He stood atop the building, mask concealing his identity, cape gracefully being lifted up by the wind. The giant “H” on his chest stood for “Hero”.
Sometimes he didn’t feel much like a hero, but today he did. Today he felt the power of his ancestors within his veins. He felt the strength of a hundred heroes before him.
He looked over the sleepy town and narrowed his eyes towards the local school. Trouble was brewing there, his senses told him.
He tilted his head and listened carefully. He could hear people talking, but couldn’t quite grasp all the words. Was his power failing?
He spun his head around to check if his nemesis was nearby, somehow draining his energy.
No. He was alone.
He concentrated harder on the voices. They needed his help.
Pulling back his shoulders and with a determined eye on the school, he stepped off the roof to fly to justice.

When he woke, his legs felt disconnected, and he was surrounded by a buzzing of voices.
He realised his neck was locked in a vice! His whole body seemed frozen! Two men in white had captured him and were carrying him backwards towards a vault.
The hero’s mask was ripped from him, his identity no longer a secret.
A woman climbed inside the vault as it began to move. A siren echoed from every corner.
“The H – it stands for Harry,” the woman said, her face pale and streaked with tears and mascara. “I’m his mum.”

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