A shadowy figure sloshed through the brown puddles of the thick jungle. Longshot trekked through the rain forest of Brazil, large waxy leaves batted against his face as he walked. The exotic creatures erupted in a symphony of nature. The red coat he wore as part of his costume didn't help in the humidity. His light grey mask absorbed sweat as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a GPS device leading him to the tracer arrow he had shot into one of Reaper's helicopters. The red dot signaled on a bright green topographical map a few kilometers ahead. He had little intel on the Vine Syndicate, it was like they had popped up out of nowhere and released these pheromones into the air. Luckily Longshot had covered his nostrils in a special putty he used as a stabilizer in his explosive arrows. It filtered air as well as most gas masks. It was kind of annoying, but it was better then being a brain dead slave to the Syndicate. He only prayed that other heroes were on the job. Heroes, he hated that word. He wished there was a more professional name for it. Of course, the boy scouts couldn't get enough of it, the capes, the sparkling white teeth, the glory. Paxton would never know that. His face would never be on the front page of a newspaper, the ladies would never swoon for it. This mask hid more then his identity, it hid his shame.
He got low as he heard men shouting to one another in a clearing up ahead. There was a building, helicopters, and a sandbag perimeter guarded by armed men on all sides. Suddenly, several Army helicopters zoomed just above the canopy and they all fell to the earth, destroyed by an unseen force, then, he saw him, Reaper. The main target, take him down and destroy the machine then go home. That simple. He held his bow and whipped out an arrow, the fletchings ran through his fingers. His black gloves didn't dull his heightened sense of touch and he could taste the water in the air and hear the knock touch to the bowstring. The arrowhead had two prongs on the tip. Longshot reached for one of the yellow cylinders on his double cross-heart belt which buckled in the middle with a round metal piece with an arrow painted on it. He attached the yellow cylinder to the base of the metal arrowhead. It was a magnetic attachment, an electric charge that activated on impact that carried more then triple the strength of a tazer. He pulled back on the string, looking carefully at his target through the glass eyepiece protruding through his mask. "I never miss." he whispered to himself, "I never miss." and with that, he let slip the arrow.
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