Proposal

Firepower's absence had left a deep scar on Horizon's reputation.

His disastrous interview on The Caitlin Night Show hadn't just stirred controversy, it had ignited a public relations crisis.

The fallout was immediate.

Not only had Firepower's personal approval rating plummeted, but Horizon's global trust rating took a hit as well. Once sitting comfortably at 78%, the Agency's score had now slipped to 67%, just two points ahead of Vanguard's rising 65%. Ever since the explosion, the once-clear gap between the two powerhouse agencies had been steadily closing.

But numbers weren't the worst of it.

The real problem was Steelfist.

With Firepower out of the spotlight, his fiercest rival had seized the moment—and the headlines. Steelfist wasn't just making waves across New York... he was walking straight into Horizon's turf like he owned it.

And that's exactly what he was doing now.

He had arrived at Horizon HQ that very afternoon.

And he hadn't come alone.

At his side was Electroboy, Vanguard's latest golden prodigy, young, flashy, and already loved by the media. The message was clear:

Vanguard wasn't chasing Horizon anymore.

They were knocking on the front door.

Inside Horizon HQ, the atmosphere shifted the moment the black Escalades pulled up outside.

From the top floors to the lobby, tension rippled through the building like a silent alarm. Agents paused mid-conversation. Junior heroes leaned out of elevators for a better look. Staff exchanged glances that said what no one dared speak aloud: "What is he doing here?"

In the operations command center, Director Elena Myles stood at the window, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she watched Steelfist exit the vehicle with that trademark swagger. Her jaw tightened.

"He's early," she muttered.

Her deputy, Thomas Kwan, didn't look up from his tablet. "He wasn't invited."

"Exactly," she said. "And yet here he is."

Electroboy followed close behind, all grins and charm, waving at Horizon personnel like he was visiting a theme park. Steelfist, on the other hand, didn't even glance around. He walked like he was back home.

As the security team rushed to meet them, Myles turned from the window, her voice cool and clipped.

"Let him in. But make sure every word is recorded."

She paused.

"And notify the Vice President that we've got guests… though judging by the commotion, I'm sure he already knows."

.....

Downstairs, Valerio Crane, Horizon's Vice President, was already making his way to the entrance, flanked by two aides.

He reached the lobby just as the glass doors parted.

Steelfist stood inside, towering, arms folded, surveying the sleek, modern interior with faint amusement. Beside him, Electroboy glanced around curiously, his youthful energy a stark contrast to his mentor's calm dominance.

Crane pasted on a politician's grin and stepped forward, arms wide.

"The great Steelfist!" he boomed. "What an unexpected honor."

He extended a hand with exaggerated warmth.

Steelfist glanced at it, then at Crane, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

"I'd like to shake your hand, Crane," he said coolly, "but I'm afraid I might crush it. These arms don't do delicate."

He flexed one arm slightly, just enough to make the tailored sleeve creak.

Crane's grin faltered, his hand retreating a little too quickly.

"And this must be the rising star," he said, redirecting with a forced chuckle. "Electroboy, the wonderkid himself! Hard name to miss, been lighting up every headline."

Electroboy nodded stiffly. "Sir."

"I'm afraid he can't shake your hand either," Steelfist added, his tone playful but cutting. "Bit of a shocking personality."

Electroboy forced a tight smile at the joke, but didn't say a word.

Crane's laughter came too quickly, too loud.

"Well, shall we?" he said, gesturing toward the elevator with a touch too much flourish. "Let's show you what Horizon's been building while you've been... entertaining the cameras."

Steelfist didn't move right away. He looked around again, slower this time.

"Nice place," he said, eyes locking with Crane's. "Would be a shame if someone walked in and thought they ran it."

Just then, Crane couldn't help but wish Firepower would show up, say something, do something to pull him out of this mess.

But deep down, he knew the truth: the man hadn't surfaced since the explosion. Not a word. Not a whisper. Hiding.

"So," Crane said, recovering his poise. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Steelfist?"

Steelfist's gaze drifted to a framed Firepower poster hanging nearby. The glossy print showed the #1 hero mid-flight, blazing with power, eyes glowing with confidence.

"I came to see if it's really true," Steelfist said. "That Firepower's hiding like a rat."

He looked back at Crane, voice sharpening.

"Whoever blew up that building had balls. Maybe enough to scare the strongest man in the world."

Electroboy studied the poster silently, his voice soft when it came.

"It takes a lot to scare Firepower…"

Crane chuckled, low and cynical.

"We're all untouchable… until the skeletons start falling out of the closet."

He gave Steelfist a pointed look.

"You'd be surprised how fast giants shrink when that happens."

Steelfist grunted, unimpressed. Then, with a flicker of seriousness:

"Let's get to business. I assume you've heard the news?"

"Ah, yes…" Crane nodded quickly, gesturing toward the elevators. "Shall we talk in my office?"

Steelfist gave a small nod.

Crane turned, waving to Director Myles, who'd just stepped out of the command center.

"Director," Crane called, "why don't you show Electroboy around? Give him the full Horizon experience."

Myles blinked. "Me, sir? With all due respect, why me?"

Steelfist spoke before Crane could answer.

"Because he's not just some rookie. He deserves more than a junior handler with a brochure."

He turned to Myles, eyes gleaming faintly.

"Besides... it takes someone almost his size to walk him through this place without getting lost."

Electroboy grinned at that, clearly pleased.

Myles gave a tight, reluctant nod.

With that, Crane and Steelfist stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, leaving Myles alone with the grinning prodigy.

INT. VICE PRESIDENT CRANE'S OFFICE HORIZON HQ

Steelfist loomed over the chair in front of Crane's desk, eyeing it like it had offended him. It groaned under his weight as he tried to lower himself, then gave up and remained standing, arms crossed.

Crane watched with a wry smile. "So, you're here for Blood-Weaver?"

Steelfist's playful bravado dropped. His tone turned firm.

"Yeah. He's too valuable for Vanguard to lose."

All the bluster, the bravado, the jabs at Firepower and Horizon, gone. Now, it was all business. The real Steelfist had stepped into the room.

"He costs us thirty-five million a year," he said. "That should tell you how important he is."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Has he ever gone off-grid before?"

"A few times," Steelfist admitted. "Usually when he's throwing some wild party in the Alps or crashing private islands. But this? This is different."

He paused.

"No calls. No sightings. No footprint. He's vanished."

Crane leaned forward, voice lowering. "But you still have his tracker, right?"

A beat.

Every agency implanted trackers in their top-tier heroes, secretly. The public didn't know. Most heroes didn't either. But people like Crane? They knew.

Steelfist nodded once. "Yeah. It pinged his location. Some abandoned warehouse just outside the city."

"Could be nothing," Crane said. "Could be a trap."

Steelfist's jaw clenched. "We think he was taken."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Then Crane spoke again, tone almost amused. "You need our help, don't you?"

Steelfist gave a dry grin. He hated admitting it, but Crane was enjoying this too much to lie to.

"Can't do it alone," he said. "Vanguard's top hitters are off-world or off-grid. Only Electroboy and I are local."

Crane smirked. "This beneath you, Steelfist?"

"Let's say... not worth the headlines," Steelfist replied. "I can't be seen taking side quests, even if they're serious. Optics matter."

"So you want a joint op," Crane said. "Use our rookies as your cover."

Steelfist shrugged. "A win-win. You send someone fresh. Electroboy leads. If it goes well, boom, media eats it up. 'Young heroes rescue missing legend.' Good PR. Money. Recovery from Firepower's meltdown."

At that, Crane's interest visibly sharpened. Steelfist saw the gleam in his eyes.

"Imagine the headlines, Crane," he pressed. "After all the heat your agency's taken… this could flip the script overnight."

Crane tapped a finger against his desk, thinking. "What kind of resistance are we expecting?"

Steelfist chuckled. "Since when do you care about the threat level? You care about your bottom line."

Crane smiled, because it was true.

Steelfist leaned in. "We don't know what's out there. But we know he didn't just run off. Someone has him. Someone dangerous."

Crane nodded slowly. "Alright. You've got a deal."

He stood and adjusted his jacket.

"I've got the perfect team to pair with your golden boy."

The deal was struck.

But neither of them truly knew what they were walking their heroes into.

A warehouse on the edge of the city.

A man with a burnt face.

A plan stitched in blood and vengeance.

The man only known as Mr. October.