Gemini stands in front of a glass case, its contents obscured by her body.
“Heroes always look perfect on the page, don’t they? Capes flying, shields raised, charging headfirst into the fire. They’re the symbols we look up to, the stories we tell ourselves when the world feels too dark. But here’s the thing—they don’t show you what happens after the last panel. They don’t show you the cracks in the mask, the dents in the shield, the moments when the hero falls and there’s no one left to catch them.”
Her voice softens as she lowers her head to reveal the display case is holding a cracked shield.
“Captain Arcadia. The Hero of the People. You’ve built yourself into the perfect picture, haven’t you? But no one’s forgotten what came before. The Yellow Python. The failed hero. The one who tried so hard to save the day and ended up tangled in his own mistakes.”
In its cracks, Gemini’s reflection fractures into countless pieces.
“And that’s the problem with you, Cap. You’re not brave—you’re desperate. Desperate to outrun your past, to prove you’re not the same kid who couldn’t cut it, who was deceived by the Zookeeper. You think if you run fast enough, punch hard enough, yell loud enough, you can drown out the whispers of who you used to be. But you can’t outrun failure. You can’t bury it under a shiny new name.”
She places her hand on the glass.
“Heroes aren’t forged in the names they give themselves; they’re forged in what they endure. And you? You’re not a hero. You’re a patch job. A symbol stitched together from the ruins of the Yellow Python, desperately trying to look whole.”
A tear falls down her cheek as she gets personal.
“You think if you run fast enough, no one will notice the cracks. That if you throw yourself into danger, people will forget the times you fell. But I see it, Cap. I see the way the past weighs on you, how every reckless step you take is another swing of the hammer against that fragile shield. You’re not leading anyone. You’re not inspiring hope. You’re running—running from the failure, running from the truth, running from yourself.”
She turns away from the shattered shield.
“And here’s the truth you can’t hide from: shields crack. Masks break. And when they do, what’s left? What happens when the hero who can’t stop running finally trips? I’ll tell you what happens. The world sees you for what you are—just another boy who bit off more than he could chew, hoping no one notices the pieces falling apart. When we step into that ring, Captain Arcadia, I’m not fighting a hero. I’m fighting the cracks in your reflection, the fear in your heart, the weight you can’t carry anymore. And when I’m done? You’ll finally see yourself for who you really are.”
She raises her camera.
“Take a picture, Cap. Because when your shield shatters, that’s all you’ll have left.”
Click.