New York City: Aftermath of Halliwell's Attack

The fighting was over, but the bulk of the work wasn't. Nobody spoke directly to him, aside from the occasional quick "thanks," but he could still hear them talking. They talked about the fight. Many said he needed a break. Conrad's face was blemished with bruises and cuts for the first time in his life, a black eye prominent as well as a split lip. They were healing quickly, sure, but they'd be there all day. He was no longer naked, either, having retrieved spare clothes from his pack before commencing the clean-up. All around, the damaged city was recovering. Medical officials rushed the afflicted to safety. Construction workers aided in clearing away debris. Insurance collectors assessed damages.

Conrad did all he could.

There was an astonishing lack of casualties, overall, but that didn't mean the people weren't shaken. Others had been trapped under wreckage, scared and alone. Some cried out when they saw him, believing him to be one of the dreaded nGods who had descended from the heavens a mere hour before. At first he didn't know what to do, so he just cleared away the rubble and let the people be. They didn't want him to pick them up, let alone look at them.

Others, blissfully, were more receptive. He felt like less of a monster then.

"Those assholes really did a number on the city," he heard, a voice directed at him for the first time since the fight. He turned cautiously, finding himself face-to-face with a dusty fireman, covered in refuse from the debris. His gloved hands were grey with ash, but he still maintained a white smile.

"Good going, pal. I saw you land that last hit. On the behalf of New York...thanks," he said, giving Conrad a small salute.

No, thank you, he wanted to say, but instead he just nodded. Eyes red, he scanned the area for others trapped underneath crumbled ruins, holding his breath and floating into the air. Ever since he'd flown in an effort to drag Halliwell away from the conflict, it'd come more and more naturally. Now he was as agile as a hummingbird, cape rippling in the breeze behind. Locating another cadre of shelter-seekers, he lifted away a car which had fallen onto the door, knocking to signal it was safe. He was gone before it opened.

Then came repairs to the buildings.

The Bastion could only do so much in this department, mostly moving replacement pillars and sometimes even carrying cement trucks across closed-off roadways. Anything to make the operation easier, he did without hesitation. Some were mistrustful. Others grateful. With powerful hands, he hefted massive water tanks onto his back, hovering them over burning fires and helping extinguish the remaining blazes. All in all, it wasn't a comfortable thing, to stick around in the aftermath...but unlike many other caped supers, he felt somewhat obligated to.

At the end of the day, he left without fanfare, quietly floating into the night sky. Contemplative eyes scoured the Eastern Seaboard, the young defender coming to a halt far above. Idly, he closed his eyes, and slept once more, remaining far above. His last thought before drifting away?

I need a real suit.

New York City: Aftermath of Halliwell's Attack

The fighting was over, but the bulk of the work wasn't. Nobody spoke directly to him, aside from the occasional quick "thanks," but he could still hear them talking. They talked about the fight. Many said he needed a break. Conrad's face was blemished with bruises and cuts for the first time in his life, a black eye prominent as well as a split lip. They were healing quickly, sure, but they'd be there all day. He was no longer naked, either, having retrieved spare clothes from his pack before commencing the clean-up. All around, the damaged city was recovering. Medical officials rushed the afflicted to safety. Construction workers aided in clearing away debris. Insurance collectors assessed damages.

Conrad did all he could.

There was an astonishing lack of casualties, overall, but that didn't mean the people weren't shaken. Others had been trapped under wreckage, scared and alone. Some cried out when they saw him, believing him to be one of the dreaded nGods who had descended from the heavens a mere hour before. At first he didn't know what to do, so he just cleared away the rubble and let the people be. They didn't want him to pick them up, let alone look at them.

Others, blissfully, were more receptive. He felt like less of a monster then.

"Those assholes really did a number on the city," he heard, a voice directed at him for the first time since the fight. He turned cautiously, finding himself face-to-face with a dusty fireman, covered in refuse from the debris. His gloved hands were grey with ash, but he still maintained a white smile.

"Good going, pal. I saw you land that last hit. On the behalf of New York...thanks," he said, giving Conrad a small salute.

No, thank you, he wanted to say, but instead he just nodded. Eyes red, he scanned the area for others trapped underneath crumbled ruins, holding his breath and floating into the air. Ever since he'd flown in an effort to drag Halliwell away from the conflict, it'd come more and more naturally. Now he was as agile as a hummingbird, cape rippling in the breeze behind. Locating another cadre of shelter-seekers, he lifted away a car which had fallen onto the door, knocking to signal it was safe. He was gone before it opened.

Then came repairs to the buildings.

The Bastion could only do so much in this department, mostly moving replacement pillars and sometimes even carrying cement trucks across closed-off roadways. Anything to make the operation easier, he did without hesitation. Some were mistrustful. Others grateful. With powerful hands, he hefted massive water tanks onto his back, hovering them over burning fires and helping extinguish the remaining blazes. All in all, it wasn't a comfortable thing, to stick around in the aftermath...but unlike many other caped supers, he felt somewhat obligated to.

At the end of the day, he left without fanfare, quietly floating into the night sky. Contemplative eyes scoured the Eastern Seaboard, the young defender coming to a halt far above. Idly, he closed his eyes, and slept once more, remaining far above. His last thought before drifting away?

I need a real suit.

[Redacted canon]

[Redacted canon]

Redacted Canon.