Manhattan gathered to mourn the loss of a true hero.

The city gathered to mourn a true hero, and it gathered all at once and in silence, the way this city never does. A hush had come down over the whole of Manhattan, heavier than any sound the place had ever thrown up at the sky. The sky had gone maroon, that deep and bruised red the summer pulls down over the rooftops in the last hour of a long day, or maybe one of the other colors that live in that same family, the ones without any honest name, the ones that only ever come out once the sun is finished and has not yet admitted it. It bled down the faces of the towers and pooled in the streets below, and beneath it, as far as any set of eyes could carry, the people gathered on the wide stone steps of Manhattan Hospital. Shoulder pressed to shoulder. More of them in every doorway and every crossing, more of them filling in every place a person could still find to stand.

The city was quiet, for once. There were no cars, which in this place is its own small miracle, no horns and no engines and no long hiss of tires over warm asphalt. There was no idle chatter, no laughter carried up from somewhere down the block, no music leaking out of a passing window. Nothing from the birds, who seemed to have understood the gathering before them, and gone still. Nothing even from the wind, which had lain itself down flat and quiet, as though it too had come to pay its respects and did not wish to disturb the room.

From the street, the attention of that whole enormous silent crowd was fixed on a single window. Room 909. It sat up on the highest floor of the building, up where the thick fog of the evening pressed itself against the glass and tried to find a way in, and from behind that glass a bright light beamed out, steady and then not, pushing through the fog and the maroon and the coming dark. And the city lived and died by the light of Room 909. Each flicker of it ran through the crowd like something drawn sharp across the skin, a single hard inhale pulled through ten thousand chests at the very same moment, and each time the light steadied itself and returned, those same ten thousand let the breath back out, ragged and shaking and grateful, and drew the next one, and waited on the next flicker to come.

They breathed with the light. The whole island breathed with the light. And in the slow rhythm of that breathing the crowd moved, parting and folding and parting again, letting the bereaved come forward to the front of the hospital where a shrine had gone up quick, the way these things always go up quick in this city, hands and grief and whatever a person happened to be carrying. At the base of a broad stone pillar someone had left the first words, and others had added to them until they became the whole crowd's, a message set down for the man himself. To the hero that is a Bump-In-The-Night for criminals and villains everywhere. We miss you.

What once was, and for all it will be.

And in each breath of the crowd, more of them approached, and more was laid down. Flowers first, heaped up thick against the stone, blue and gold and blue and gold again, the colors of him, and here and there among them a bloom painted dark as the night he worked, petals gone the deep black of a rooftop at three in the morning. Closer in against the pillar there was a whole menagerie of faces, portraits and photographs and drawings alike, some of them the man himself, caught in a streetlight or half-lost in shadow the way the pictures of him always were, and just as many of the others, the people whose lives he had reached down into the dark and pulled back out. A woman holding a child. An old man on a stoop. Strangers to each other, all of them his. And there was money, too, left folded at the foot of it, the money he had spent his whole life refusing, the money he had liberated out of the hands of muggers and pressed back into the palms it belonged to, and now some of it laid here in open gifts, a few crumpled bills and a few careful envelopes, as though if the city pooled enough of it together it might buy back the one thing it had never once had to pay for before.

And in each breath of the crowd, under all of it, there was still hope. The city still drew breath, even now, even without the man who had gone and stolen its heart out from under it. This is the thing about this place, the thing that has always been true of it. Without a hero to look to, it looks instead to the light, and it follows the light, and it prays the light will be enough to save what the hero no longer can. You are here in it. You are a part of the city, and a part of the moment, and a part of the remembrance, standing in the maroon and the fog with your face turned up to that one high window like everyone else, breathing when it breathes.

Then the light of Room 909 moved. It did not flicker this time. It descended, slow at first and then not slow at all, drawing down out of that highest window and toward the waiting crowd, down through the fog that closed over it and hid it and could not hold it. And the whole island took in one last held breath together, and did not let it go.

And from the fog leapt Last Light, second-in-command of the Night Shift.

What the light gives, and what it asks in return.

Last Light

He rose up off the floor, still shining, still bright even here in the middle of ten thousand people. A dark coat swallowed most of that glimmering figure and held the light in close against him. It escaped only at the two ends of him, down past his legs and up around his head, the coat a dark housing drawn tight over a body that would not stop burning. Then, slowly, the light dimmed. It drained down out of him and away, and what it left behind, standing where the shining figure had been, was an elderly man in a flat-cap, cupping in both his hands a portrait of his own. He looked at it a long moment. Then he bent, and laid it down at the base of the shrine with all the others, one more face among the many, and he straightened himself back up, and looked out at the crowd.

There was an expectation in the look, and the crowd felt the weight of it, and their resolve began to shake. The maroon light that had carried all evening in the fog was gone now, departed with the last of the day, and the dark that came behind it left the breathing of the city shaken and uncertain.

So he lifted one hand, and with a single dismissive flick of the wrist, he answered it.

Every candle in every hand across that entire crowd leapt to life at once. Thousands of them, tens of thousands, all catching in the very same instant at the turn of his wrist, and for one held breath the light of them could have been seen from space, ten thousand small flames marking the exact spot where New York stood and grieved. Then the blaze eased. It settled down into thousands of separate flames, each one small and stout and shimmering, each one cupped in a living hand, and the crowd stood in the glow of what he had given them, and stopped shaking.

"I miss him too," said Last Light, and the boom of his voice rolled out over the whole of them. "I have known the man twenty-three years now. He was there for me at every fight, for every person we've saved.

The crowd softened to something a shade under silence, and then it did a stranger thing. It took his voice up and carried it, mouth to mouth and hand to hand, from the East River clear to the Hudson, the whole island passing him along.

"But he was there for me as a friend, too. For my wedding. For the birth of my child." He paused, and ran a finger slow across the face of the portrait he had laid down. "Because to Bump-In-The-Night, that is simply what heroes did. They are there for you. When you think you need us, and when you are certain you don't. For the little things, and the big ones. While nobody at all is watching, and while everyone is."

He steeled himself, and the light of him rose just enough to veil the bottom half of his face, and he went on through it.

"In a way, you are all of you heroes tonight, too. While he lies there fighting for his life in that hospital room, while he needs every one of you the most, you came. You came to stand and fight at his side. So thank you, New York. Thank you to those who are here on these steps today. To the ones watching from home, and to the ones who made the long journey to be here. All of you. Thank you."

His voice gathered one last time before steadying.

"Night Shift will not rest, and we will keep fighting for everything Bump-In-The-Night believed in. We will still be the heroes you can rely on, and we will always, always be there for you. But in this time of need, in this one," and the boom of it dropped now to something nearer a plea, "we need you to be there for us, too."

The crowd ebbed as Last Light spoke, drawing back and folding open, and out of the parting of it a crowned figure came forward to the front of the Manhattan Hospital. He climbed to the peak of the shrine and laid there a blank check, signed out in the name of the Skyline.

The lenses turned.

Your Highness took the stage.

A crown for the fallen, a watch for the living.

Your Highness

Clad in red and blacks, a dark-haired, pale-toned regent released a dark blue cloak from his shoulder, leaving it at the base of the shine. He smoldered, looking towards Room 909, kissing his hand and extending it towards the room.

"You were the best of us, Bump-In-The-Night..." The man put a hand on the shoulder of Last Light, pulling the other towards his chest. "I couldn't have said it better, my friend, and let it be known that the Skyline will spare no expense in assisting in Bump-In-The-Night's treatment!"* He proudly proclaims, pointing towards the blank check sat at the peak of the offerings.

"Criminals, vagrants, ne'er-do-wells, villains... heed my warning." He stares out towards the huddled cameras, all branded by Vantage News, with an extreme ferocity. "Today is not your lucky day. Skyline and Nightshift will fight just as hard, IF NOT HARDER, than ever before to ensure crime never wins." Your Highness pulls Last Light close, raising his hand like the champion of a fighting match. "We stand together, the defenders of New York City! When the city that never sleeps tires for even a moment, Skyline will keep watch!"

Your Highness extended his hand outward towards the crowd, inviting two figures to approach the steps. The mayoral candidates, Roland and Harlan. One man in a tailored black suit holding a bouquet of roses from a local flower stand. The other, much older, wearing a white collared shirt with black slacks held up by suspenders, bearing a commemorative plaque that claims to rename a streetlight in Central Park to the "Nightshift Light".

What is promised in a dead man's name.

Roland Keene and Harlan Pike

Roland started out by hugging various members of the crowd, offering his condolences, while Harlan started by shaking the hands of Last Light and Your Highness.

"Even with Last Light behind me, New York City has never felt so dark. Bump-In-The-Night was a pillar of what this city is all about. He abided by a code; he knew right from wrong, he defended the innocent, and punished evil-doers. But most importantly, he followed our laws! Due process, reasonable and just punishment, chain of command." Roland began with a firm tone that was equally divided between the crowd and the cameras.

His rival, Harlan, tapped his shoulder, giving a somber look. "My opponent and I couldn't agree more. This is truly a tragedy not only for New York but for the world. But we can not yet rest and reminisce on Bump-In-The-Night. Justice must be served! Now more than ever, the people of New York City face super-criminal threats that our police are not equipped to handle. I intend to pass the 'Bump-In-The-Night act', looking to strengthen our police force with anti-superpower equipment along with the construction of the 'Nightlight Penitentiary for Super-Criminals' to safely house these villains and keep them off our streets!" Harlan proudly proclaimed as Roland looked on with a highly incredulous look.

"New York, don't just take my word for it, please put your hands together for the brave men running the NYPD, Chief of Police Jace Parker and Investigative Chief Bill Arnold!" Harlan directs the crowd's attention to two men as they make their approach, Jace laying an officer's badge at the base of the shrine while Bill sets aside a box of cigarettes with only a single inverted cigarette left.

What the night lets out, and who still stands against it.

Chiefs Jason "Jace" Parker and William "Bill" Arnold

The two of them came up before the crowd, and they stood a moment in the maroon light while the city waited on them. Jace took the time to set himself right, adjusting the knot of his tie, drawing the police hat down off his head and holding it against his chest. Across the face of his badge ran a single black band, laid there for the departed. Golden stars caught what light there was and bedazzled his chest, and above all of it he wore the somber indifference of a man who is not permitted to look weak, not out here, not in front of the cameras, not if he means to still have the job come morning.

Beside him stood a seedier sort of man, in a long brown trench-coat, with a necktie that could only be called hideous, and across that too a black band for the dead. He tipped a matching brown fedora down over his brow, and the brim of it took the light as he sparked a cigarette to life between a cupped hand and a pair of pursed lips.

Jace spoke first.

"Mr. Pike is correct. New York must not falter, not at this, the most dire of times." His voice was pitched to reach the back of the crowd. "We have rallied before. In 2001. In 2008. In 2020. And now again, in 2030. And we cannot do this alone. If you see a crime, report it. Call 911. If you witness a crime, do not simply stand there a bystander. Protect your fellow New Yorker. We are stronger together." He brought one balled fist down hard into his open palm, and the crack of it carried. "This city will not go down without a fight. We are New Yorkers, dammit. And we are proud."

Bill gave a single affirming nod, and flicked his Zippo shut with a small metal snap.

"The Chief said it best." He drew on the cigarette. "I wish I could come up here and tell you all not to worry. But the fact of the matter is, after dark, this city lets out its monsters." His expression did not shift so much as a hair while he said it, and it would not the whole time he spoke, because unlike every other man who had stood on these steps tonight, he had no mask to keep up, no public face to hold together. The Investigative Chief did not get replaced, and he did not get fired, not once, not ever before. This was simply who the man was, all the way down. "Muggers. Kidnappers. Murderers. Serial killers. Psychos. And super villains. Every one of them dangerous, and they scarcely ever work together. Most of them act alone. Disorganized crime, we call it. Wildcards. Hard to trace, hard to profile, hard to see coming." He let a beat pass. "And then you have their counterparts. The ones who traded the knife and the rope for the gun and the suit. It might not be the eighties anymore, people. But the crime families are still very much at large."

He took a long, slow drag, and the ash grew and dropped from the end of it as his lips moved on.

"The Brennan Family. The Wei Tong crime syndicate. The Sokolov Bratva mafia. The Marchetti Family cartel." He spoke the names in a heavy, hearty accent, the accent of a man born inside the five boroughs and never once out of them for long, and then he took the cigarette from his lips and crushed the ash of it out against the hospital steps beneath his shoe. "They are out there. And they are dangerous. Just because they keep to their rules, just because they are organized, that does not make them one shade less ruthless than the wildcards. If you see something, you say something."

Bill and Jace traded a look, the kind that is short and wordless; the mutual feeling of two who have stood over the same bad nights for too many years to need a specific language for it, and together they've taken themselves back down off the steps and toward the police cruiser parked not far from the hospital, its lights turning slow and silent against the fog. The candidates went next, Roland and Harlan both, each trailing his own knot of media behind him. And it took a Vantage reporter almost no convincing at all to draw Your Highness away from the rest, off to the side, for an exclusive word on what she was already calling the blank check stunt.

And then, one by one, they all went.

All that remained on the wide stone steps of the Manhattan Hospital was Last Light, sitting alone. The lighthouse to the life of New York, ever and brightly waiting, while out across the emptying dark the small lights held up in the crowd went slowly out. The ones leaving. The ones caught and carried off in the wind.

And finally...

Yours.

Coming at you LIVE! from the Chrysler Building, it's Good Morning, New York with Josh Ripley and Jessica Hunsaker!

A panoramic view of New York City takes the frame, followed by a drone camera across the Brooklyn Bridge. Text fills the screen for Vantage News.

"For the future, today."

The frame slowly transitions in a radial wipe, showing two figures sitting in a chic white newsroom, adjusting various papers and smiling at the camera. The man is wearing a navy suit with a gold tie, his lapel holding a 'V' shaped insignia of the Vantage branding, the same found in his cufflinks. He's a young adult with well-groomed brown hair and a clean shave. His pearly white teeth showed in every smile, though this was somewhat absent on a somber morning for all of New York City. His co-host, Jessica, sits idly in a matching navy dress with a black undershirt. Her posture is disciplined and manicured, the perfect amount of relaxed and alert. Her hair has a somewhat rusty amber color, and her teeth are the same perfect pearl as her counterpart.

"Good morning, New York. Before we get started, and all of us here at the Vantage News New York City want to extend our thoughts and prayers to 'Bump-In-The-Night', who is currently battling for his life in the Manhattan Hospital."

While Josh speaks, B-roll plays of the candlelight vigil held the night before plays with shot after shot interlaid with fading cuts, some of the shrine, others of Last Light's speech, and of the families gathered there to show their support.

Jessica nods in appreciation.

"I was moved to tears by Last Light's touching speech for his good friend and by seeing New York City rally for their fallen hero. God bless you, 'Bump-In-The-Night''," she says, looking first to her co-host and then the camera.

A moment of silence is held before both anchors look back at the camera.

"For our top story this morning, we go to Alysa Moon coming to us from the Global Defense Agency's North American Headquarters here in New York City."

The screen wipes with the iconic Vantage 'V' to the interior of a well-lit compound. Alysa sits beside a mature-looking man in a loose suit with no tie. A voiceover chimes to the audience, Vantage News was able to secure this exclusive interview with Chairman of the Global Defense Agency, Sullivan McCarthy.

"Here with us now is Sullivan McCarthy, Chairman of the Global Defense Agency, thank you for having us."

Alysa remarks in an exchange of pleasantries, the camera zooms to her as she speaks, and then cuts away back to the neutral frame of the duo sitting across from each other.

"Yes, Ms. Moon, it's a pleasure to host Vantage again," he begins, cupping his hands, leaving a loose finger dangling over the face of his watch. Alysa begins once again, "It's our understanding Mr. McCarthy, that the GDA has some important updates about this cohort of prospects looking for a place in the Academy."

Sullivan adjusts in his seat, granting a polite nod as necessary.

"Yes, that's correct. We've started recruitment for the next generation of heroes. We, of course, recruit from all over the world, looking for untapped talent that the GDA can hone into real superheroes." He leans forward, a stern look plastered on his face. "At its core, the Academy is what the GDA is about."

Alysa takes a beat after he finishes, leaving enough silence for a soundbite to be made from the segment. The Vantage Line news highlights reads across the bottom of the screen: "Sullivan McCarthy: The Academy is what the GDA is about."

"It's our understanding that Bump-In-The-Night is an Academy alum. I'm sure it must pain you to see what's happened."

Almost without thinking, Sullivan looks to Alysa.

"Being a hero takes a toll on you; every night is a risk, every morning a blessing, and every moment held under a weight that often doesn't get the attention it deserves. There's nobody to tell you that you can rest, nobody to tell you that you've done enough. Each fight, you give it 100% because you never know if it'll be the last time you get back up. The least I can offer the heroes of the world is a promise. There will always be another generation." His eyes meet the camera with such ferocious intensity. "When you fall, it's into the hands of the future who will carry on your mission."

The highlights once again update to: "Sullivan McCarthy: When you fall, it's into the hands of the future who will carry on your mission."

"Powerful stuff, Mr. McCarthy, and what might you say to the new wave of heroes coming up, such as 'Your Highness', who you've gone on record describing as 'wearing the cape for the fashion'?" She remarks, putting his line into air-quotes.

He groans, giving a disappointed glare. "Have you come to ask me about the Academy? Or to try and milk soundbites out of me?"

Alysa somewhat changes her seating in a flustered moment.

"Sorry about that Mr. McCarthy, we'll be back this evening with the rest of this interview. Back to you, Jessica."

"Thanks, Alysa."

Jessica remarks, looking to Josh, "Looks like Mr. McCarthy's giving her a tough time here, he's got one hell of a bite to him." He jokes, getting a silent laugh from his co-host. "Next, we'll go live to Washington, D.C., where our White House correspondent, Mechell Cortez, has the story on the push for the 28th Amendment to the US Constitution, which would give superhumans equal rights, but first, this." Josh boldly states as the screen wipes away once again with the Vantage logo.

An advertisement cuts to a view of a dark alleyway in the Bronx. The realism of the shot is soon broken by two animated masked men running from a shrieking woman. The two let out a cartoonish evil chuckle and gasp, looking up at the sky, watching a large figure falling to the floor before them.

BUMP BUMP BUMP.

"BUMP-IN-THE-NIGHT ACTION FIGURE!" a voiceover yells out in a somewhat grating tone.

BAM.

WOOSH.

BOW.

"Only $34.99 at the Vantage Life store!"

The ad wraps up with the two men left dangling from a wall mantle, tied back to back and Bump-In-The-Night walking away from the scene.

"And now selling for a limited time, the Hero-of-the-Night plushie, all proceeds go to supporting Bump-In-The-Nights recovery."

The camera fades to a small plush of the man, a bandage wrapped around his head and arm, and holding a syringe. "Only at Vantage Life."

The screen wipes back with a frame of the Senate building and a stout, well-dressed man with buzzed salt-and-pepper hair. He takes a moment, his eyes glancing behind the camera for just a moment before looking ahead.

"John, we're here today in front of the Senate building, where Congress will meet once again today to discuss the push for the 28th Amendment to the United States that, if passed, would grant superhumans the same constitutional protections and rights as the 15th did in 1870 and the 19th in 1920, making this the first major civil rights movement in 120 years."

Mechell speaks with a stern disposition, showing his own vested interest in the outcome.

"This comes after heavy opposition from the Defense Lobby, calling superhuman existence a quote 'national security threat that the United States has not experienced since the Cuban Missile Crisis' and the decision in 2005 by the US Supreme Court that found superhumans did not qualify as humans under the Constitution. Despite this, they've become a protected class in all 50 US states." He remarks.

The scene cuts to B-Roll of the Senate in session with Mechell voicing over the footage.

"Rhode Island Democratic Senator, Paloma Cordova, is leading the charge with the support from the GDA Chairman Sullivan McCarthy." As each name is said, the footage cuts to fairly flattering portraits of them both.

"Senator Cordova states that this could not come at a better time, as the radical anti-superhuman organization, the Sons of Adam, has made multiple public demonstrations of their opposition and has been alleged to be responsible for the execution and burning of superhuman activists in Kentucky and Oklahoma."

The camera cuts back to Mechell with no likelihood that they'd display these horrors on national television.

"Sons of Adam representatives have made claims online that superhumans are not made in God's image and do not come from the same cloth as Adam and Eve. Chapter Leader Reily Jones went as far as to claim 'the only good supe is a dead supe'."

Mechell gives a strong incredulous look towards the camera before speaking once again. "We will be back with more information at 8. Stay tuned. Back to you, Josh."

"Thank you, Mechell. Our hearts go out to the families and loved ones of the superhumans targeted in these gruesome hate crimes."

Josh looks to Jessica who returns a mournful peer.

"For our last segment this morning, we go to Geneva, Switzerland, where the countries of the United Nations are gathered for a snap summit to begin discussions with the Su'vaelin people of TRAPPIST-1e, which has now been renamed to Su-Vael. But first, a word from our parent organization, Vantage."

"What if we solved tomorrow's problems today?"

Light takes the scene as two doors open to the Chrysler Building, a man takes the frame wearing an extremely high-end lab-coat embossed with Vantage Laboratories over a classic three-piece suit. The camera dances along each section of this chic white laboratory, displaying marvels of technology from a treatment center, to a new floatation device, and a heavy lifting pack for moving goods. Scientists litter the frame, all working on laptops or with expensive machinery, one a clear superhuman projecting her mind outwards for a classroom of eager new scientists to observe her thought process. The camera slowly pulls back to the center man, and he turns to show the face of CEO Julian Calloway.

"Here at Vantage, we don't just dream of the future, we make it happen."

The camera pulls back once again with a montage of human evolution ending with a scene of a superhero flying above Manhattan , a cape with the iconic Vantage V takes the frame like a flag before eventually freezing. "Vantage.It's Evolution."

Anew, Vael.

Greetings, Terrans

The camera cuts with the Vantage wipe, thousands of news crews all made to share a single feed as the situation was so spectacular they couldn't afford to have everyone vying for their own stories. Each nation fell silent as a bright blue figure with long antennae took the lectern. Large pinkish eyes squinted and jerked across the audience before settling on the center of the crowd.

"Greetings, Terrans," the alien shouts to the hall.

The room erupts with murmurs as the thing speaks in perfect English.

"My name is Vesh. I come from Su'Vael in the system you call TRAPPIST-1." Vesh remarks, the crowd finally settling once again. "Do not be alarmed, Terrans, my knowledge of your culture is not meant to upset you, only to show my people's respect and understanding," It states, raising two buggy tarsus into a V shape.

Vesh takes a moment with a bewildered expression as the crowd doesn't take to his gesticulation.

"My people come from a civilization much older than your own. Across the galaxy, the Su'Vaelins predate all others we have encountered, and as such have sought to become the historians of life itself. For millennia, my people have peacefully recorded and documented all life in our galaxy. Our people know the value of knowledge, the power of a secret, the importance of the preservation of history, and on this Terran day 1,798,990,432, we are honored to grant 'Earth' the gift of that knowledge." Vesh looks out across the room, his bug-like features attempting to soften. "Rejoice, as you know, you are not alone in this galaxy."

The crowd is deathly silent before giving way to a roaring applause that consumes the halls of the United Nations. World leaders, diplomats, and renowned scientists take to their feet, hugging allies and colleagues, giving blessings in their home tongues.

The camera pans out as the voice of TV Anchor Jessica Hunsaker plays over the moment of celebration.

"For those of you joining us now, the extraterrestrial, who has introduced himself as Vesh, has informed the world leaders that as they've expected, there are other life-filled worlds out there. He has also made clear that the Su'vaelin people have come in peace, and with them they bring the secrets of our galaxy."

The camera zooms back to Vesh as he continues his address. "We have many details left to share with you, Terrans. For your minimal time and preparation for the galactic theater, we have found your recent discoveries and advancements nothing short of staggering. We believe today to be the beginning of a very long and fruitful relationship."

The public ceremony begins to draw to a close as the feed fades away and the United Nations draws to session, surely to discuss the implications of this new relationship. There's a measure of hopefulness as the cheerful 'Good Morning, New York' theme replaces the audio from the feed.

"That's all for this morning, New York. We'll continue our broadcast this evening on 'NYC, Today' with Lucas Meyard, but for now, take care of yourself, and have a great rest of your day."

Josh Ripley takes a moment naming each member of the cast responsible for putting on 'Good Morning, New York', from producers to interns, before waving everybody off.

The camera once again pans off towards the height of the Chrysler Building where the same fictional Vantage superhero in cape and spandex sits on the roof edge, kicking his feet and eating a sandwich before the segment switches to an ad.