a shrug. “Money. Power. Followers. They’re really all the same thing.”
“Whatever happened to just saving the world?” Red mutters.
But nobody hears her. Everyone is hungry for some extra credit, eager to jump a rank or five.
Or to snatch my spot right from underneath my feet.
“And a freaking Cape-Net account can actually do all of that?” Alex says.
“And so, so much more,” the teacher says, his eyes glimmering.
“Question,” I say. He swivels on his heels to look at me. “What if I don’t want to help Carter out? Not because I hate him or anything”—Yes, yes it’s exactly because I hate him—“but because I’m just a little busy?”
“Answer,” he says. “It’s an optional assignment, but you’re all getting your Hero GPAs and regular GPAs at the end of this week, plus the new rankings will be out, too. It’s not my place to force you to do anything, but…”
Right, I think, sighing a little. I guess I don’t really have much of a choice.
Skinny-Jeans claps his hands together. “Ice-breaker time! I need the ten most-followed Capes standing right up here with me, and everyone else who doesn’t have a Cape-Net account. C’mon, I don’t bite. Let’s do this.”
Turns out Valentine is right, she really is the most popular Cape in this room, and no, that doesn’t hurt to swallow, just in case you’re wondering. Cape-Net breaks down your follower counts, engagement, revenue—you get the picture, all in one place, and gives you your National Ranking, International Ranking, lists off your stats, and it’s kinda just a way for regular people to either invest early in someone’s career, or get into heated arguments about who deserves to be in what rank. My Cape-Net page is fat with accolades and awards, right alongside a shiny #1 beside my profile. But standing up here beside Mr. Skinny-Jeans, I’m tied for third-most followed, believe it or not. Valentine’s Cape-Net might be emptier in terms of accolades, but holy moly does she have a lot of followers.
Hell, she’s got more than a handful of Major Leaguers, and she’s a freshman.
Mostly because her social pages are day-in-the-life kind of posts. You know the ones where younger heroes get dressed up in their costumes, film themselves saving the day, and post about how they deal with the post-fight jitters? Yeah, except she’s gorgeous. Stunningly gorgeous. I try to act cool standing so close to her, arms folded and chewing my tongue, hoping my heart isn’t racing and that she can’t hear it punching against my ribs.
Jordan is second, helped by being a legacy kid and also a part-time model. And here I am in third, tied with a guy, like Alex, who’s wearing a thin vest and very loose pants and seemingly has a smile carved into his face.
Alongside us are people like Red, Carter, Alex and even Jason, as well as a few others. Red doesn’t have her social pages anymore, not after her jail-worthy screw ups. Alex doesn’t even have a phone. Carter is trying to figure out how to use his. And Jason’s got a Cape-Net account, except he’s been locked out of it, and when I tried searching him up, all I got was ‘account not found.’ Mr. Skinny-Jeans didn’t care and told him to get up, anyway.
“Now, now, now,” Mr. Jeans says, tugging his bottom lip. “Valentine, you’ll be with Sydney." I try my best not to laugh as they both groan. He cuts Valentine off before she can argue. “Jordan, pair up with Jason.” A quiet sigh from the lady with wings and a smile from the guy with bed-hair. “Andrew.” The guy in the vest flips up his circular sunglasses and grins. “Alex.” They high-five one another and fist bump, and it’s almost like watching two linebackers fall in love with each other’s muscles. “Sentry, you’re gonna be with Carter.” Yay! I’m so excited!
He offers his fist as Mr. Jeans rattles off the rest of us. “Bygones be bygones?” he asks.
“I put you in the infirmary,” I say. “And that’s just water under the bridge to you?”
Carter shrugs. “I’ve been hit harder.”
I stare at him, then say, “I must’ve rattled something up there, didn’t I?”
He grins lopsidedly. “I’ve got a hard head. So, friends for now?”
“It’s for two weeks,” I say, folding my arms. “And then that’s it.”
“With everyone in pairs,” Mr. Jeans says. “It’s time we start making those accounts. Get to know your partner. Learn as much as you can. Mingle. Talk. Play nice. I don’t want anything posted just yet. I just need you all to relax and get familiar, because one day, these might just be the people you’ll be coming together to post about the next Cape War draft. Well, God forbid, but you get what I mean. Now get at it! The faster this is done, the more time I’ll bleed off the clock and let you leave early for a proper breakfast. Remember, you’re not competing. Okay?”
“You are so lucky this is for a grade,” Valentine mutters at Red. “No offence, but you’re all red flags.”
“And I’m still right here with you in PU,” Red says. “So I guess we both are.”
“So,” Jason says, scratching the back of his head. “Gonna teach me how to model?”
Jordan looks him up and down and sighs. “This is gonna suck.”
Summer—bless her heart—got paired with another Speedster, and they’re doing that thing when they speak too fast for most people to understand, which leaves Carter and I standing awkwardly together in a sea of people also awkwardly trying to get to know each other. Mr. Jeans moves around the classroom, asking questions, poking and prodding and telling jokes that land flat on their faces as soon as he says them. I sit on the edge of a desk and sigh, because Carter is still trying to figure out how to put in his password, which keeps stumping him.
“Where are you even from?” I ask him.
His brow is screwed tight, like if he focuses some more he’ll force the phone open with his mind. “You know,” he says. “Around.” He shows me the screen. “I think this thing is busted. How am I meant to even use it?”
A tiny part of me dies inside, because this is what I have to work with?
But I’m not giving up my ranking because of something like this, either.
I take the phone out of his hands and open it myself. It’s got most of the apps that a Cape needs. Trackers. Police radio tappers. Crime map hotspots. I open Cape-Net, and over the next ten minutes, I spend an agonizingly painful amount of time making him an email account, figuring out his phone number, and coming up with a name.
That’s right—Mr. I’ve-Been-Hit-Harder doesn’t even have a superhero name.
Like…how? How are you even in this school without a Cape name?
Whatever, I think. Maybe he’s one of those international Capes.
Or something. Dunno. He’s enough of a headache as it is.
“Superhero name?” he mutters to himself, sitting beside me on the desk. “How about…Titan.”
“Taken. Dude, come on. Titan? There’s like ten of them already, and you want to be one of ‘em?”
He thinks some more. “How about Super-Boy?”
“Are you twelve years old under all this skin?”
“Invincible?”
“You’re begging to get hurt.”
I once knew this guy who called himself exactly that, and…
Well, that’s a story for another time. Poor guy. I hope his mom found the rest of him.
“Man, this is hard,” he mutters, chewing his fingernails. “Maybe…”
“Frontier,” I say. He looks at me, eyebrow raised. I shrug. “He was an old Cape from the Silver Age. Not as popular as Star-Sentinel or Kid Comet, but he was a pretty solid dude. Besides, his whole thing was him just being a superhero. His comics didn’t even reveal his secret identity. He’d save the day, give us a thumbs up, and go on about his business like he didn’t just do the impossible, and then they quietly cancelled his run, and he vanished like the rest of his generation. It’s an old-timey name, I guess. But something people are gonna remember easily.”
Carter shrugs. “Sounds cooler than Sentry, so I’ll take it.”
“Jackass,” I mutter. He smiles a little. I hand him back the phone. “There. Your account is up and running. Now, if you’ve got anything you’ve accomplished, just tap the tab that literally says accomplishments and add ‘em. They’ll not pop up until they get verified, so it might take a while.” I massage my eyes. “Gods, this blows so much.”
“How’s it going, Numero Uno?” Mr. Jeans says, patting my shoulder. “Got him ready?”
“Yep,” I sigh. “Does that count for extra credit?”
“Not yet,” he says with a smile. “For you, like with Valentine, since your partners don’t have accounts, your goal is going to be to build theirs from scratch. Much harder, but if you hit the goal, I’ll give you extra credit.”
“Extra extra credit?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says.
I clap my hands together and look at Carter. “Time to make you famous.”
“More famous than you?”
“Slow down, cowboy,” I say, getting off the table. “Let’s figure out what kind of her you are first.”
“I’m the best kind, so I think this is gonna be pretty easy.”
“Two massive egos,” Mr. Jeans says with a sigh. “A match truly made in heaven.”
And destined right for hell, I think as Carter grins at me.
Cape-Net
Username: Sentry1
National North-American Rank: #1 [Freshman Division]
International Rank: #8 [Under 25 Division]
Name: Samantha A. Luck.
Age: 18.
Blood-Type: Classified.
Threat Level: 7.12 (Due for Re-Testing)
Classification: Six-Star | Dual-Threat [Combat-Oriented All-Star]
Residence: Liberty City.
Affiliations: Pantheon U Freshman.
Jurisdiction: Liberty City Metro Area
Total Follower Count: 22.2M Cross-Platform Aggregate
Engagement Rate: 11.2%
Public Approval Rating: (18-35yrs): 81%
Estimated Annual Revenue Generated: $27.3M
[Projected to break rookie endorsement records once approved]
COMBAT METRICS
Max Recorded Lift: Classified
Peak Atmospheric Speed: Mach 6.2 (Urban Constraint)
Energy-Projection Yield: 7.34
Durability Index: 8.13
Combat Intelligence: 6.98
Awareness: 8.7
DRAFT WATCHLIST:
Ultra Force
West Coast League
Texas Titans
Euro-Guard
World Dominion
America Force
Draft Probability: 98.4% (Top Percentile)
BRAND AND MARKETING PROJECTION:
Estimated Long-Term Franchise Value: $480M-$1.2B
Merch Conversion Rate: 18% (High)
Female 16-24yrs Loyalty: Exceptional
JUNIOR CAPE ACCOLADES
- First-Team All-American (Hero Class of ‘72)
- Awarded to Top 5 Junior Capes Nationally. Only freshman to receive unanimous selection in 14 years.
- National Leader: Villain Neutralization (Freshman Division)
- 47 Confirmed solo neutralizations
- 19 assisted takedowns
- 0 civilian fatalities in proximity engagements
- Liberty City Defensive Rookie of the Year
- Recognized for the highest recorded civilian survival rate in high-density zones (96%)
- 2x Guardian Shield Citation
- Noted for extreme bravery in the face of great adversity
- Rookie Record Holder: Fastest Tier-7 Takedown
- 2 minutes, 14 seconds
- Dual-Threat AHL Distinction (Six-Star Classification)
- Top 1% in Raw Power Output and Tactical Adaptability
- 3x New America Hero of the Week
- Only freshman to win the title Nationally for three consecutive weeks (March, 2071)
- Freshman All-Conference (East-Coast Selection)
- Noted for Liberty State Region All-Conference Selection x3
CAREER STATS
Total Engagements: 71
Solo Wins: 58
Assisted Wins: 13
Losses: 0
Strategic Withdrawal: 0
Highest Threat Level Defeated: 7.75
Highest Threat Level Survived: 7.86
Civilian Extraction Count: 312
Hero Sports Network Feature:
Steve Gabel | HSN Senior Draft Analyst
Published: June, 2072. Article Abstract.
Property of CapeCo Global and CapeCo America.
“The New Age Supe.”
The future of superheroes is young, blonde, and the blueprint for the next generation of American greatness.
lot over the course of the story, but it's more of a basic guide that's fun to keep track of as times progress. Not everything she's done is recorded here, but the good stuff is - well, the investor-important stuff is