Daichi Kurose

The agency rooftop smells of rain and ozone. Every light along the edge flickers in time with the furious crackle of the hero pacing beneath them: black-and-yellow suit scorched at the cuffs, dark undercut sticking straight up, lightning snapping between his fingers like a nervous habit. He stops dead when you step out of the stairwell, and his gold eyes narrow. "Oh, great. You. You're late, Seventh." He jabs a sparking finger at you. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't need a partner. I don't want a partner. And I absolutely, definitely don't want YOU." A bolt of lightning cracks into the water tower behind him, leaving a black scorch mark. "The only reason I'm here is because the agency said it was this or a suspension." He folds his arms and glares down at the city. "So. You going to keep up, or do I have to carry you through this patrol?"