Ark's Arc Starts

His worn sneakers scuffed the pavement as he made his way toward a convenience store, the neon sign flickering intermittently. He shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his ragged hoodie, feeling the weight of his last few coins. Just enough for a drink.

The city was quieter than usual, a rare lull in the chaos that constantly plagued Brockton Bay. Ark didn't mind. He was tired of the noise, tired of everything, really.

He reached the convenience store and pushed the door open, the bell above it jingling softly. The fluorescent lights inside were harsh, making him squint as he stepped in. The clerk barely glanced up from his magazine, uninterested in yet another down-and-out customer. Ark wandered the aisles, eventually grabbing a can of soda from the cooler at the back. He stood there for a moment, the cold seeping into his hand, and thought about what he was doing.

This was it. The last of his money. After this, he had nothing left. He was tired—tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of the endless parade of parahumans with their petty squabbles and grand delusions. He'd seen so many of them, some with grandiose titles and costumes, others just trying to make it through the day like him. But they all had one thing in common: they were all part of this messed-up world he wanted no part of.

He made his way to the counter, dropping the coins onto the surface. The clerk rang him up without a word, sliding the soda across to him. Ark nodded in thanks, a hollow gesture, and left the store. He popped the tab on the can as soon as he was outside, taking a long, refreshing sip. The carbonation stung his throat, but he welcomed the sensation.

As Ark exited the convenience store, two guys brushed past him, one of them bumping into his shoulder and causing him to drop his soda. The can rolled away, hissing as it spilled its contents. Ark sighed, feeling a surge of annoyance.

He could see the powers within the two men, a subtle shimmer that only his own powers revealed. Parahumans. And from the looks of them, they were up to no good. Ark watched as they entered the store, exchanging a glance. He didn't need his powers to sense trouble; his common sense was enough.

Ark took a few steps away from the entrance, debating whether to keep walking. The sound of raised voices and a commotion from inside the store made the decision for him. He turned back, just in time to see one of the robbers pull out a gun. The clerk, panicking, drew a weapon of his own, either he didn't hesitate or he was reckles. A shot rang out, and one of the robbers fell.

The partner of the first robber didn't seem fazed by his friend's death. In fact, he seemed almost eager. The surviving robber's body stretched and distorted, revealing a rubber-like elasticity. He absorbed the clerk's desperate gunshots with ease, his body rippling but remaining unscathed. He delivered a powerful punch, crackling with electricity, that sent the clerk crumpling to the floor, unconscious.

The body of the dead robber vanished into thin air, leaving no trace.

He re-entered the store quietly to avoid causing the bell to jingle, his eyes locking onto the rubbery robber who was now moving towards the register. Ark's gaze fell on a glass bottle on one of the shelves. He grabbed it, smashing it against the edge of a counter with a sharp crack. The sound echoed through the store, making the robber freeze and turn.

Holding a large shard of glass, Ark stepped forward. "Hey," he called out, his voice low and steady. "Think you missed something."

The robber sneered, his rubbery features twisting into an ugly grin. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? Some kind of hero?"

Ark's grip tightened on the glass shard. "Not even close," he muttered. He moved quickly, closing the distance between them. The robber swung at him, but Ark ducked under the blow, his eyes focusing on the lines of death crisscrossing the man's body.

He thrust the glass shard into one of those lines, piercing the robber's elastic skin. The man screamed, his body convulsing as the glass cut through vital points. Ark stepped back, watching as the robber crumpled to the ground, his powers unable to save him from the precise strike.

Ark barely made it a few steps before he heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. He turned, only to see the first robber, the one he’d watched die, re-entering the store. The guy’s wounds were gone, his body somehow healed, but he was panting heavily as if he had just sprinted a marathon. The robber’s eyes widened in fury when he saw his partner on the floor, lifeless.

"You—" the robber began, his voice dripping with rage.

Ark didn’t let him finish. With a resigned sigh, he turned back around, his arm stretching like rubber. He swung the glass shard with precision, slicing through the robber in one swift motion. The body split cleanly in two, falling to the ground with a wet thud. This time, it stayed there, no magical vanishing act.

Ark wiped the glass shard on his hoodie, the action automatic. He looked around the trashed store, his gaze settling on the cash register. Why not? He walked over, opened the register, and pocketed the money inside. If life was going to keep throwing crap at him, he might as well take what he could get.

He grabbed another soda from the cooler and headed for the door. He stepped over the corpse, feeling nothing but a hollow emptiness. At least now he had some cash. Maybe he didn't want to die as much anymore. He had enough for a meal, maybe even a place to crash for the night.

As he stepped outside, he tripped over the first soda can, the one he had dropped earlier. He stumbled, the new can flying out of his hand. It hit the pavement, bursting open and spraying soda all over him. Ark lay there for a moment, soaked and staring up at the sky.

Scratch that. He definitely wanted to die.

With a groan, he sat up, feeling the sticky mess seeping into his clothes. He picked himself up, shaking his head. This was his life, one ridiculous, exhausting mess after another. But for now, he'd keep going. He had a little money, a bit more time to figure things out. Maybe tomorrow would be better, or maybe not. Either way, he'd face it when it came.

For now, all he could do was keep walking, one step at a time, through the dark streets of Brockton Bay.