Chapter 1: Origin Story

Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence

Any civilian a mile away would be able to hear his approach. Heavy metal crashed along the cement as he launched himself forward, soaring through the air faster than human eyes could track. The ceiling of the building he had directed his leap in, caved in when his foot made contact, concrete and inner workings crumbling around him with a cloud of dust. The crowd parted around him, jumping away from the falling boulders of insulation. The smog cleared to reveal everyone turned towards him, frozen in fear.

He relished in their expressions. All around him were rich snobs; CEO’s, the daughters of CEO’s, the gold-diggers, and the boot-ers. The offspring of corporate greed, partying without care. Their fancy horderves on silver plates, and crystalline glasses they had once sipped without care, fell to the tiled floor in pieces.

His voice box buzzed. “Sorry to-” He took a glance up at the ceiling, an ugly, blatant hole was left where he had entered. “-crash the party, but I’m going to have to ask that you all get on your knees with your hands up.”

A man stepped forward with a red face, anger prevalent. He recognized this man as the owner of the building, and the Chief executive officer of Silver Plutus banking, Mr. Kim Yung-min. “Vulcan Thief, you bastard… I just had that ceiling redone! You won’t get away with this, I’m calling the authorities!”

He fumbled with his phone, but before a single number on the dial could be pressed, the stupid device had been shot out of his hand, melting into magma against a wall.

Mr. Kim clutched his hand where a red-hot laser had grazed his skin, yelping in pain. When he looked up, Vulcan was standing tall before him, a gun pressed against his nose without a shred of emotion in his mechanical face model.

“I said, get on your ing knees. I won’t ask you again.” The voice came warbled and manipulated to sound inhuman. He cocked the gun, watching a trickle of nervous sweat slide down his brow. Slowly, the once proud man lowered to his knees.

From further away, a woman had fainted, but the rest of the room complied with the request, raising their hands high in the air for him to see.

It was a beautiful sight to behold, these proud snobs begging for their lives, dirtying their expensive clothes by kneeling in fallen caviar. An absolute treat to the eyes.

Using his pupils to select the option in his peripheral screen display, he took a quick picture, capturing the moment.

“What do you want…” The man was trembling, as anyone would be with a heat ray set to 212° Fahrenheit pressed against their skull.

He scanned the room, his vision selected the items with the highest value and relayed a red target on each one, an estimated price-point popping up beside. This man sure did have a lot of rare collectables; surely, he wouldn’t care if a few went missing.

“You.” He pointed to a young boy, probably a teenager, wearing a waiter’s uniform.

“M-me?” The Vulcan nodded his head in affirmation, gesturing for the boy to come closer.

He stood slowly, knee’s shaking visibly. Once he was close enough, the cavity in the Vulcans chest plate opened, and a large box emerged.

An extra pair of arms unfolded from within, passing the box to the boy. “Collect everything of value and put it in that. For every item that you break, Mr. Kim will lose something.” He twitched the gun slightly to the left. “We’ll start with his ear.”

A wet spot appeared on the man’s groin, and soon a puddle had trickled out, flooding at his feet. Well, that’s ing disgusting.

“What, uh, sh-should I take? Vulcan-sir.”

He pointed quickly. He was running out of time, so this would have to be a brief scavenge. “That vase with the dragons, that Choe Buk painting, the set of silver-ware back there.” The boy got to work, careful but quick. His trigger finger itched, and the look on mister Kim’s face sort of made him wish he’d break something.

When the boy returned, he set the box down before him, and backed away as quickly as he’d approached. Vulcan scanned the crowd with an interested hum.

“Take off all jewelry, watches, or valuables. Wedding rings, earrings, all of it. Bring them to the front.” He pushed the box forward with a gentle, metal foot. “And put them in the box.”

Sobs sounded throughout the room, but nobody complained. They knew well that he wasn’t joking around. One wrong move, and somebody was going to die, or in the least, Mr. Kim’s ear was.

One by one they emptied their valuables into the box. He got halfway through the crowd, before he showed up.

Crashing through a window with his hands planted proudly against his hips, was Sergeant-ing-Coups. Mr. goodie-goodie superhero, and The Vulcans most annoyingly consistent nemesis. “You called?” He grinned, all pearly whites and heroic charm.

“Who the invited Captain underpants to the party?” He waved the gun around, threatening. The crowd ducked in fear, nobody daring to confess.

“That’s Sergeant Coups to you, Vulcan. Now drop the box! Before I drop my foot on your face.”

A pair of smaller, metal arms, swooped out of his chest cavity, pulling the box inside. The cavity locked tight, and Vulcan let out a sinister, electronic chuckle, pressing the gun to Mr. Kim’s receding hairline. “Why don’t you make me?”

The hero smirked, hushing the curdling collage of screams that came with the threat. “Fear not, citizens. I’m here to bring this hunk of metal to justice, once and for all.” There was a visible change in the tone of the room, relaxed under the promise of their favorite Goody two-shoes.

He didn’t attack though, all talk and no action. He knew well that if he made a move now, Mr. Kim was going to lose the skin off his face. He was fast, but the trigger on this gun was faster.

He let out a distorted scoff. “Oh, please. You’ve said the same thing the last twenty times. I’m not in jail yet, am I, Deputy G-string?” The vein in the hero’s forehead twitched, his annoyance growing.

“Sergeant. Coups. You should show some respect for the person who’s about to beat you into a pile of dust, criminal scum.”

“Sorry, I have no respect for someone who wears spandex to work.” He eyed the man’s superhero uniform, reminiscent of a military Chippendale dancer. Sergeant Coups was all thick thighs, good hair, and dumb muscle strength. He was the worst kind of superhero to deal with, and somehow, the one Vulcan found himself facing most often.

He coughed, legs spread open proudly into his ‘heroic pose’ as he hovered in the air, despite being obviously embarrassed. How did he ever muster up the courage to fight criminals in those tight-tights and booty shorts? Sure, it let the ladies swoon over his tight muscles, and it was good for the media, but it must be uncomfortable.

Now wasn’t the time to debate the decency of his clothing, though. The Vulcan’s eyes scanned the room for his best escape route. Sergeant booty couldn’t do anything right now, not with the nozzle of his gun pressed against the head of one of his precious ‘citizens.’

The moment he made a move to escape, though, this guy was going to be on his tail hotter than a 212-degree, flesh melting laser beam. He needed to think this through carefully.

“Why don’t you drop Mr. Kim and face me, you thieving coward?” Coups brought his fists up into a readied position, displaying a smug smile for the world to see.

He chuckled, voice box glitching wickedly. That’s exactly what he wanted, huh? To provoke him into a fight, and beat him into a pulp in front of everyone. He wasn’t stupid, though. Far from it.

The camera on the top of his head scanned the area, while his face display stayed directed at Coups, creating a false sense of focus on the naïve hero.

He crouched slightly, as if preparing to launch himself into battle. Sergeant Coups smirked, anticipating the fight of a lifetime. As always, this man was too trusting. When had he ever followed through on one of his dumb requests?

In the blink of an eye, The Vulcan had launched himself into the air, out the same hole in which he came.

“He’s getting away!” A woman screamed, pointing towards the roof.

Shaking himself out of brief surprise, Sergeant Coups zipped through the opening, flying after him at a godly speed.

The Vulcan was fast, but he knew that Sergeant Coups would be hot on his soon enough, and judging by the sea of news’s camera’s and witnesses, finding a place to hide before that happened was going to be tricky.

The camera on his back searched frantically for the incoming hero, while the one on his front scanned the area for an escape. He was stupid, for not keeping track his side fields, so he couldn’t really be angry when a fist drove into his left face-plate, faster than he could react.

The Vulcan was knocked off course, shot through the air like a meteorite. All emergency features switched on upon impact, preparing to minimize the damage to come. He was momentarily dazed, glass shattering around him, but he had no time to feel sorry for himself. Planting a foot against a pillar of the building he’d fallen against, he aimed himself at his target, leaving a ripple of metal and steel as he barraged himself off.

They clashed fists mid-air, separated, and connected again. Sergeant Coups was frustratingly unfazed, that camera-ready smile unwavering. Physically, it wasn’t an even battle. This guy was strong, ridiculously so, and he knew it. The Vulcan matched up to him for now, but it was only a matter of time before his outer-protective layer would lose its vitality.

Luckily, when it came to wits, He had a clear advantage. The trick to getting out of this sticky situation was to outsmart Mr. Boxer-shorts brawn.

The fight continued on, and everyone watched. Helicopters, news vans, and cell-phone wielding bystanders captured every angle of the conflict. More specifically, they recorded a sad, brutal beating of the Vulcan’s metal shell.

To them it looked to be a clear win, but every single move was plotted out carefully. When Coup’s shot a fist, he’d leave the unimportant aspects of his suit to be sacrificed. A useless extra arm, a third retractable leg, anything he didn’t need fell to the streets below with each fatal blow.

He only needed to faze him, long enough that he could get away, and fast enough that Sergeant Coup’s wouldn’t be able to follow him.

His holy grail came when he spotted a nearby construction site, teetering at the peak of a high-rise building. Below were innocent civilians, and surely their lives came at a higher priority than his unprecedented arrest.

His final retractable arm emerged beneath a central sheath, below Coup’s vision. Taking him by surprise, Vulcan wrapped a heavy steel claw around his ankle, whipping the hero against a far building with a heavy crack of the spindling limb. He would recover quickly, so utilizing that small window of time in which the Sergeant was stunned, he made a dash towards the construction.

A few good slashes against the pillars would do. The building trembled, and now all he could do was pray that this would work in time.

“You ing sneak!” The hero threw a heavy arm into his chest, knocking him in the opposite direction, against an apartment down the street. He was on him again faster than he could blink, eyes blazing with anger.

With Vulcan caught between a rock and a firm bicep, his noble grin returned, watching as various metal plates crumbled away from the villain’s body.

“You’re finished, Vulcan Thief. Why don’t you give up before I pull the rest of you apart?”

His scanner kept zoomed in on the slash he had made, which was now creaking, crumbling beneath the lost platform. A supportive wire snapped, and Vulcan chuckled, Voice malfunctioning into mad, skipping beats and buzzes. Check mate, er. “Are you sure you should be worrying about me right now?”

The hero was confused, until a far-off scream, and the echoing of snapping columns had him turning away from the machine beneath him, and towards the sight of a collapsing building.

“Bastard!” He pointed a fist, but a call for his name halted his attack, the endangered citizens begged for his help from afar.

His voice whirred cynically. “Better go save the day, Sergeant Spandex.”

Without another word, he leapt to the rescue, voice fading behind as he furthered away. “That’s Sergeant Coups! And I’m not finished with you, yet!”

While the hero made quick work of catching falling boulders, and swooping up endangered workers, Vulcan had shot down from where he lay, crashing into a sewage drain below. By the time Coup’s had saved the day, and returned to finish the fight, The Vulcan thief was gone without a trace.

Coups clenched his fists, his anger brewing, but it wasn’t long before the media had approached him, berating him in celebration for saving the day-yet again.

He kept his smile on display, accepting their gratitude with humble waves. Despite the festivity, there was a dark, heavy sensation in his chest. They were safe for now, but he was not victorious. The Vulcan would return again, he always did. When that happened, he would finally defeat him. That robot bastard.

~

Between bonking around the sewers in a frenzied escape, and all the damage Coups had left during this particularly brutal fight, by the time he reached home the suit was practically falling apart. Using the underground workings of Seoul’s sewage system to get around in secret, while a good idea in theory, was honestly really ty. He crawled out of the sewer huffing, falling against the grass on his back to catch his breath. He had to get inside, before satellite footage picked up on the ing robot hanging out in the open.

Quickly, a sensor within his left arm triggered the entrance of the hideout, him into the ground in a flash of flying grass and clunking metal.

The elevator down gave him a moment to collect himself, calm his nerves. He didn’t want the kids seeing him so aggravated after a fight. Though he couldn’t do anything about the state his body was in, he could at least pretend he was okay on the mental spectrum.

The room dinged, and the moment the doors swooshed open, everyone had come to his aid.

“Hyung, are you okay?” One of the children peered up with big brown eyes, running a careful hand along the misshapen metal of his chest armor.

He chuckled, triggering the opening of his face plate to assure him. “Quit worrying, Sam, who do you think I am?”

Despite his words, when he stood up to bring the suit into storage, his leg popped out of place, and Jihoon found himself faceplanting against the concrete floor with a yelp.

“Oh my god, what the did you do?” Chan entered the room to see the rest of the kids running around the fallen robot in a panic, Jihoon’s words fell incoherently into the floor.

Working together, they heaved, turning the machine onto it’s back. The capsule door opened in a flash, and Jihoon sat up, rubbing his nose painfully. “Yah, Chan, watch your language. Who the taught you to speak like that?”

He rolled his eyed. “How did it go? It looks like you went through an industrial sized washing machine.”

Jihoon pulled himself out of the robot carrying a large USB stick, smirking. “Besides Sergeant -head messing up Vulcan? It went perfectly.”

The rest of the kids got to work with collecting misplaced parts, and sorting out their loot. Chan nestled up to Jihoon’s side at the computer in anticipation. “Man, I wish I could have seen that Kim bastard’s expression. I bet you scared the out of him.”

Jihoon laughed, popping the stick into the USB slot and bringing up the files. “I don’t know about that, but he did pee himself. So much for being the big buff boss man of banking; am I right?”

The picture he had taken, of the crowd of rich prudes, begging on their knees, displayed on the screen. Chan took in the sight with a satisfied whistle.

“This one deserves a spot on the wall.”

He pressed the print button with a smirk. “It sure does.”

“Hyung, Hyung!” Samuel had come up beside him, tugging at his shirt with a frown. “Everything’s broken, what do we do?”

“Ah, …” When he stepped up to inspect for himself, he felt his stomach twisting. This probably happened when he got punched in the abdomen, the protective plate must have failed. He shooed the other kids away from the box. “Don’t touch it, you’ll cut yourself.”

Everything surely was broken, which was a goddamn shame. That dragon vase alone was an estimated 2 million won! And the painting? It was a priceless collectable, now bent into a depressing ball of broken dreams within the capsule.

“Oh, some of the silverware is alright.” Chan chimed in beside him, pulling out a fork. “Plus, any of the silver could be melted down and re-utilized for parts.”

He hummed. “Okay, go get some gloves on. Salvage the parts, and we’ll see what we can do.”

By the time they had finished sorting through the junk and the broken bits, all they had left to make use of were a few bent spoons and shattered jewlery. The Silverware could be melted down, sold as raw material, or put to use in repairing the Vulcan. The jewelry was a bit trickier. They couldn’t be sold as is, but if they were able to separate the gems from the metals and auction each separately, they might be able to make a quick buck at the jewelers.

He sighed, resting on his desk chair while the other’s got to work. Thank god only two layers had failed, that Coups bastard really didn’t hold back today. He’d have to be more careful next time, or else it’s not just gonna be jewelry that’s getting beat to dust during their next face-off.

He sighed, there was always gonna be a next time, wasn't there?

This had been their usual gist, for the five years or so. Stealing, salvaging, and selling for a way to get by. If anyone happened to fall down the elevator trap of their secret hideout and discover this place, a dungy underground basement run amuck by a bunch of children, Jihoon wasn’t sure if he’d be able to offer a solid explanation for the ordeal without taking up an afternoon.

To put into cliff-notes, Jihoon was the leader of an orphan-run criminal organization.

Okay, not exactly, but it sounded less ed-up when he thought of it that way. 16 years ago, Jihoon was dropped off at an orphanage. For what reason? He never found out, but a lack of parents had never been a real problem for him. He was five, he hardly remembered them, anyways. Most kids got snatched up like candy when they were as cute and young as Jihoon was. Unfortunately, nobody wanted a sharp-tongued brat like him under their care. He was too smart for his age, too observant. Before any potential parental candidates ever got the chance to introduce themselves, Jihoon had picked out their personality flaws, deducted the exact level of asymmetry in their faces, and informed them as such. It was only a bit of a turn off to have a little kid tell a man his left bicep’s diameter is approximately 1.5cm smaller than the right.

He supposed having a toddler with a potentially higher IQ than you was also a bit intimidating, but he digressed.

He spent his whole life in that place, and the kids who lived there became like a family to him. The woman who oversaw the orphanage, as well, became somewhat of a mother. She didn’t really seem all that offended by Jihoon’s ever-growing intelligence and snark. Plus, he appreciated her for staying out of the way when he got the need to tinker on miniature cars, or build fully functioning toy guns.

He also supposed, being 83 years old, she was probably too close to death to even notice.

He’d never had any long-term plans to become a criminal. Every child, at some time in their lives, had dreamed of being a hero; even Jihoon. All the stories on the news of the brave men and women keeping the earth safe from baddies, they were admirable. So admirable, that at least one in every five orphan children had probably snuck into a nuclear waste-site in hopes of picking up some powers from the radiation. Possibly related, at least one in ten had fallen ill from nuclear radiation poisoning.

Super powers didn’t really come from spider bites and fallen stars, though, as much as the media would have these hopeful orphans believe. You’re either born with them, or you’re not. Jihoon was on the spectrum of those born without, but unlike most people, he’d found a loophole to this issue. He’d had a knack for electronics and robotics for as long as he could ride a bike, and really, any regular human could become super with the addition of a fully armored mecha-suit. He dabbled in the idea of becoming one, using his genius for good. Seoul was such a -hole, it could probably use a hero or two. Unfortunately, his shallow dreams of pursuing justice died along with their Orphanage caregiver, right around the time the hero organization ‘MANSAE’ had formed.

When she died, it had really been the first time Jihoon felt heartache. It was like he’d lost his mother, and along with her, the roots of the orphanage began to rot. The loss was so sudden, and apparently, she’d never even had the wits to set a back-up plan in case of her death. Without any way to pay the bills, their landlord gave them the boot, like the cold old fart he’d proven himself to be. In any other city the government would have stepped in to support the helpless children who were now homeless, parentless, and too young to work a steady office job.

But as a reminder, Seoul was an absolute -hole, so no such help ever came. All government funding that could have possibly went to helping their cause, was funneled straight into the bottomless gullet of MANSAE. They prioritized ridding the city of Villains over some snotty, homeless orphans, apparently. Being the oldest of the bunch, when they got kicked to the curb by society, Jihoon took it upon himself to take care of them.

It was a long time coming, this whole underground lair thing. They lived on the streets for a while, getting by on spare change and singing ‘kumbaya’ around fire pits of trash. They starved, they suffered, and while all of this was happening to them, the ‘hero’s’ of the city flaunted by like decorative peacocks. None of them gave a , more accurately. When you’re 15 years old, struggling to support a brotherhood of 9 other young children, while the ‘hero’s’ do jack-, it’s easy to develop a complex towards them. The underground hideout didn’t happen overnight, neither did Vulcan. It was a trial and error situation. Jihoon’s first heist? It had ended in broken bones, lost morale, and negative profit. It took longer than an afternoon to scavenge the material they needed to build a proper suit, and even longer than that to figure out what exactly they were going to do with it.

This whole ‘mecha-suit’ concept had begun as a fleeting aspiration to become a superhero. But Jihoon wanted nothing to do with that collection of rich, heartless snobs anymore. All they cared about at the end of the day; was a fat paycheck and a spotlight on the morning news.

So, if he wasn’t going to join them, he might as well make their jobs a whole heck of lot harder. That’s how the Vulcan Thief came to light, a mechanical suit of solidified payback, set on kicking those rich s in the family jewels, both literally and figuratively. Plus, it wasn’t like they did this whole thing to roll around in wads of cash in an underground lair. Their profit went to Buying groceries, clothes, putting aside savings for when Chan went to college; It was how he made a living.

He had his villainous persona to uphold, though, so if anyone asked? Jihoon was the leader of an orphan run criminal organization. It sounded a lot less like an excuse when he explained it this way.

“What are you spacing out for?” Chan waved a hand over his face. Jihoon blinked away his distractions, slapping it away.

“I’m not, I’m just tired.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. We need more graphite rods; can you go shopping?” He held a piece of paper forward without a hint of empathy on his face.

Jihoon stared at it with a groan. “You guys are killing me.”

“I’ll gladly go get them myself if you’re gonna complain. Just way the word, boss.”

He snatched the paper away with a scowl. “No, you. It’s dangerous in that part of town.”

Pulling on a plain grey hoodie from the rack, Jihoon got to his feet in a grumbling manner. The duties of a supervillain just never ended, did they?

He stopped at the elevator, turning back towards Chan, who had a smug little grin on his face that Jihoon felt the need to punch away. “And what did I tell you about calling me boss?”

He chuckled. “My bad, Hyung.”

Jihoon hmphed, stepping inside as the elevator doors swished open. “Fix your attitude before I get back, you brat.”

With that, the villain was shot up to the surface in a flash of titanium. Dino let out a laugh, leaning back in the empty chair as he watched the elevation numbers rise on the window. “Whatever you say, boss.”

~

Seungcheol pressed his hands against the desk, causing the wooden legs to creak precariously. The man sat under the weight of his stare with a nervous expression, and although Seungcheol meant no disrespect, he didn’t have the energy left to act friendly. Forcing himself to smile and talk pretty for the camera’s all day long, meant that at the end of the day when he turned up to clock out, all of his patience had run dry. “What do you mean you don’t know? I’ve given you everything you’ve requested, and you still haven’t figured it out?” Under the burden of his growing aggravation, the desk’s foundation threatened to split in half.

“Sergent-“

“-I’m off duty, sir.” He cut him off, frustrated.

Mr. Han straightened the papers he had been sorting with a nervous cough, unable to look the hero straight in the eyes. “Ah, right. Uh-Seungcheol. I’m sorry, but you have to understand that the research team has been doing everything in their power to fulfill your request. We just don’t have enough evidence to make a clear profile, yet.”

“You don’t have- What do you mean you don’t have enough evidence? Haven’t I given you everything you asked for?” He leaned in closer with a dark expression.

The man before him went clammy at the confrontation, a bit flustered. “No, no; you’ve done everything right, Seungcheol. You’ve been a tremendous help.” Seungcheol lifted his palms off the table as he spoke, giving Mr. Han some space to breathe. “It’s just that, even with what we have, we’ve only gotten so far in deciphering the evidence. I’m afraid it’s too ambiguous to take public action as of now.”

He crossed his arms. “Am I supposed to just take your word that the team is figuring it out? What exactly have they found out so far, huh? That he’s a robot? The whole ing city knows that much already... Sir.”

“Seungcheol, please, just have some patience. If our team gets a breakthrough on the situation, you will be the first to know. I’ll come tell you personally!” He fiddled with his pen, feeling hot under Seungcheol’s stare.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m out of patience. Lives are at stake, here. The very foundation of our city, is at stake, and you expect me to just sit back and wait? Whatever we have so far-just give it to me. I’ll go hunt him down myself if that’s what it takes.” Seungcheol slammed a hand down on the desk in declaration, leaving an indent in the wood. Mr. Han flinched, and Seungcheol lifted the fist with a guilty expression.

“Well-uhm. I can read you today’s update, if you would like, but I really don’t think it will help you much in the state that it’s in.” he fumbled with his papers, searching for the one in question.

Seungcheol watched with a sigh. “Yes sir, please.” With the paper in hand, Mr. Han began to read.

“As of today’s additional data, we have deducted three possibilities on the matter of the Vulcan Thief’s identity. Possibility A, is that of cybergenetics, meaning the Vulcan’s outer appearance is his true identity. The Vulcan could be a self-functioning robot, or, a human with cybergenetic enhancements so extreme, that it’s entire outer shell is robotic. The problem with this deduction is obviously- how has he been able to get around in secret all this time if he really is a cyborg? This is the most unlikely case listed, for that reason.”

Seungcheol hummed, cupping his chin. “What about the second one?”

“Well, possibility B, is that the Vulcan is a puppet. Not in the literal implication, but in the sense that he is entirely robotic, and is being controlled remotely. This way, ‘the Vulcan’ would have no problem if we were to catch him. He could simply build another robot, or stay in hiding. Except, our research team is certain that if this is the case, and we did capture the Vulcan, we would be able to use it to track the source of a remote connection. We have never discovered any satellite or radio waves being emitted from the Vulcan during any of your battles, so this one is also unlikely, but it’s very possible that the robot could be controlled cybernetically as well.” He flipped to the next page swiftly. “Now, the last possibility, C, is that the Vulcan is a suit.”

“A suit?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, a mechanical suit of sorts. Based on our evidence, this is the most likely scenario. We have also managed to create a rough profile of the Vulcan based on this theory, but until we know for sure if this is true, the description is useless.”

He perked up, leaning closer. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s just a theory-”

“-I understand that, just give me what you’ve got, sir.”

Mr. Han pulled at his necktie uneasily. “Okay, well… The Vulcan as it is, is approximately 245cm tall, with a wingspan of 213cm. Taking into account that the ‘suit’ is equipped with numerous extra limbs, compartments for storage, and room for the inner-workings of the machinery, the man inside must be smaller than the that. Through a rough diagram of how the suit works, we have deducted that It’s most likely a man with a height of 180cm.”

He turned the paper for Seungcheol to see, where a sketch had been drawn indicating the height, and various other estimated features. Only, he was faceless.

“That’s it?”

“I told you, it’s not much. With the audio recordings you have given us, our team has deciphered what his voice might sound like, as well.” He pressed a button on a remote, bring up a warbled, deep-set voice from a far speaker.

When the audio finished, Seungcheol scratched his head. “Well, exactly how many people in the city could be 180cm, with a deep voice? We could demand anyone who fits the profile to come in for a screening, or-.”

He sighed. “About 164,000 people.”

“What?”

“There are approximately 164,000 men in Seoul who fit the profile. Not only is it impossible to round up every single tall man in the city, we don’t even know if he lives here. He could take refuge in neighboring cities, or hell, other countries. It’s just way too vague, Seungcheol. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol took a breath, staring back at Mr. Han with disbelief. He considered pressing on, demanding more evidence, but in reality, Mr. Han was right. It wasn't the research teams fault, he was just getting restless. He turned away towards the door with a huff. “I’m leaving for the day.”

“Thanks’ for your hard work, Sergeant.”

He waved, the heavy wooden doors shutting behind him.

Seungcheol ushered away his driver with a frown. A bit of alone time was exactly what he needed. He made his way down the street with a cotton mask over his face, and some casual, inconspicuous attire to hide his identity. Without the bright spandex suit, nobody paid him much mind while he cleared his head.

It was only the afternoon, so the city was bustling with life. Being so close to the MANSAE headquarters left little opportunity for criminals to prosper, but the further he walked, the more he saw the atmosphere darken. Even with superheroes working every hour of the day, there continued to be corruption in this world. It was unbelievable, the amount of people he put away every day when he  compared it to the growing crime rates. Part of him had to wonder why these people even bothered, knowing the threat they faced as retrubution.

It was because of people like the Vulcan thief, he supposed. Every time that bastard showed up, Seungcheol vowed to defeat him, to throw him away and stop his reign of terror, and every time… He lost. The Vulcan always managed to escape. Among the notable villains of the city, the Vulcan was like a role model for the rest. They probably thought ‘if that guy can face the best superhero in the city and get away with it, I can too.’

It was all that robot bastards fault.

Seungcheol kicked a pebble, shoving his hands into his pockets with a frown. Somewhere in the city of Seoul was the Vulcan, the cold-hearted, metal god of destruction. It felt unbelievable to imagine, but then again, here he was. The famous 'Sergeant Coups’, walking through the city on a busy Friday afternoon. Part of him wondered if he and the Vulcan had ever met before. A man close to his height, with a deep-set voice, it could really be anyone…

As he had been staring at his feet in thought, when the door to a shop opened up and slammed against his face, Seungcheol landed on his from surprise alone.

The stranger dropped his bags for a moment when he saw Seungcheol, rushing to his aid. “Oh , are you okay?” Long, pale fingers entered his vision as an offering of assistance, and Seungcheol took it without question. When his eyes met the stranger’s face, though, he felt himself lost for a moment.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He pulled up to his feet, and found himself looking down at the boy, expression hidden slightly behind his hood.

His eyes stayed planted on the floor, responding softly. “No problem.”

The boy grabbed his belongings and walked away without another word, struggling to carry the numerous groceries and miscellaneous shopping bags in his grip. Seungcheol stared after him, a little tingling sensation left where he’d held his hand remained. He was pretty short, much smaller than Seungcheol was, so when he stood to his feet and looked down at him all he saw was a button nose and pink lips against pale skin, eyes shadowed by a baggy grey hoodie.

Seungcheol chuckled, pulling himself out of his daze and continuing down the sidewalk. It wasn’t every day that he met someone cute enough to make him lose his train of thought.

For a moment there, he’d even stopped worrying about that robot bastard.