The San Francisco skyline glittered like a carpet of shattered glass under the late afternoon sun, a breathtaking view that Adan Beckett barely registered as he crash-landed on the rooftop of *The San Francisco Post*. His boots skidded against the gravel, kicking up dust, and he grunted as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. The lingering headache from his Florida showdown with Ryan Parker—head honcho of ICE, a paramilitary outfit with a penchant for chaos—throbbed like a drumbeat in his temples. Parker’s mysterious black weapon, a jagged shard of something unearthly, had clipped him good. For the first time in years, SkyRyder, the city’s invincible superhero, had bled.
“Damn it, Parker,” Adan muttered under his breath, peeling off the sleek blue and white suit that clung to his muscled frame like a second skin. As the fabric slid away, his hair shimmered from jet black to sandy blonde, and his piercing silver eyes dulled back to ocean blue. The transformation was subtle but complete—SkyRyder was gone, and Adan Beckett, mild-mannered investigative journalist, stood in his place. He stuffed the suit into a hidden compartment in his utility belt, wincing as the headache pulsed again. “You hit like a freight train with a grudge.”
He adjusted his glasses—purely aesthetic, a nerdy disguise—and pushed through the rooftop door, descending the narrow stairwell to the newsroom. The moment he stepped into the chaotic buzz of *The Post*, the air crackled with excitement. Reporters darted between cubicles, phones pressed to ears, laptops glowing with breaking news alerts. The topic on everyone’s lips? SkyRyder’s latest battle—and the weapon that had somehow drawn blood from the untouchable hero.
“Did you see the footage? Blood, actual blood!” one reporter, a wiry guy named Tim, exclaimed, waving a tablet at his colleague. “What the hell kind of tech can do that to SkyRyder?”
“Maybe it’s not tech,” another chimed in, a woman with a sharp bob and sharper skepticism. “Conspiracy nuts online are saying it’s tied to some shadow agency. Non-Human Department or whatever. Sounds like sci-fi garbage, but…”
Adan’s jaw tightened as he wove through the crowd, his fingers brushing against the small fragment of the black weapon he’d snatched from Parker during their scuffle. It was tucked safely in his pocket, cold and unnervingly smooth, like polished obsidian with a heartbeat. He needed answers, but first, he had to face the storm waiting for him in the editor-in-chief’s office.
Victoria Rodriguez’s door loomed ahead, the frosted glass etched with her name in bold, no-nonsense font. Even from outside, Adan could feel the heat of her intensity radiating through the walls. He knocked twice, sharp and quick, and her voice sliced through the barrier like a blade.
“Get in here, Beckett, and don’t waste my time.”
He pushed the door open, a lopsided smirk already in place as he leaned against the frame. Victoria sat behind her desk, a fortress of polished mahogany, her dark eyes locked on a tablet screen. Her raven hair was pulled into a tight bun, not a strand out of place, and her crimson blazer screamed power. She didn’t look up as he entered, but her fingers flicked through images—grainy stills of SkyRyder mid-battle, blood trickling from his nose and eyes. Adan’s stomach twisted, but he kept his cool.
“Afternoon, boss. You look like you’re about to declare war on someone. Should I duck?” he quipped, dropping into the chair across from her without waiting for an invite.
Victoria’s gaze snapped up, piercing and unamused, though the faintest smirk tugged at her full lips. “If I were declaring war, Beckett, you’d be the first casualty. What the hell is this?” She spun the tablet around, shoving the image of a bloodied SkyRyder in his face. “Our golden boy got hurt. Hurt. I didn’t think that was in his vocabulary.”
Adan shrugged, adjusting his glasses with a casual air. “Even superheroes have off days. Maybe he forgot to dodge. Or maybe Parker’s got a new toy that packs a punch. You know, like a drone bee with a bad attitude—stings once, but it’s a doozy.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward, her elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. “Don’t play cute with me, Adan. I’m not in the mood for your nerd humor. This isn’t a bee sting. This is a weapon that cracked open the invincible. And I want to know what it is, who’s behind it, and why every conspiracy theorist on the internet is screaming about some Non-Human Department Agency like it’s the second coming of Area 51.”
Adan felt a bead of sweat prick at the back of his neck, but he kept his grin in place, leaning back in the chair with a lazy stretch. “Come on, Vic. You’re not buying into that tinfoil hat nonsense, are you? Next thing you’ll tell me is that SkyRyder’s an alien and I’m secretly Batman.”
Her smirk widened, but it was a predator’s smile, all teeth and danger. “Oh, I don’t know, Beckett. You’ve got the clumsy charm of a vigilante who’s tripped over his own cape. But let’s cut the bullshit. If this agency is real—and I’m not saying it is—SkyRyder’s in deeper trouble than a nosebleed. And if you’ve got any leads on this weapon, I expect them on my desk by tomorrow. Or I’ll have you chasing parking ticket scandals until you’re gray.”
Adan chuckled, though his mind was racing. Victoria didn’t know he was SkyRyder, but her instincts were too damn sharp for comfort. “Parking tickets? That’s cold, even for you. How about I sweeten the deal—dig up something juicy on Parker, and you owe me a coffee. Black, no sugar, just like your heart.”
Victoria arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her voice dropping to a low, teasing purr that sent a shiver down his spine. “Keep dreaming, Beckett. The only thing I owe you is a headache if you don’t deliver. Now get out of my office before I decide to make good on that threat.”
He stood, tipping an imaginary hat with a wink. “Your wish is my command, oh fearless leader. I’ll have something for you soon. Promise.”
As he exited, her parting shot followed him out the door. “Better be good, Adan. I don’t settle for less.”
The newsroom’s chaos swallowed him again as he made his way back to the stairwell, his smirk fading into a grimace. Victoria’s words echoed in his head—*if this agency is real, SkyRyder could be in deep trouble.* She had no idea how right she was. The fragment in his pocket seemed to pulse, a silent reminder of the mystery he had to unravel. He climbed the stairs two at a time, pushing back onto the rooftop where the city sprawled beneath him.
The wind whipped at his hair as he pulled the suit from his belt, slipping it on with practiced ease. Blonde faded to black, blue to silver, and Adan Beckett vanished once more. SkyRyder stood tall, the headache still gnawing at him, but his resolve was iron. He had a lead—a jagged piece of something dark and dangerous—and he wasn’t about to let Parker or some shadowy agency get the upper hand.
“Time to hunt,” he growled, launching into the sky with a burst of raw power, the city blurring beneath him as he set out to uncover the truth.
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