For months, it was all anyone had been able to talk about—the flying woman who had saved the world and disappeared afterward. Had she lived? Had she died? No one knew. But she had flown! She had saved thousands, if not millions.
It was almost a year before she made another appearance, setting off another round of complete disbelief that someone, or something, like her could exist. That she hadn’t been destroyed. My grandpa had told me all about how people had been equally in awe and terrified of her at the time; I’d been too young to really understand how complicated her appearance in the world had been.
Then, over the next few years, two more beings, seemingly just like her, had appeared during other extreme times of need, performing incredible acts of heroism that stunned the rest of us normal people. I could remember the exact moments I’d seen videos of them for the first time. I was pretty sure everyone could.
They were superheroes brought to life.
Electro-Man and every other character ever created only paled in comparison to what these very real beings could do.
A whole decade went by without any of them ever communicating with anyone; they simply showed up, did what they had to do, and then disappeared. Sometimes it would be months before they were seen again. Then, about ten years ago, things changed, and they actually started talking to people a little bit, but the three of them remained the greatest mystery of all time.
The public had come up with their “titles.” She had never called herself The Primordial or called the other two by any official name. Someone had come up with The Primordial, The Centurion, and The Defender, and the names had stuck. Then, some television anchor had been the first to call them the Trinity, and shortly after that, someone somewhere drew up a symbol for them—three black, equilateral triangles in a horizontal row.
So really, who wouldn’t be obsessed? I used to have a bobblehead of The Primordial on my shelf. I’d seen a guy at the grocery store with a tattoo of The Defender’s silhouette on his neck a week ago. The last town I’d lived in had a mural painted of The Centurion on the bank’s wall.
On the other hand, some people thought they were a danger to mankind. My own grandma had done the sign of the cross any time they were mentioned. There were weekly protests with people claiming they needed to be destroyed, but those people probably wiped from back to front. Not my grandma obviously; she had just been really religious. Before my grandpa’s dementia had progressed, he had thought they were amazing.
But of the three of them, The Defender was the one people knew the least about. He’d been the last of the Trinity to appear. He never did appearances. Never, ever, spoke to the media. He just… did what he did and disappeared afterward. Drones had tried following him countless times, but every single one abruptly stopped working almost immediately. Footage of him was rare. A good view of his face was an anomaly that I wasn’t sure even existed; the best shot I’d ever seen had been a distant picture of a dark-haired man with a clean, sharp jaw. For whatever reason, every photo and video of him came out distorted. He was the only one of the Trinity that came out like that. Some people speculated they were all capable of it, but he was the only one who did it.
But even without a good view of his face, the rest of him was unmistakable. The man in the shredded suit wasn’t just long and muscular, he was built like a classical statue. What remained of the material was a charcoal gray color, and the cape and boots were dirt-smudged but blue. My flashlight landed on that incredible, unforgettable shade again. Not regular blue, a deep, bright blue.
Oh boyyyy.
This couldn’t be happening.
It couldn’t.
The man in my yard, surrounded by embers of bright purple fucking fires that were shrinking by the second, groaned again. His fingers stretched and curled, and he arched his neck back, a long, low moan escaping his body in a way that felt so, so wrong.
It was him.
Normal people didn’t wear capes and boots around.
Their bodies didn’t fall from the fucking sky.
It was him.
He grunted so quietly that I barely heard him.
But I did hear him, and it didn’t make any sense. I was one of the last people in the world who needed one of the Trinity in their backyard, but the little, tiny bit of compassion in my heart wouldn’t let me head back inside and pretend like this wasn’t happening. Which was exactly what my grandma would have told me to do. Run the other way and pretend like I didn’t know anything, pretend I hadn’t seen anything. She would have told me to pack a bag and leave his ass there.
Survive had been the last thing my grandma had asked of me. Do whatever you have to do was the unspoken addition that had lingered between us. It was how she’d raised me.
On the ground, The Defender’s fingers raked through the dirt as he gasped again.
Shit, shit, shit.
Before the reasonable part of my brain reminded me of why this was an awful idea, of what I had fucking promised, I ran over, skidding to a stop, just barely managing not to step on the figure there.
I stopped beside his thigh and dropped to my knees. Just as I was about to reach out and touch him, I slapped my palm down on my own leg and leaned over the man trying to breathe.
He was struggling.
“Oh, fuck me,” I muttered to myself before setting my hand gently on top of his. “Hey.” His skin was so hot it was almost uncomfortable, but I really didn’t like the look on his scrunched face. Much less the state of the rest of him. “Are you okay?”
Broad fingers flexed in mine, almost more convulsively than on purpose, and The Defender tried to take another breath that sounded like a wheeze.
I wasn’t even sure he knew I was there.
“Do you want me to call 9-1-1? Or… or is there a hotline to call the other members of the Trinity?” I was trying my damn best not to panic. Normal people could go to a hospital, but this man wasn’t normal. What was a hospital going to do for him? He was missile-proof, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like a tiny little needle or even a big-ass needle was going to pierce his skin.
What do I do?
His face scrunched up, and his eyes squeezed closed. “No… hospital,” The Defender grumbled in a voice that was barely audible. “No… one….”
Oh god, he was talking to me. He was actually talking to me. And I didn’t like what he was saying.
“You don’t want me to call anyone?” I tried my best not to shriek.
His fingers jerked in mine, and I barely heard him, but I managed to catch just enough to hear him whisper, “No.” His throat bobbed. He gasped, then groaned. “In-inside….”
Inside? My house?
This was the last thing I needed. The absolute last thing. There was the last thing, and this would have come after that.
The Defender let out another rattling breath; it was the most pained sound I’d ever heard.
Focus, Gracie. Focus.
I could go back in and let him deal with his situation on his own. Technically, this wasn’t my responsibility… but that wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be. It was the opposite of the kind of person I wanted to be. Okay, okay. Don’t panic.
He didn’t want me to call 911, and he wanted to go inside. I could do that much.
I had to.
Lifting my hand off his and sounding almost calm, even though part of me wanted to cry, I said, “Okay, okay. There’s no way I can carry you. I think I have a wheelchair, but I need to get it. I’ll be right back, okay?” I couldn’t believe this shit was happening.