Night Pressure
POV: Silas (First Person)
Location: Midtown, Detroit – Late Night
The caffeine wasn't helping.
Campus was still loud by early evening. Students shouting across courtyards, music echoing from dorm windows, arguments about finals, or parties, or both. I sat in my room, staring at the wall, pretending the belt in my bag wasn't humming like a living thing.
It had been days since I made the suit. Nights since I felt the pull. Tonight felt different. Like it was waiting. Like it had chosen tonight for a reason.
I stood up. Took a breath.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see what this thing can really do."
I pulled the belt from the bag and locked it around my waist.
The reaction was immediate.
Shadow poured from beneath the bed, curling around my legs, crawling over my arms. It wasn't cold. It wasn't warm either. Just there, like breath pressed to skin. The texture shifted as it formed — first a bodysuit, then the full-face mask. The red lines formed second, tracing along my limbs and chest with surgical precision.
Then the hood — smooth, sleeveless, and heavy with silence — draped over my head and over the mask. It shaded everything. It sealed the look.
And just like that, I wasn't just Silas anymore.
The city felt quieter above ground.
I crouched on the edge of a warehouse roof near Midtown, across from a liquor store and a 24-hour laundromat. Quiet street. Sparse foot traffic. Dim light. A good test zone.
My hands flexed at my sides.
The belt's pulse had slowed into a low hum since the suit formed. It felt… aligned. Like it was syncing to my intention.
So, I moved.
First steps were cautious. Nothing heroic. I crouched, jumped across a narrow alley to the next building. My boots landed harder than I expected, and I nearly tipped over the edge. Caught myself. Breathed out.
Heart pounding. Muscles electric.
Not graceful — yet.
I wasn't flipping over cars or swinging between towers like the Spider-kid everyone online was obsessed with. But I was moving better. Smarter.
With every leap, the suit helped stabilize me. The wind tugged at the edges of my hood, but the shadows gripped tighter.
After four blocks of movement, I stopped. Rested. Listened.
Breath heavy. Knees sore.
But I didn't want to stop.
Then I heard it.
A shout.
Short. Sharp. From below.
I crawled to the ledge, leaned out over the rooftop.
Two guys. One woman. Corner of a side street near a parking lot. The woman was backing away, holding her purse to her chest. One guy had a knife. The other, a bat.
She wasn't screaming.
She looked like she'd already given up.
And they hadn't even touched her yet.
I didn't think.
I moved.
Jumped from the rooftop and landed in the alley just behind them. Knees bent. Low stance. Silent. My boots touched down like whispers.
The knife guy turned first.
"Who the hell—?"
He didn't get to finish. I drove a punch straight into his jaw — fast, tight, instinctive.
He dropped with a grunt.
The guy with the bat swung next.
I ducked, but not fast enough — the bat smacked my shoulder hard. The pain flared for half a second before the suit deadened it. Pressure without damage.
I planted my back foot and kicked him square in the stomach. He folded and hit the ground, coughing and wheezing like a balloon had popped in his chest.
The knife guy recovered and lunged again. Slashes and thrusts — wild, fast, angry.
I stepped back, dodging. Twisted sideways, grabbed his wrist, and twisted. The blade dropped.
Then I drove my knee into his ribs and sent him crashing into a trash bin.
It was messy. Sloppy. Fast.
But it worked.
I stood over them, chest rising and falling like I'd just run a mile. Every muscle was lit. Every nerve was awake.
I wasn't unscathed. But I was far from broken.
Not superhuman. Not invincible.
But close.
This wasn't just the belt or the suit — it was me. My will. My choices. My fists.
One fight at a time.
The woman stared at me, frozen in shock.
I didn't say a word. Just turned, bolted down the alley, and scrambled up the nearest fire escape.
The shadows clung tighter as I climbed. By the time I reached the rooftop, I was already disappearing into the building's outline.
She never saw my face.
Good.
I crouched low, breathing hard. My lungs ached. Not from fear — from effort. From reality.
No sirens. No footsteps.
Just silence and wind.
The belt pulsed again.
Not with urgency. Not like a warning.
More like… confirmation.
Like it had seen what I did — and approved.
Or maybe I did.
I pulled the hood lower over my mask and started running again.
Not for justice. Not for glory.
Just to see how far I could go before the shadows gave out.