The SuperHero's Return

The sewer's damp chill seeped into Elena's bones as she clutched the dented communicator, its faint hum cutting through the stagnant air.

She pressed the button, and a shrill *ring* pierced the silence, each tone a dagger twisting in her aching heart.

Her breath hitched, a storm of dread and longing swirling in her chest—every ring carried the weight of their last hope, and yet, part of her prayed it would go unanswered.

The others watched her, their shadowed faces flickering under the swaying bulb, a mix of curiosity and skepticism in their eyes.

Kellan leaned against the slimy wall, arms crossed, his scarred knuckles glinting as the rings dragged on.

Lira fidgeted, her cracked goggles reflecting the dim light, while Soren twirled her blade with a faint smirk.

Dax sat slumped, his hood low, but even he tilted his head, listening to the endless *ring-ring* that echoed off the dripping walls.

Elena's grip tightened, her burnt hand trembling—relief crept in as the call stretched toward silence, but it was laced with a bitter disappointment that gnawed at her resolve.

Finally, the ringing stopped, the device falling mute in her hand.

She exhaled, a shaky breath that fogged in the cold, and the others erupted into mocking laughter.

Kellan's deep chuckle rumbled first. "What, your big savior's dead, Voss? Buried under a rock somewhere?"

Lira joined in, her jittery voice sharp. "Or maybe they're just too smart to pick up for a lost cause like us."

"Some mystery hero," Soren sneered, flipping her blade mid-air. "Probably a myth you made up to keep us going."

Dax's quiet murmur cut through the jeers. "I didn't sense anyone. Maybe they're gone—or never existed."

Elena's jaw clenched, her good eye flashing with defiance as she stared at the communicator.

Their words stung, but she pressed the button again, the *ring* slicing through their taunts like a desperate plea.

She wouldn't give up—not yet, not when the world was ash and ruin beyond these walls.

The rings stretched on, each one a heartbeat louder in her ears, until—just as the call teetered on the edge of cutting out—a faint click sounded.

Someone had picked up.

Silence flooded the line, heavy and unbroken, the other end offering nothing but the hiss of static.

The group stilled, their mockery fading as Elena's voice rasped out, raw and urgent.

"It's me—Elena Voss. We need you. The superheroes need you."

Her words hung in the void, unanswered, the sewer's drip the only reply for a agonizing moment.

Then a voice—young, female, and edged with ice—crackled through. "No. I'm done."

The line went dead, the communicator's hum snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Elena stared at the device, her scarred face paling as the others burst into fresh laughter.

Kellan slapped the wall, the sound wet and hollow. "Scared little girl on the other end? That's your big hope?"

Lira doubled over, her goggles slipping as she wheezed. "She's hiding under her bed, Voss! Probably shaking at the thought of those villains."

"Pathetic," Soren spat, sheathing her blade with a sharp clack. "You dragged us down here for a coward?"

Dax shook his head, his voice a whisper. "Maybe she's smart. Smarter than us, staying out of this mess."

Elena's burnt hand curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palm as their jeers bounced off the grime-slick walls.

She wanted to scream, to hurl the communicator at them, but despair anchored her in place.

"You don't get it," she muttered, barely audible. "She's not just anyone—she's—"

"Who?" Kellan cut in, his tone mocking. "A ghost? A quitter? We're done here, Voss."

The group's laughter faded into groans of frustration, their brief unity unraveling in the fetid air.

Lira kicked at the muck, her voice bitter. "This is it, then. No bases, no help—just us and the shit we're standing in."

Soren's eyes darkened, her frost-kissed hair glinting as she turned away. "Cursed life. Should've died fighting instead of rotting here."

Dax stood, his hood slipping back to reveal hollow cheeks. "I'm out. There's nothing left to save."

Kellan lingered longest, his broad frame tense, then shrugged. "Good luck with your fairy tales, Voss."

One by one, they slipped into the shadows, their footsteps splashing faintly as they disbanded into the sewer's depths.

Elena remained, alone in the flickering light, the bulb swaying like a pendulum over her head.

The silence pressed in, thick with the stench of rot and her own fading hope, her scarred reflection staring back from a puddle at her feet.

She sank against the wall, the communicator slipping from her hand to clatter in the filth.

What now? The question gnawed at her, unanswered, as the drip-drip of water marked the seconds of her solitude.

Then—a sharp *ring* shattered the quiet, jolting her upright.

The communicator buzzed in the muck, its cracked screen glowing faintly, and Elena's heart lurched into her throat.

She stared at it, frozen, the sound clawing at her nerves—was it a glitch? A cruel echo?

Her burnt hand hovered, trembling, then snatched it up, her thumb slamming the button before doubt could stop her.

She lifted it to her ear, breath held, praying the other side had reconsidered.

A voice broke through—not the girl's, but a young man's, warm and casual, cutting through the static like sunlight through fog.

"How you holding up, Elena?"

Her knees nearly buckled, relief flooding her as she pressed the device closer, her voice cracking with gratitude.

"You picked up. Thank God, you picked up."

The man chuckled, a sound so out of place in her world of ruin that it almost hurt to hear. "Took some convincing. What's going on?"

Elena swallowed, her words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to keep him on the line.

"It's bad—worse than bad. The supervillains took everything. All the bases, gone. They've built their own empires, carved up the world."

She paced the small room, the muck sucking at her boots as she spoke.

"The heroes are dead, hiding, or turned traitor—killing innocents, hunting what's left. We're all that's left, a handful of us, and we're drowning."

The man's tone stayed light, almost curious. "Sounds like a mess. What's an old guy like me supposed to do about it?"

Elena stopped, her good eye narrowing as she gripped the communicator tighter.

"I need you here. Your support—we can take them down, start fighting back. We can talk details in private, away from this hellhole."

A pause stretched across the line, and in the background, Elena caught a faint yell—a girl's voice, sharp and furious.

"Tell her no, you idiot! We're done with this!" the girl shouted, her words muffled but unmistakable.

Elena's heart sank—two voices, two wills, and she needed them both.

The man sighed, his tone shifting to mild irritation as he muttered, "Quiet down, will you?"

Then, louder, to Elena: "Alright, Voss. I'll meet you. Send me the time and place—message it through this thing."

Relief surged again, mingling with disbelief as she nodded, though he couldn't see. "I will. Soon. Thank you."

He laughed again, casual as ever. "Don't thank me yet. Gotta go—she's about to throw something."

The line cut, his voice replaced by a sudden yell—"Hey, put that down!"—before silence reclaimed the sewer.

Elena stood motionless, the communicator warm in her hand, her pulse racing as hope and fear collided in her chest.