1.04 - At the Forefront

“Auntie Goonie, Auntie Goonie!”

An excited voice rang out as seven-year-old Leo burst into the house, his small frame practically vibrating with energy as he scampered into the kitchen. He knew exactly where to find his auntie—Goonie was always there in the afternoons, cooking up another of her famous vegetarian recipes for dinner.

Leo adored these meals. It didn’t matter what she was making—every dish was like a surprise treat, a new experiment she claimed was for the menu of her future restaurant. Leo didn’t care why she cooked; he just loved her food.

“Hey now,” Goonie called out without turning from the stovetop. “You know better than to run around in the house.”

Leo skidded to a stop, looking sheepish as a blush spread across his cheeks. “Oh, yeah… sorry, momma.” He glanced at the floor briefly before his excitement bubbled over again, wiping away the embarrassment as he burst into chatter.

“But, Auntie Goonie, guess what!? So, at school today, Sam, Dee, and me were talking about who’d make the best hero if we suddenly got superpowers! Sam said he’d totally be the best because his dad’s a police officer and that means he knows all about justice and stuff, more than us. But I was like, ‘That’s a terrible backstory for a hero, right?’ And then Sam said my backstory was worse—like, who even says that? But then Dee was like—”

Goonie nodded along distractedly, half-listening as Leo launched into his animated recounting of the latest playground debate. His “flame wars,” as he and his nerdy little crew called their discussions, were always a highlight of his day.

She was about to gently correct his grammar—“Sam, Dee, and I were talking about our dads, mostly Sam”—but stopped mid-thought when she caught the word ‘dad’.

The casual mention hit her like a slap. She froze, her stirring hand pausing mid-motion as a pang of guilt and unease spread through her chest. Goonie worried that her little boy would be dragged back into his deep depression through casual conversations like this. What could she do, become a mini dictator to her kids and tell them what they should and not discuss with others out of her own fear? But that wasn’t her style. 

Dad.

Such a simple word, but in this house, it was a loaded one. A word they had never truly addressed.

Leo had been her charge for several years now, and though Goonie and Quinn had always been open to answering his questions, they rarely came easily. He never pushed for details about his past or why he was here with them, having put certain facts out of his mind. They’d fallen into a quiet rhythm, one where the ghosts of his history stayed tucked away.

But now, here it was, unbidden and unavoidable. Goonie realized with a heavy heart that Leo was growing up, his world expanding with each new interaction at school. Although he’d managed to heal in these two years, he’d soon begin piecing things together—or worse, start hearing half-truths from others. Reminders of his old life and all the bad things that happened to him.

“—and then I was like, nuh-uh, because—”

“Leo.” Goonie’s voice cut through his rapid-fire chatter like a knife, soft yet weighted with something he couldn’t name.

Leo stopped mid-sentence, his wide eyes snapping up to meet hers. He faltered, his earlier confidence shrinking as an unfamiliar, yet too familiar tension crept into the room.

That tone. It had him on edge. It didn’t sound too angry, but it was heavy, super serious. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it too felt familiar—too familiar. A chill ran down his spine as his body tensed, and he instinctively took a half-step back, his heart hammering wildly he sweated, unsure why he suddenly felt the urge to flee.

Goonie’s shoulders slumped as she exhaled a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Leo,” she said gently, kneeling to meet him at eye level. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all.” She offered him a forced, but genuine smile, coming from deep in her heart. “But we need to talk about something important tonight—after dinner, once Quinn gets home, okay?”

Leo blinked at her, his lips parting as if to ask a question, but no words came. He was somewhat soothed by her softened tone.

Goonie reached out, brushing his cheek with a comforting hand. “It’s time,” she said softly. “It’s time we talked about your mom and dad. About who they were. You didn’t know all that much about your mother, my sister… and…”

Leo’s small hands clenched at his sides as his heart thumped louder in his chest. Although he didn’t fully understand what she meant, the weight of her words pressed down on him all the same. There was something dangerous in what she was saying.

Goonie’s voice remained calm, though her own heart ached. “We’re a family, Leo. You, me, Quinn. And tonight, we’ll talk about everything together, at least I hope that’s alright with you.”

Leo nodded hesitantly, his gaze falling to the floor. As Goonie stood, returning to her cooking, he lingered there in silence, his earlier excitement dimmed, but not gone. Although he didn’t know what the conversation would bring, for the first time, he might have something to say about his parents. In his fuzzy mind, they were vague shadows. Goonie and Quinn had become his whole life in such a short span of time.

Leo Walker was born to Albert William Walker, then a diligent and focused man, and Yvette Ramses-Walker, a nurturing woman with dreams of becoming a doctor. Both hailed from San Isidro, a historic city north of San Francisco some time before hitting Oregon along a coastline interstate highway, steeped in pride and tradition. Their union, rooted in love, was the kind of marriage that seemed almost storybook-perfect—rarely marked by arguments and brimming with genuine affection.

The day they found out they were expecting a child was a milestone Albert and Yvette would always cherish.

“Should we eat out again tonight?” Albert asked, his grin boyish as he watched Yvette with adoration. His thoughts wandered to dinner plans but quickly shifted to his wife’s growing belly. Though it wasn’t very pronounced yet, the idea of her standing for long stretches to cook didn’t sit well with him. “Let’s go,” he urged, sweeping her off her feet with an exuberant grin. “After all, you’re eating for two now!”

Yvette let out a soft, melodic laugh, her hands clutching his shoulders as he spun her gently. “Fufufufufu—careful, Al! I think our child's getting dizzy. Y’know I’m not a traditional wife.”

“I know.” Albert grinned, his voice warm with affection. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you, Yvette—you’re always thinking ahead and even now you think so much about your career as a doctor. I really think you could become one! But as much as I love your cooking, I think you need a break, especially now that we’re expecting.”

Yvette chuckled softly, resting a hand on her growing belly. “You’re sweet, Al. But I enjoy cooking for us—it makes me feel closer to you and... to our child.” She glanced downward, her smile softening at the thought of their unborn child.

Albert’s grin widened, and he took her hand in his. “That’s all the more reason to take care of yourself. No one’s going to argue with a future doctor about health, but even doctors deserve a break now and then, don’t they?”

She laughed again, leaning into his touch. “Fine, fine. You win tonight, but you owe me—steakhouse or not, I’m making your favorite Chicken à la King this weekend at least.”

“Deal,” Albert said, kissing her hand. “But only if you promise to let me help. Our little one deserves to know his dad can cook, too—even if it’s just barely edible.”

Yvette giggled, the sound bubbling with happiness. “I was thinking about naming our child Leo, if that sounds alright to you.”

Albert paused mid-spin, his face alight with curiosity. “Leo?” he asked, setting her carefully back on her feet.

Her smile deepened as she reached for his hand. “The ultrasound showed we’re having a boy!”

Albert’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing briefly as the realization sank in, then smoothing into pure joy. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh my God! We’re having a boy!” His voice rang with excitement as he laughed, his happiness spilling over like a bubbling fountain.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Yvette admitted, a playful glint in her eye. “I was planning to make your favorite meal tonight to celebrate, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

Albert clapped his hands together, laughing again. “Alright then. I get it. Forget dinner plans tonight! We do need to celebrate! But wait—‘Leo?’ Why not Albert Junior?”

Yvette giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I love your name, Al, but I promised my grandfather that I’d name my first child after him. And since our first baby is a boy… well, there you go. Is that okay?” She looked up at him, her soft gaze full of hope.

Albert groaned dramatically, though his smile betrayed his mock disappointment. “Awwww, I spent all night thinking of names! I was set on Albert Junior, or Yvette if it was a girl—”

Yvette laughed and shook her head. “Neither of those are very imaginative, love. I appreciate the sentiment, but this is important. Naming our child after my grandfather feels right. If it was a girl, I was thinking maybe Leona, kind of a variation of his name, but cuter.”

Albert mulled it over, scratching the back of his head before his grin returned, broader than ever. “Fine, fine. Let’s think about it over dinner. I’m craving that steakhouse we both love and you’ve demanded. Your delicious Chicken a la King can wait.” He wiggled his eyebrows, coaxing another blush from Yvette.

“Yay! A modest and small cut I think with a heaping salad. I think that might be best for us,” she teased, resting her hand lightly on her belly.

“You’re the expert,” Albert conceded with a wink, pulling her close as they stepped outside. “After all, you’re my future doctor wife.”

The couple laughed, their steps in sync as they made their way to celebrate the coming of their son, a little boy who would indeed be named Leo.

Time passed, and Leo Walker entered the world, a small bundle of potential wrapped in a tiny frame.

 Albert couldn’t help but nurse a secret hope: maybe his son would be one of those miracle children making headlines. Although it wasn’t a practical dream, Albert imagined how proud he’d feel if his child grew up with superpowers, gracing the front pages for extraordinary feats. It was selfish, he knew that. However in a world where the miraculous seemed just within reach, who wouldn’t dream a little?

Reality, though, had different plans. Leo was born small—too small, Albert thought—and it filled him with a quiet disappointment. He seemed to be underdeveloped, born too soon. His dreams of a larger-than-life legacy were tempered by the sight of his son, fragile and delicate. Still, Albert loved him fiercely, though he couldn’t shake the gnawing worry about how Leo would grow. Looking at his son, he couldn’t feature such a fragile child becoming the next Vanguard or Midnight Avenger.

Yvette, meanwhile, had her own path to navigate. After recovering from childbirth, she dove back into chasing her dream of becoming a doctor. But the mounting financial strain of school loans and the demands of family life was forcing her to make hard choices.

Soon enough, she decided to forgo earning her doctorate, instead applying her medical training to become a paramedic. Although it wasn’t the life she’d originally envisioned, it was a calling that she embraced with surprising fervor.

What Yvette found on the streets of San Isidro was a kind of raw reality that no textbook or lecture could have prepared her for. The work was gritty and relentless, filled with moments of gut-wrenching sorrow and breathtaking triumph. Although it lacked the glamor she once associated with being a doctor, it made her feel alive, vital, and impactful in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

San Isidro itself was a city of contradictions—a historic, bustling metropolis with a soul stained by its share of villainy. Yet it was also a place of hope, a crucible where dreams were forged against the backdrop of danger and decay. The early 2000s were a turbulent time, marked by a strange convergence of events: supervillain attacks surged to levels unseen since the fabled Big Boom of the 1950s. These were the twilight years of the so-called Age of Miracles, a golden era of heroism that was slowly giving way to what historians would later term the New Normal.

Yvette’s paramedic career blossomed in the thick of it all. She was on the frontlines, patching up the broken, comforting the frightened, and witnessing humanity at its best and worst. Heroes in colorful costumes often worked shoulder-to-shoulder with first responders in uniforms, their efforts blending into a chaotic tapestry of rescues and recoveries. But there were also darker moments—times when emergency crews abandoned their posts in the face of overwhelming supervillain attacks. Those memories haunted her.

Even as the chaos subsided, leaving a quieter but no less complicated peace in its wake, Yvette carried the lessons of those years with her. Although the city might have been battered and bruised, it never broke. San Isidro, for all its faults, remained a place of promise—a testament to resilience, where anyone with enough grit and determination could carve out a future.

Leo would grow up in this city, in the shadow of its history and all of its possibilities. Yvette and Albert, each in their own way, hoped he would find his place in it—a place where being small didn’t mean being powerless, and where even the ordinary could become extraordinary with the right spirit and mindset.

Her ambulance’s sirens shrieked as Yvette drove herself and her partner, Jack, to the scene of a notorious supervillain’s attack in progress.

“Repeat! Warning! It’s Gravitas!” the dispatcher’s voice yelled through the comm system. “All units are to stay back! There’s nothing we can do until Vanguard takes him down!.”

Yvette slammed on the brakes, pulling over with the sirens still wailing. Clenching her fists on the wheel, she furiously asked herself, Is this really all we’re worth? It’s dangerous!? Isn’t that what we’re here for?

Releasing her grip, she slammed her fists on the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare.

Civilians milled along the sidewalks as loud crashes shook the air like thunder. Among the crowd, Yvette spotted a mother struggling to carry her child to safety, tears streaming down her face. Their eyes met briefly, and Yvette snarled when the mother meekly looked away. How many children were still trapped here, smack dab in the epicenter where Gravitas was destroying everything in reach?

Yvette’s cursing under her breath was interrupted by a ripple that tore through the air, sending pavement and metal scraps flying in all directions.

She ducked just in time to avoid a chunk of cement the size of her head that hurtled through the windshield, showering her with fragments of safety glass.

Feeling nothing hit her raised hands, Yvette looked up at the gaping frame where her windshield had been.

Damn it! What happened?!

A cement chunk had embedded itself in the metal separating the cab from the back. If she hadn’t moved, her brain matter would have come along for the ride.

As Yvette processed what had just happened, a knocking at her side window startled her. She turned to lock eyes with an African-American man wearing a desperate expression. “Ma’am, please… my wife!” he screamed, practically hyperventilating.

Switching off every other thought, Yvette nodded, taking a deep breath as she opened the door. “Take me to her. What’s the situation?”

“A chunk of metal flew into her! She’s bleeding so much!” He grabbed her hands and hauled her up the sidewalk behind the ambulance. “Hurry, please!”

Yvette nodded grimly, running along until they reached the rear of the ambulance. She pulled her hand free. “Wait—my partner’s still in the back. Together, we’ll get her loaded up faster.”

She glanced around, noting how the crowd had gone prone on the sooty, cold pavement.

SHIT! Why’s that murderer even in San Isidro?!

Throwing open the rear doors, her jaw dropped. The chunk of cement had not only blasted through the windshield but was now protruding through the wall. Blood covered the surface of the slab facing her.

“Jack! OH GOD!” Yvette climbed into the back and checked for a pulse.

“OH SHIT!” the husband yelled as he peered inside, seeing what was left of Jack. Even his jaw dropped, but that sight didn’t give him much pause, “Ma’am, please! I’m sorry for your loss. But my wife is dying! Please save her!”

Yvette stared at him for a split second, then took a labored breath.

“Alright, we’ll go stabilize her.” Yvette nodded.

Jack was dead. She couldn’t control that. What she could do was her job. She grabbed a kit and leapt from the ambulance. The gurney would come later—after she confirmed the woman’s condition. She’d need the woman’s husband’s help.

“Thank you!” the husband cried, filled with a mix of desperation and relief. He sprinted ahead.

Yvette slung her kit over her shoulder, following, not sparing a second to look back. They didn’t have very far to go. A few civilians groaned in distress as she passed, but most of them seemed able to move on their own and not in as critical a condition as this man promised his wife was. One thing at a time.

Backup needs to get here soon—this is a bit much for just me. But I’ll still do it.

When they reached the man’s wife, Yvette crouched and began checking the woman’s breathing and pulse. It was bad. Shrapnel had driven deep into her back. Pressing her ear to the wife’s chest to listen to the noises inside her body as she drew pained breaths, Yvette winced.

“A lung collapsed—and she’s—”

Another explosion rocked the street, sending a shockwave through the air. Yvette turned to see her ambulance. Its roof had partially caved in from fallen debris, but it still seemed functional. A flicker of hope surged—maybe it could still run.

Not long after, a man floated down from the sky, cape swirling in the chaotic wind.

“Gravitas! Enough of this wanton destruction!” the flying man growled. It was Vanguard himself.

Below him, next to her battered ambulance, stood an enormous man encased in thick armor, his presence as intimidating as a tank. He looked like a mountain of metal, stomping toward Vanguard while moving slightly away from the ambulance. Vanguard slowly descended to meet him, their tension palpable.

Yvette cursed under her breath. One of these damned super battles—right next to me, of all places. Her gaze darted to the injured wife. I have to get her stabilized quickly.

Her eyes flicked back to the ambulance again, but the chance of reclaiming it under the nose of a psychotic supervillain was practically nonexistent. Instead, she turned to the victim’s husband.

“Help me lift her. We have to get her away from here, now!” Yvette’s voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the chaos.

The husband didn’t move. He stared wide-eyed at the two figures squaring off just a few yards away, frozen as if gravity itself held him in place.

Yvette clenched her jaw, every muscle in her body screaming with tension. The seconds ticked by like gunshots in her head. She grabbed his collar and shook him hard enough to jolt him out of his trance.

“Hey!” she hissed, her voice a low growl. “Look at me!” His eyes snapped to hers, his breath shallow and panicked. “Your wife’s dying. Do you hear me? Dying! Are you gonna let her bleed out because you’re too busy gawking at those two?” She jerked her chin toward the battling titans. “Move! Now!”

She yanked one of the wife’s limp arms over her shoulder, her fiery gaze boring into his.

The man blinked rapidly, his lips trembling, then gave a jerky nod. “R-right.” He shifted, trembling hands lifting his wife’s other arm.

Gravitas’s booming laugh cut through the air like a blade. “Hah! There’s nothing you can do to stop me, Vanguard. You’ve never had the power! Where’s your precious little league now?” His voice crescendoed into a roar that seemed to vibrate the ground beneath their feet.

The husband winced, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of his wife and the supervillain’s sheer presence. But Yvette was already moving, forcing him to match her pace as she carried most of the woman’s weight herself.

“Come on,” she snapped. “Keep up!”

Together, they staggered forward, step by agonizing step, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the titanic confrontation unfolding behind them.

“How many more lives will you destroy, Gravitas?” Vanguard’s voice cut through the din, authoritative and unyielding.

The ground trembled as an ear-splitting boom ripped through the air. Yvette barely had time to register the shockwave before it threw all three of them to the pavement.

Her body hit the cracked asphalt hard, knocking the wind out of her. Her ears rang, the world around her a disorienting blur of chaos.

It sounded like a colossal punch had landed, but she had no idea whose.

Don’t think about it, Yvette. Don’t think. Just move.

She scrambled to her knees, the high-pitched ringing in her ears muffling the explosions behind them. She turned her head instinctively toward a flash of light—and froze.

Her ambulance, crushed and mangled, was airborne. It hurtled through the air like a missile, coming straight for them—