Chapter 1: Kevin Trades

New York. The city of endless motion. A concrete jungle of ambition, desperation, and everything in between.

The streets pulsed with life—taxis honked, neon signs flickered, and a sea of people moved in waves, each with their own destination, their own story. From the towering skyscrapers casting long shadows over the streets to the steam curling from sewer grates, it was a city that never slept, never paused.

And, of course, it was a city that had its traditions.

Like the Tuesday bank robbery.

"Dispatch, we have a 10-31 in progress! Suspects armed, heading east on Fifth!"

The sirens screamed as a black armored van tore through the streets, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon. Squad cars trailed closely behind, their tires screeching against the asphalt. The stolen cash, still in marked bundles, spilled from the van's open doors, scattering across the road as the robbers fired wildly at the police behind them.

"Keep driving, keep driving!" one of the masked men shouted, reloading his rifle. "We lose these guys, we're home free!"

But then, something changed.

The sirens began to fade. The squad cars… stopped.

The robber in the passenger seat blinked. "Wait… why aren't they—"

Before he could finish, the driver screamed. The man in the back seat vanished with a whoosh—sucked straight down into the floor like a magic trick gone wrong. Another robber shouted, only to disappear the same way. One by one, they were swallowed into glowing blue portals beneath them, yanked away without a sound.

The last remaining robber barely had time to look down before—whoosh—he, too, was gone.

The van, now driverless, skidded forward, its wheels spinning wildly. But before it could crash—

A shadow loomed overhead.

The van stopped. Not by brakes. Not by impact. But by force. It hovered midair, held effortlessly in the grip of a man in a suit, his polished shoes mere inches from the ground.

The suit was clean, tailored, and adorned with a single golden G on the chest. His face was calm, detached—like lifting a multi-ton vehicle was no different than carrying a briefcase.

As he floated down, another figure stepped through a swirling portal beside him. This one was shorter, masked, and clad in a sleek, light-blue suit. A glowing ring hovered behind his back, with two smaller ones orbiting his wrists and ankles, pulsing faintly with energy.

The news crews swarmed.

"Mister Genesis! How does it feel to once again stop another crime in the city?"

"Were you aware this was the fifth robbery attempt by this same crew?"

"Can you give us insight on your strategy? How do you—"

Genesis, still holding the van aloft, turned to face the cameras. His expression remained composed, dignified.

"A hero's duty," he said smoothly, "is to protect. No matter how many times crime rears its head, the Vanguards will be there to stop it. That is our promise to this city."

The reporters clamored for more, their voices overlapping in a frenzy of questions. But then—

Static.

The screen cut out.

And suddenly, Kevin Trades wasn't watching a live event at all.

He was in his living room, staring at the same old footage. Again.

"Kevin," a gruff voice called from behind. "How many times are you gonna watch that?"

Kevin, sprawled across the couch, lazily tossed the remote aside. "Don't know, Grandpa. Maybe a million and one." He stretched his arms behind his head. "Besides, the TV's busted, and it's hell outside. What else am I supposed to do?"

His grandfather, a sturdy old man with a full beard and a permanent air of skepticism, crossed his arms. "You could read a book."

"Read a—?" Kevin scoffed. "Grandpa, do I look like I wanna do homework for fun?"

"You could exercise."

"It's summer."

"Go outside."

"It's New York in summer."

"You could play chess."

"No."

"Bingo?"

"Nope."

"Board games?"

"Absolutely not."

His grandfather shook his head, already turning away. "Your loss."

"Yeah, yeah."

As if on cue, a small gray cat leapt onto the table, stretching lazily before curling up beside the old man.

"Come on, Whiskers," Grandpa said, pulling out a deck of worn-out cards. "Let's see if you can beat me at Tuna Ladder again."

Kevin watched as the old man dealt the cards for himself and the cat, who merely blinked in response.

"Y'know, Grandpa," Kevin muttered, rolling onto his side, "one of these days, you're gonna have to tell me how that game actually works."

His grandfather grinned. "Where's the fun in that?"

Kevin rolled his eyes as he rummaged through the stack of tapes beside the TV. Just as he was about to slip another one in, the landline rang.

"I got it!" he called over his shoulder.

His grandfather barely looked up from his game of Tuna Ladder with Whiskers. "If it's a telemarketer, tell 'em I don't need any more damn cookware."

Kevin smirked, grabbing the receiver. "Hello?"

A familiar voice came through, full of energy and mischief.

"Yo, Kevin. It's Roger, your favorite person on this godforsaken planet."

Kevin smirked. "Oh, really? I could've sworn you were my least favorite."

"First of all, rude. Second, I need you to come out tonight. It's important."

Kevin frowned. "Define important."

"Rana having a party at school before the year starts again."

Kevin blinked. "And?"

"And you're coming," Roger stated like it was law.

Kevin let out a sigh. "Yeahhh, I'm kinda busy."

Roger scoffed. "Oh yeah? Doing what, exactly?"

Kevin glanced at the paused tape on the screen—Genesis in all his heroic glory. He sighed again. "Uh… stuff."

Roger deadpanned, "You're watching old superhero tapes again, aren't you?"

Kevin hesitated. "…No?"

"Bro. Don't lie to me. I know you."

Kevin chuckled. "Alright, fine, you got me."

"Damn right I did." Roger clicked his tongue. "Listen, I know you ain't tryna spend the whole night rewatching heroes throwing bad guys into buildings.Seven PM. You're coming."

Kevin hesitated. "Do I have to?"

"YES. Because guess what? I made damn sure you're gonna be near Rana tonight. Bro, you wasted an entire year last year doing nothing. I refuse to let you sit this one out again. You will shoot your shot, Kevin Trades."

Kevin let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face. "Dude…"

"Don't 'dude' me. Seven PM. Wear something nice, not your usual 'I live in my basement' look."

Kevin groaned. "Fine. But if this goes bad, I'm blaming you."

Roger laughed. "Deal."

Kevin hung up the landline with a sigh, tossing the receiver back onto the stand. He glanced at the clock hanging on the living room wall—2:00 PM.

The school wasn't far, maybe a 30-minute walk at most. He had time.

His grandpa, still locked in an intense game of Tuna Ladder with Whiskers, spoke up without looking away. "Who was that?"

"Roger," Kevin replied, stretching before dropping onto the couch. "Telling me there's some back-to-school party tonight."

His grandpa nodded. "Sounds about right. You going?"

Kevin shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

His grandpa finally looked over, raising a bushy eyebrow. "You guess?"

Kevin smirked. "It's Roger. I don't really have a choice, do I?"

His grandpa chuckled. "That boy's got you wrapped around his finger."

"Nah, he's just too stubborn to say no to."

"Smart kid." His grandpa leaned back in his chair. "Alright, cool, cool. But when you're done with your teenage shenanigans, make sure to bring some eggs home."

"Oh no.."

"Oh Yeah, I wanna try making a cake tomorrow."

Kevin snorted. "More like charcoal."

His grandpa pointed at him. "Just bring 'em, kid."

Kevin held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to burn down the kitchen again."

His grandpa grumbled something under his breath as he went back to his game, and Kevin shook his head, walking back toward the TV. He had time.

Dropping onto the couch, he grabbed another tape from the stack, blowing a bit of dust off the label. As soon as he slid it in, the grainy screen lit up with the intro to the Genesis animated series—that old-school orchestral theme playing over a montage of the hero's greatest battles.

Kevin clicked his tongue, leaning back with a smirk.

"Ah, yes. A classic."

And with that, he hit play.