The armored convoy rumbled down a deserted highway, lights flashing in the gloom of early dawn. Inside, Harlan Mave sat shackled and silent, his eyes locked on the reinforced walls of the transport truck. Two agents sat opposite him, stone-faced and tense.
"You're lucky the Director spared your life," one said. "Power suppression isn't common mercy."
Harlan didn't answer. His eyes darted nervously, clearly afraid for his life.
He got more nervous when the explosion hit.
A deafening blast rocked the vehicle. The front tires burst, the truck veered off the road, and the agents barely had time to unclip their weapons before the side was torn open by a burst of energy. From the smoke stepped masked attackers—well-equipped, precise, and fast.
Harlan was gone before the agents could shout.
---
Somewhere underground, in a dim, steel-paneled room that reeked of oil and ozone, Harlan stood before a hooded man. A black-gloved hand offered him water. He declined.
"You're lucky you survived," the hooded man said. "Most of the others... well, you know."
"I remember the lab," Harlan muttered. "I remember what you did."
"You volunteered."
"I was desperate. I was dying and You promised cure. You experimented on me. I survived."
The boss—no known name, only whispers—smiled faintly beneath his hood. "You're not just a survivor, Harlan. You're the proof that it works. Rust Touch is valuable. And now you're back where you belong."
A henchman stepped forward, bowed slightly, and whispered something in the Boss's ear.
The Boss turned toward him. "Speak."
"Sir, there's a new hero on the scene. Government-backed. Title: Dispatcher. Power: summoning heroes and items from other dimensions."
The Boss paused, thoughtful. "Summoner, huh?"
"Not just summoning—he merges summoned items with the heroes. One of ours saw him fusing armor with a lightning-type."
The Boss looked intrigued. "Now that is promising."
He turned his gaze back to Harlan.
"Keep a close eye on this Dispatcher. If he's useful, we'll make our move. If not, well... accidents happen."
Harlan said nothing, but his face turned grim.
---
Back at Dispatch HQ, Alex Thorne sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. The mental drain from his recent summon hadn't fully worn off. He'd pushed it too far.
But he had a question now—how far could he go?
The thought drove him to try again. He cleared the desk, focused, and channeled the image of a warrior—no, a protector. He imagined strength. Endurance. Armor.
The glow returned, brighter than before. His chair rattled. His vision dimmed.
Then it appeared: a full suit of metal armor, humming with dormant energy. It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Alex collapsed back, gasping.
A warning rang through the system: Mental strain critical.
Agent Yurei arrived ten minutes later. She looked at the armor, then at Alex.
"You tried too hard," she said flatly.
"I needed to know what else I could summon."
She sighed. "Reckless. But informative. We'll get you mental stabilizers—medication or a neural patch. Something to help with the energy cost."
Alex nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Thanks. Really."
---
Later that day, he returned to the armory and ran a merge protocol.
He summoned Electrician, the wiry, sharp-eyed hero who crackled with static at every step.
"Try this," Alex said, activating the merge.
The armor rose, split open like a blooming steel flower, and clamped over Electrician.
Electric pulses surged across its surface. Electrician moved, slower but stronger. Sparks danced around his gauntlets. The armor had amplified him—turned him into a walking generator.
Alex smiled, mind still aching.
---
That evening, a series of clips aired across government surveillance feeds, offering a glimpse into how much good his summoned heroes were doing for the world:
Fixer was deployed to an underground data facility suffering from toxic gas leaks and unstable structures. With his reinforced gloves and analytical visor, he led a containment crew through pitch-black tunnels, rerouting cables and manually sealing chemical valves. Though unofficial, he was credited with preventing a level-four reactor breach. A young intern captured a shaky video of him carrying a collapsed worker on his back—"He didn't say a word. Just fixed everything."
Skate took center stage at the Capital Charity Circuit, a race organized to raise funds for prosthetic tech for children. She didn't just win—she demolished previous records, leaving trails of neon light on the track. Between rounds, she skated into the stands, flipping over barriers and snapping selfies with screaming fans. A little girl said, "I wanna be fast like her!"
Magician visited the city's largest pediatric hospital, her presence announced with confetti and a swirl of floating cards. Children watched in awe as she conjured glittering illusions, turned broken toys whole again, and even cast healing spells that seemed to ease pain. In one room, she sat quietly by a boy undergoing treatment, whispering an enchantment that soothed his trembling hands. Nurses reported a visible uplift in morale across the ward. "She didn't just entertain them," one said. "She made them believe in magic."
And then there was Vault, who made a brief appearance during an apartment fire rescue, launching himself between balconies to reach trapped residents. Though swift and efficient, he retreated before cameras could linger. The mystery added to his growing legend.
---
Alex watched them all from his room. His breath calmed. His thoughts steadied.
A single line escaped his lips.
"I hope what I'm doing changes people's lives."
He looked at the screen again—at the heroes, at the hope they spread.
The news anchor praised the dispatch team's effectiveness. A child on the screen said, "I want to be like the Magician!"
Alex smiled faintly. For the first time in a while, he saw hope—because others saw it in his heroes.
Elsewhere, Knuckleduster watched the same news broadcast from a dimly lit room. His jaw tightened, and he clenched his fist. "That damn rookie..."
Across town, a roundtable meeting erupted within one of the top private hero companies. Executives and veteran heroes argued, faces grim.
"Dispatch is stealing the spotlight." "He's summoning heroes on demand—real ones." "If the government no longer needs us, our contracts are as good as dead."
Back in a secure facility, government agents reviewed the same footage. One of them leaned back with narrowed eyes.
"The contracts with private hero companies were always based on their ability to discover new item-based powers and keep the public safe."
Another agent added, "They've been staging incidents—creating fake scenarios to boost their stats. We've suspected it for years, but never had solid proof."
"Now with Dispatch… we finally have a real alternative. It's time we keep a closer eye on them."
A quiet murmur followed: "And it all started with Dispatch."
He didn't need to fight. He just needed to keep choosing who did.
---