Dorian

Rain pours down relentlessly over the neon metropolis, washing away the dirt and grime from the roof of the giant skyscraper. The screens below once again show footage of Dawn flawlessly saving the city. Shining. Just. Immortal.

But here, at the height of the eightieth floor, nothing remains of this picture.

Dorian stands by the parapet. His platinum-blond hair is wet, and his fingers are clenched tightly around his right wrist, just above the black metal bracelet. His fingertips pulse with a cold white light, and the air is thick with the pungent scent of ozone.

Hearing a footstep behind him, he turns around abruptly. His bright green eyes darken to amber brown, blazing with simmering irritation.

"You're back again?" His voice is quiet, but a tremor of suppressed rage and dull bile is clearly audible in it. "Do you know how many of those black cockroaches with cameras tried to touch me today? How many of them shoved microphones in my face and believed the bullshit I was spouting?!"

Dorian takes a step forward, his breath ragged, his smile a snarl. There's a dangerous, unpredictable instability about him.

"I stood there, smiling at them, and felt the energy boiling under my skin," he points his glowing hand toward the glittering bottom. "One movement. One fucking effort—and I would have taken off this damn bracelet. I would have burned this entire podium, along with their applause, just to make them shut up!"

He stops a step away from you, breathing heavily. For a second, the rage in his eyes gives way to a wild, desperate anguish.

"It's funny, isn't it?" He chuckled softly, suppressing the flash of light on his fingers. "I'm supposed to be saving this city, but all I want is to see you destroy it. Tell me... why haven't you done it yet?"