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The figure hovered there for a moment, allowing everyone to feel comfortable with his presence, letting the crowd and everyone watching the live broadcast to take in his handsome face, his flowing blue cape, the strange vaguely patriotic armor that covered his impressively athletic frame.  In just one instant, he suddenly ceased to be there at all, the space everyone was concentrating on was suddenly lacking the strangely clothed youth, as if he had just snapped out of existence faster than the speed of thought. Even before Hopkins could gasp, though, the figure was back, having left and returned between startled blinks, with not so much as a gust of wind to alert anyone of his departure of arrival. It was suddenly obvious where he had disappeared to, because his previously empty hands now held five men in covert military gear, they hadn’t even begun to struggle, Hopkins realized, they were as surprised as everyone else that they were suddenly in the grip of this impossible flying man. The mercenaries’ legs kicked out weakly, catching nothing air, their hands bound behind them, held in place by their own horrifically twisted automatic weapons. Red, White, and Blue Boy held each mercenary by the collar of their gear, he held three men in his left hand, two in his right, and despite their heavy gear and frantic struggles, he held them without the slightest facial twitch to betray intensive labor, his smile stayed plastered to his face, comforting and sincere, he almost looked amused. “Don’t worry,” the hero said, struggling operatives still in his hands, an almost out of place look of joviality firmly on his still smiling face “I’m here to help.”

The End

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