February 7th, 202x:

The world is no longer the same, it hasn't been ever since mankind decided a more aggressive approach was required to ensure their survival. Movements such as the Neomarchy became frequently less unorthodox, this quaint sentiment of inferiority, craving to prove their own strength, the might of their very ideals. A well-known problem grew out of scale then, something often related to racism or to the source of mutant hatred thoroughly fomented by extreme views of the world. It didn't take long before even civilians waged personal wars against those 'so-called heroes', betraying them upon being rescued without necessity or merely organizing cults to hunt all which was different.

Cowls were found in trash cans, aesthetically modified mutants went into hiding, often brightly simpering beacons of hope fell victims to alcohol and other addictions in order to quiescently shut themselves from this brutish world they aided to create.

A world of hatred and death.

Obviously there were those who persevered, those who, no matter how somber the world encompassing themselves was, would refuse to let go of their hope. Even after events such as Fukuoka and Hawaii were brought up, adding more and more layers to the ever-growing prejudice, those figures stood their grounds, safeguarding what they assumed quintessential to them. Brandishing the flag of heroes of old, now vanishing sluggishly due to this drastic change of heart.

More caskets in the cemetery carrying masks and costumes above them.

Bodies encountered left and right, gruesome sights happening throughout the globe, not only to those who desired to harm but also for those who only offered a helping hand. This day was a fatidical day, another rally ending up in more corpses. As officers came to clean the remaining stains and look after any survivors amid the rubble, they encountered a trail of an unbeknownst substance. It led to an unawake mutant child, as well as a viciously beaten pool of pink goo, bullet holes all throughout it, hand-made spears puncturing the ground where the liquid found itself. There was only one clear shape, a fuschia-colored head deformed as if continuously hit by multiple bats while shielding the brat.

One life for another.

February 11th, 202x:

It was a hot day, proof that funerals had become so natural in this world that not even the ancient cliché of grey skies and pouring rain remained to be seen whenever a death shocked the allegedly benevolent part of the community. Everyone who had met the minx acknowledged her as a bubbly person, a hero who would always attempt her best to save others, wasit only due to her relationship with an up-and-coming teenager who blatantly stated he'd eventually be the best hero or only because she was inherently good not a single soul could tell.

There was still a lot of mourning, though. Portland lost one of its key figures in the past decade. Mankind lost an outsider risking everything for their sake.

A couple local cops carried the mahogany casket, her suit spread above it as a sign of respect and recognition for her work. Townsfolk weeped during the ceremony, unbeknownst faces to her, simply there to respect her legacy. She hadn't given up as many others had. She fought and, in the end, gave her life away to prevent a different-looking little child lost its chance at reforming the future. It was how heroes upheld their beliefs, made evident their sacrifices weren't merely landmarks of fantasy books or long-forgotten history.

There were also those whom stared at the scene with a contemptuous, sometimes even sarcastic grin over their visages. As if checking on those fools who would dare to place their faith into something as obnoxious as an ambulant puddle of slime, even having runny noses and watering eyes over such a figure. The devastated person they craved to see the most, though, was oddly enough missing. No matter how many eyes fathomed the cemetery, how hard their twisted minds sought him out...

There was no spiky blonde hair to be seen.

April 4th, 202x:

The violence took a turn for the worse, many incredibly tasteless news reached the media. Important figures, previously admired and even adored by population were now targeted by radical groups claiming they only stain mankind with their presence. Chased away for being aliens, mutants, genetically engineered, magical, it didn't quite matter. World was hell. Not even important soldiers escaped this fate, an apparently gloomy atmosphere overtook Earth as a whole. There was only one word capable of describing what it had come to.

Bloodshed.

News flashed. Terrifiyingly aggressive messages written on walls, threatening all those who aided 'outsiders'. Heroes losing it and committing mass genocide upon being confronted one too many times. Blackouts on different cities with such a short amount of time between them. Sudden lack of nuclear components bringing despair to an already fragile situation.

A veracious symphony of chaos awaiting to be played.

Its conductor, however, hadn't shown up.

April 14th, 202x:

Shocked.

Those were the reactions of most people who woke up that tragic day, tuning into the news because their eyes couldn't believe what websites had to tell. A message of doom, a nod towards all those imbecilic fools who had taken all away from him. Indeed, they should be afraid, very afraid. It wasn't clear how long it had been, but a detonation unlike anything ever seen wiped off America's west coast without further warning. Cities were ravaged, people were turned into nothingness, simply erased from reality without a trace.

Terrorists?

Villains?

The answer was far more unbelievable.

The camera approached the demolished edifices, it just had to be documented, so everyone could comprehend just what had happened. Yet to their surprises, there was an actual survivor. One. A boy, irately gazing at nothingness, his spiked hair covered in dust, the tangerine and obsidian suit of his instantaneously erasing any doubts.

TNTank, perhaps once one of the most heroic people living in this godforsaken rock.

He gazed at the flying drones, all focusing on him, expecting him to do something. Was he the cause? Was he the sole survivor? The boy sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone. He looked at the slightly cracked screen, the time glistenned alabaster as always, the background image that of better times. Simpler times. There they were. All of them. His friends, his family, his girlfriend. It was a surprise birthday party they had done for him, perhaps his very last reason to smile.

There it was, proof of his genuine happiness.

He always ceaselessly endeavored to grant every single being a shot at finding theirs, saving their lives so they could savor living them, halting evil-doers so their smiles would never fade. He protected those who needed it most and, at some point, fate repaid him by handing him that sensation he never even considered to go after himself. A single crystalline tear rolled down his face.

"I've done it now."

He vanished, a trail of dust left behind as multiple explosions followed, each minimetrically calculated to viciously destroy most the vehicles clogging the air. It was his declaration of war, a selfish battle against an enemy he once sworn to protect. An enemy who stabbed him in the back multiple times before he decided to shove his own knife down its throat.

It was useless, no matter how much they begged he wouldn't stop until every single soul of that planet knew the pain of betrayal. Of being struck where it hurts. Without thinking twice, Tank grabs one of the many broadcasting cameras and clears his throat. "Dear flockfaces, unlike y'all, I like to stab my enemies while they're lookin' me dead in the eye. So I'mma give ya one chance. If ya think the trash rulin' this planet deserves to live on, y'all know where to find me. If not, I'll just keep blowin' the rats out of their nests." He paused, a sinister giggle escaping his lips. They were going to suffer what they did. What she did.

James had just returned from one of his many common patrols around Portland. His presence had diminished significantly ever since the boy enrolled in the Academy, however every single weekend he would travel back whilst carrying his bubbly goofriend, pick up his constant slack. It was quaint, people weren't actually annoyed at the sight of TNTank, they didn't have the often witnessed respect out of panic. His aggressive remarks fell on ostensibly deaf ears as he waded throughout the streets.

His video at Fukuoka had went viral, thus Portland shone upon him a more optimistic light, much unlike what he had lived through so far. It wasn't what he craved, to be praised and liked by others as if he secretly longed for acceptance, as if he did it solely for their appraisal. It pained him to no end gazing at all the merchandising of him scattered across the city. It must have been like that for most heroes that had any significance in events with media coverage, rewarding them for their self-sacrifice with ceaseless simpers and adoration.

James didn't appreciate it. It was as if they were dishonest to themselves, praising his acts? They were more interested in saying the next generation would have a duo raised in Portland. Slip and Tank. Hruby didn't seem to mind it much, yet Tank did.

Regardless, that was no longer his main preoccupation, upon ultimately reaching his room, his mind went completely away from his heroic business. The stoic figure of TNTank and how to sustain his ideals and identity, those were worries of a hero, but he also had the worries of a boy experiencing many new sentiments he barely had the time to savor during his earlier life.

It was Kaija who first commenced to change him, and Hruby paired up with his cousin's efforts.

He hadn't even came to realize it, but upon hearing a certain song while on his way back, it finally hit him. Homecoming definitely officialized them as a couple, even before that it hadn't been as if it was a reality, their lives weren't as much different as before, aside from minor details and a mutual interest from both parties, however the Academy's party ended up being their first time together doing things they weren't actually used to, all for the sake of their significant other, and she had a confession to make.

They even had a song to properly call "theirs".

Which led him to delve deeply into thought, what other 'couple stuff' orthodox couples had that they didn't? Hruby was the best girl in the world for James, even if he couldn't quite place his finger on whichever feelings he truthfully felt, even if he couldn't drop the 'L-word' as naturally and meaningfully as she did, her presence was certainly more appreciated than anyone else's.

Nicknames.

He didn't call her anything but her actual name, which apparently had been the Czech equivalent of "coarse", and her super name, which was nothing special. Meanwhile those mellow lovers so caringly embracing on the plazas and malls around the country had many nicknames. "Honey boo", "sweet pie", "teddy bear" among many other examples too sweet for him. However, didn't she deserve one too?

If she was the best, which it was definitely true to him, wouldn't she need a fitting nickname? Something that showed his care for her virtually at the same time it didn't flee his character. He wouldn't like to force it on her or even on himself.

His first idea was speeding towards his computer, googling a few translations to counter that ironic nameof hers. Scientists weren't known to comprehend how she could feel, even if being an alien to this planet. First he translated the word "beautiful", "Krásná" came up as a result. It was weird, completely different from Hruby and, in all honesty, more of a trouble to say than he wanted. "Jemný" was the next idea, its meaning being "soft", mostly used for characterizing women. It didn't roll as smooth as Hruby naturally did.

Another language wasn't going to cut it. He attempted to play around the unique phisiology of his girlfriend, coming up with lame things such as "gummy bear" and "honey goo", mostly reminding her of how different and inhuman she was, not the brightest of ideas. Crossing arms, he leapt onto his bed. It wasn't an easy task, thinking about how to please her, how to make her feel even more average, how to be the best for her as she was the best for him... Seconds turn into minutes, minutes leisurely become a few hours.

At this point Tank could be foundhanging upside down, occasionally bumping his hard-head against the ground, muttering how he couldn't even come up with something as simplistic as a nickname fitting of her. Something she would consider adorable, as well as demonstrate all his appreciation for her exotic self, and cement even further the idea that 'they' were meant to be. Hruby was astonishing, from her curves she thoroughly adapted for Tank's tastes to her personality, something unexpected to be so compatible with James' own insecurities and inherent violent behavior, to her actions. Everything was breathtaking, laying with her, feeling her velvety skin, being entranced by those beauteous tangerine eyes, tasting her lips.

Wait...

Her taste, her distinct coloring, her very biology... Tank's palm rapidly met his visage as a simper formed. Yes, he finally had made it! It was flawless, a somewhat straightforward nickname exploring Slip's one-of-a-kind presence, added to the fact it was something Tank really learnt how to adore, mostly because of her. Between those edging lips of his, a brief whisper could be heard amid a rather joyful chuckling.

"Bubblegum... She's my bubblegum. Das flockin' perfect!"

Nightmares repeatedly haunted James Boomer's often obstinate mentality, always remarkably secure his own skills could safeguard his own petite world, shelter others from any havoc possiibly coming their way, carry the world's weight on his broad shoulders. However, that wasn't the case every time he shut his eyes. Carnage, panic, utter destruction scattered throughout the city. He stood amid a huge crater, blood oozing out of ceaseless wounds, unbearable sore overwhelming all his senses. Why couldn't he do it?

Was all his life wasted away? Did his efforts mean so little?

Back in Fukuoka, it pained him to taciturnly admit his strength wasn't enough, even if the vermilion Oni was allegedly holding her punches, the boy couldn't receive them all for much longer, and if he did come there to clash against Kaija's bloodthirsty metamorphosis, even if his fists were not tied by their unspoken bonds, he wouldn't have triumphed. The image of Kaija's instantaneous teleporting-like movements stuck in his head, too fast even for his own enhanced perception, he probably would never stand a chance.

Then there was Rome. Indeed, the trip barely had any effect on his image of the Academy, it arguably retrogressed the situation even further, yet a later reveal about the obnoxious disfigured villain who antagonized their presence cast Tank's unwavering confidence into a sea of doubt. Assuming his powers were removed, would he ever be able to save the little girl? James ran the thoughts constantly through his mind, silently straining himself whilst camouflaging it with his usual persona.

Personally, his life had taken a turn for the best these last few weeks, now part of some sort of family and even finding someone who saw through his facade and still, quite literally, stuck by his side. Which could only mean physically, if he didn't improve, he'd eventually lose everything once more and end up hurting. Therefore, the infamous King of Screw Ups had to reluctantly swallow his pride once more.

Those words still reverberated inside his mind, directed at the one teacher he actually didn't despise at the academy. Not by his classes or even guidance, but for being there to enact revenge on Tank's stead, even if that wasn't the Time Keeper's goal, defeating the one who caused Fukuoka's demise and well-nigh demonized his very family meant much to TNTank, especially since he accepted he should not chase after her, but after his cousin. Thus the ancient history teacher was perhaps James' only shot at guidance, that man's knowledge of time would eventually come in handy.

Surprisingly, the teacher accepted Tank's request quite swimmingly, reserving any doubts to himself. The timeless warrior's knowledge proved useful even sooner than Boomer expected, though, embedded on his first suggestions about how, where and what exactly they could possibly do in a small amount of time.

Now - Time Chamber:

How long had it been?

The Time Chamber was an inconsistency amid temporal seas, one day could last as long as a month, time ran sluggishly enough for Tank to improve somehow. The blank scenario encompassing both was tasteless, the lack of company well-nigh drove Tank insane. If vanishing without a trace was harsh to those worrying about him during a week or two, not being able to at the very least check on his cousin or embrace Hruby during the course of a year was terribly taxing, he had to delve entirely onto his training, shroud those conflicted sentiments within the mists of ignorance, disguise his other intentions as even more fuel for his practices, silently convince himself this was also for their sake.

Meanwhile, his tutor quiescently observed as the boy pushed his limits, guiding Tank throughout an intense routine, pointing the boy towards the way his powers would be the most effective. Augment his explosiveness whenever fighting, focusing his explosions on tinier portions of his body to utilize them more effectively, increase his very power constantly. Lesson after lesson, day after day, James' image of his Herculean behemoth of a teacher as results begun to become clearer.

Hair almost reaching his shoulder-blades, bags under his eyes, sweat dripping from his arms as gigantic outbursts occurred amid the alabaster-hued background, each single explosion generated with one purpose: boost the power each of his jabs packed. Elbows aiming earthwards, fists in front of his eyes, as soon as his hips gyrated, arm extending forward, an expeditious burst of energy would vehemently sped his punches. His invisible foe got hit over and over, outstandingly quick moves aiming for his chin, ribcage, cheeks and so on. Rocket Kickboxing, that was what the duo decided to dub Boomer's close-quarters workout, adopting it as his signature updated fighting style.

Merging powers and skill, the Time Keeper certainly knew what he did, transforming that kid into a lethal foe to any unprepared fool. The boy's determination crystal-clear whenever one gazed into his fiery eyes, each movement had all his might behind it, splitting the wind and sending shockwaves throughout the ostensibly infinite chamber, smoke raising as the thunderous explosions rhythmically took place, those strident bubbles of charcoal and tangerine, their noise an ode to his future.

Even if his boundaries wouldn't permit him to shoulder the world's burden at the moment, he would constantly push them away until his arms could encompass and stonewall every single soul. Giving up is for quitters, if he never at the very least endeavored to be the strongest, how could he be certain of anything? How could he know if he could have protected those important to him?

His mind was set, no matter the hardships, he would overcome them and become the best or die trying.