Sledgehammer Sam

Amidst the glow of a Los Angeles side street, a curious spectacle unfurled. There stood a figure, the very antithesis of the Valiant Five's polished heroism—a hero of a different cut—The Sledgehammer Sam. His mask, a patchwork of fabrics with mismatched eyeholes, did little to hide his unkempt beard, which protruded like bristles of raw defiance. Clutching his signature weapon, a bat soaked in the dark evidence of his latest encounter, he hovered above the vanquished villains who had foolishly crossed his path.

His attire, a stained tank top clinging to his burly frame, a pair of garishly tight superhero briefs, and legs that bore forests of hair, spoke volumes of a hero more concerned with results than public relations. The pièce de résistance, a red cape—more tablecloth than tapestry—flapped comically in the night breeze, solidifying this image of ersatz valor.

On the sidewalks, citizens watched and broadcasted live on Herostream, their cameras hungrily consuming the scene.

"OMG, is that a new hero?" one girl exclaimed sarcastically, the glint of excitement in her eyes mirrored in her smartphone screen.

"Dude looks more like he just finished a wrestling match than a superhero fight," a snickering teenager commented, the wry smile on his face not quite hidden behind his phone.

Within digital moments, #SledgehammerSam and #SuperheroScrapyard trended rapidly, the crowd's live stream comments flowing like a cascade of emojis and fragmented exclamations.

"WTH, is his underwear on the outside?! 😂 #FashionFoul," another typed with feverish delight, their commentary lost amidst a sea of notifications.

"Check out those legs! Hairier than my uncle's back," someone else quipped, their laughter audible above the hum of the crowd.

Sledgehammer Sam, ever oblivious to the sideways glances and muffled giggles, stood tall—well, as tall as his slightly above average stature would allow—and surveyed the scene with gravitas. His voice, tinged with the melodrama of a seasoned actor in a B-rate film, boomed across the street:

"Fear not, good citizens of this metropolis! The Sledgehammer of Justice has been swung, and villainy lays defeated at the feet of righteousness!"

The crowd, phones held aloft, ate up every word, their live streams now a pastiche of Sam's homemade heroics and viral voyeurism.

"Can someone call the real heroes? This dude's like five rogue hairs away from a full-on werewolf," a joker in the crowd hollered, the chuckles of onlookers sowing seeds of internet infamy.

Sledgehammer Sam, proud and unfazed, took a celebratory stand, puffing out his chest and adjusting his makeshift cape like royalty adorning a robe of state.

"Go forth and share the valiant deeds of the mightiest hero you've witnessed this eve! And remember, when the night gets dark, Sledgehammer Sam is the light that whacks it right back into day!"

Amid giggles and continuous recordings, the crowd couldn't help but admire the unintentional hero before them, his brand of justice served with a side of slapstick and a dash of endearing audacity. As Herostream's servers bulged with virality, The Sledgehammer Sam's evening caper became the night's unexpected hit, a comedic interlude in a city where heroism had found its unconventional, yet strangely captivating, champion.

The aftermath of Sledgehammer Sam's earlier display of "heroism" still lingered in the air when a sudden shriek slashed through the buzz of Herostream fame. "My purse! Thief!" The shrill cry belonged to an elderly woman, pointing a trembling finger at a man in a black hoodie darting through the crowd.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sledgehammer Sam leapt into action. His bat, clutched tightly in his grip, became an extension of his wild determination. With live streamers on his trail, the chase was on, a thrilling pursuit cutting a swathe through the city's labyrinth of alleyways.

Eyes wide with adrenaline, the man in the hoodie weaved through buildings with slick urban acumen, but Sledgehammer Sam, unaffected by walls and barriers, plowed straight through. Shabby wooden fences and brick obstacles shattered like glass as his bat boomed with shockwaves, the forces rippling out with each seismic smash.

"Justice is hot on your heels, you skulking scallywag!" Sam bellowed, his voice echoing off the grimy alley walls. The hoodie-clad figure glanced back in terror as the sound of splintering structures and the ever-approaching hero urged his legs to pump faster.

Finally, the chase met its climax in a dead end, the towering walls a mute witness to the impending showdown. Panting and cornered, the thief spun around, knife in hand—a blade that shimmered with ill intent.

"You don't wanna do this! I'm not just a man with a bat; I am the justice that goes 'thwack'!" Sam's attempt at bravado layered his words, even as he raised his bat, readying a blow that would never land.

The man in the hoodie lunged, a desperate, wild swing aiming true. The knife found its mark, Sam's uncovered eye—his vulnerable chink in the armor of might. A sharp, sudden pain, and then darkness crept into his vision, a spreading blot of defeat. Sam's knees buckled as the bat tumbled from his grasp, his own blood mingling with the dust of the alley.

"I-I'm sorry, man! I didn't mean to—!" The thief's voice trembled, horror-stricken at the gravity of his own act. He stumbled backward, and took off.

With the echo of running footsteps, the man in the hoodie vanished, leaving behind a stunned silence, a fallen hero, and a digital memory tangled in the smartphones of onlookers whose streams had broadcasted a reality far rawer than anticipated.

As the crowd processed the scene before them, a mixture of fear and disbelief painted their faces. This was no scripted drama, no laughably valiant escapade. This was an unfiltered glimpse into the cost of street-level heroism, where even those with the heart to stand up found that their spirit could bleed out in the alleys they sought to safeguard.

The man in the hoodie dashed away, an erratic heartbeat thudding against his ribs, a jumbled symphony of regret and survival instincts. His frantic escape was a blur of motion—a jagged line cutting through the darkened veins of the city.

It was then, as the distance grew between him and the fallen Sledgehammer Sam, that a vivid memory burst forth, unbidden, a flashback that clawed at his senses.

He was fourteen again, a world away from the man in the bloodied alley, his eyes wide with the innocence of youth. The door to their rundown apartment swung open, revealing his father, a once-celebrated hero whose glory had tarnished beneath the weight of alcohol and the city's relentless pace.

"Haha, there he is! My boy!" His father's words were slurred, a raucous echo in the small, dingy space they called home. The old man's costume, now frayed and stained, hung off his frame like the drooping wings of a bird that had flown too close to the storm.

"Being a hero, son... it's the thrill of the skies!" His father tossed a clumsy arm over the boy's shoulder, guiding him to the kitchen. Blood, not all his own, spattered his weathered suit, remnants of a fight just outside the scope of legality.

A grimy bottle was thrust into the boy's hands, the liquid inside as dark and murky as the life they led. "Drink up! To valor! To—"

But the boy, repulsed by the sharp, acrid smell, spat the foul liquid before it could even graze his lips. His father's laughter boomed, hollow and harrowing, as the alcohol splattered the dirty tiles.

In this world, where heroes soared on streams of light and battled with forces beyond mortal ken, the darker undercurrents were too often shrouded in shadow. With the rise of Herostream, every act of heroism, every triumph and tragedy, played out on the global stage. It elevated some to the status of gods—but for others, it cast a relentless spotlight that pried, that exposed flaws and turned reputations brittle as old parchment.

The cityscape was dotted with monuments to the iconic Valiant Five, the five strongest heroes in the world, and yet there were countless who bore the title 'hero' without the sheen of public adoration. Heroes like his father, who traded punches with darkness in the quiet corners of the metropolis, their battles unseen, their victories uncelebrated, their defeats a heavy silence they bore home.

With every alley he weaved through, the man in the hoodie grappled with the dichotomy of this world—the powerful and the powerless, the legends and the lost, the shine of the spotlight, and the deep, enveloping shadows it cast.

(1 hour later)

The man in the black hoodie, his name Kade Riley. He had red eyes and dark brown hair with black veins coming from under his eyes. He underwent that transformation whenever he had to kill a hero.

He was leaning against a wall In his apartment, breathing heavily, saying to himself, "Fuck this..fuck this…! How long do I have to keep doing this?"

It's only been a day since he was approached by a dark figure in a black cloak and glowing red eyes, he was asleep in his bed, the figure appeared above him, and told him this:

"One superhero a day..just one a day..and everything you love and hold dear won't face wrath. If you don't kill at least one a day, I will destroy this world. And everything in it.."

It was too blatant, no further explanation, no nothing. Kade was too shocked to speak that day, he stayed up all night, taking plenty of medications to make sure he wasn't going crazy; the figure's appearance was too daring and anxiety inducing, fear fell all over him. He doesn't have much, only a father in the hospital due to a sickness. And his little sister, Kaya, was being watched over by their aunt Anna, who was an obnoxious son the same age as Kaya.

Kade had never felt this kind of fear before, he was constantly brewing up scenarios of his father being killed by the figure, a scenario Kade never wanted to see. Maybe this was a prank, but Kade had a gut feeling this wasn't a joke. Something in him told him this was real, the figure even showed him visions of other worlds the figure destroyed. Those planets that were annihilated, all caused some kind of weather anomaly on earth, the scientists had explained how planets in the solar system were destroyed just last year. Kade connected the dots, and that increased his fear even more.

He had no powers, no abilities. How the fuck could he beat a superhero? By targeting their weaknesses perhaps. But that takes studying, being near them a lot, and a little bit of stalking, or just asking the right people. He got lucky targeting Sledgehammer Sam, who he knew had a super tough body, but Sam was recorded fighting a fly who had got stuck in his eye and he seemed like he was in pain. HeroStream was a very weird social media outlet, but he found it as an advantage; the world was built off of superheroes, villains, and social media.

Kade hated this shit. He's not a murderer. Well, he wasn't before Sledgehammer Sam. He was abandoned by most of his family, and his aunt and other family members don't like it when he's even near his 13 year old little sister Kaya for more than an hour, and that's all he's limited to, one hour with her a week.

Why? Kade was always a troublemaker in school, always gotten into fights in high school, but then he realized he wanted a future where his family wouldn't shit on him every five seconds. So he calmed down after his senior year, but ripped out of college to work a full time job to pay for his dads medical bills, and still paying.

As of right now, he works as a cook at a fast food restaurant, but he's also looking into amateur boxing, which would pull in a little more money, and help him get stronger.

Kade walked through his hallway, and took his shirt off, sighing to himself. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. He went straight to HeroStream, seeing thousands of posts and blurred out videos of him killing Sledgehammer Sam. His appearance looked different in the video, with the red eyes and stuff, a perk from the figure to help him not get caught so easily, but the rest is up to Kade. Under the disguise, Kade had light brown eyes, with a scar on his neck, and all over his back and chest.

He walked into his dark and empty bedroom, the carpet under him being squashed by his feet, the cold air through the house breezed peacefully with a running sound, he plopped himself on the bed.

He looked up at the ceiling, and he wanted to call his sister, looking at his phone.

He dialed in her number, and the phone rang a few times.

"You again?" His aunt Anna answered with a hostile tone.

Kade replied, "H-Hey, aunt Anna…"

"Kaya doesn't want to speak to you right now. She's outside."

"Please can I talk to her?"

"You sound out of breath. Who's ass did you kick this time?"

"No ones! Please.."

"She's been doing real good, you know? With grades and all that."

"She has?"

"You wouldn't know of course, you're too busy these days. And you only have one hour a week with her, so I don't blame you."

"I got an apartment, finally."

"Hmph. You're 24 with your first apartment already? I had mine when I was 19. You're not doing anything special. What? You want me to suck up to you so Kaya would go live with you? That's not how this works. You're a danger to her. You've hurt people in the past, it doesn't matter if you're some kind of nice guy now, no one ever truly changes. You're lucky we never filed a restraining order against you, and showed pity to one hour a week. So what did you want to talk Kaya about?"

"..I..nothing."

*Click*

Anna hung up, and Kade gritted his teeth, sat up, yelling, "Dammit!"

He slammed his fist into the wall, and punched a hole in it. He panted heavily, his veins popping, His walls were filled with holes, holes he punched in almost everyday. Repairs will take a good amount of cash, so he's waiting for that.

Los Angeles, the sun-baked metropolis sprawling with palm trees and promises, had become much more than a city—it was a beacon of hope and a stage for the extraordinary. Humanity had long since embraced the age of heroes, a time marked by the emergence of beings with otherworldly abilities. At the epicenter stood the Valiant Five, heroes not born from the pages of comics, but forged in the crucible of a world teetering on the brink of chaos. With social media's unblinking eye casting them into the spotlight, these paragons were as familiar to the citizens as the Hollywood sign, their feats of valor immortalized in every tweet and live-stream.

The leader, a man both revered and feared, bore the name Titanfall. A giant in both stature and presence, his face seemed carved from the very stone of the city's high rises, his eyes like steel as he answered questions on live television, his voice as commanding as a general's.

"Los Angeles, our bastion, shall remain unbreached as long as I stand," Titanfall declared on a live broadcast, a flag billowing behind him, the "V5" emblem shimmering in the sunlight. "Every dark corner will be illuminated, every cry for help answered."

At his side, the three men stood tall. Sentinel Prime, his gaze piercing through technological marvels that projected holographic data before him, was a master tactician whose mind worked as a living supercomputer. Next was Nightwave, shrouded in a cloak that seemed woven from the void of space itself, his ability to command the shadows made him the silent guardian of the silent hours.

The woman, known as Gaia's Grace, was a vision of serenity amid the storm. Her powers were tied to the Earth itself, bringing forth life where there was none, her whispers could be felt as gentle tremors of reassurance under the feet of those she protected.

Even the youngest, the little girl called Starling, was no less formidable. A prodigy of immense power, her innocent eyes masked an innate mastery over the fundamental forces of the universe, bending them whimsically to her will.

The Valiant Five rarely had a moment's respite; their social media feeds were as active as the streets they patrolled—their live sessions with fans were a blend of hero talk and humanity. Gaia's Grace, with a gentle smile, would live-stream the healing of a scorched park, her hands glowing with verdant energy.

"Every seedling matters, just as every one of you," she would say, and the comments would flood in with heart emojis and pledges to plant trees.

In the labyrinth of alleys and nightclubs, Nightwave's midnight patrols were a favorite among his followers. A whispered "Watch this" and the screen would plunge into darkness before the cries of would-be criminals met their swift, unseen justice. The comments section roared with applause and wild guessing of how he did it.

Yet, for all the adoration, the Valiant Five were ever aware of the balance they had to maintain, the dangers of such visibility, and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"We're not just symbols," Titanfall had said in an interview after a particularly harrowing battle that left much of downtown in need of Gaia's Grace's healing touch. "We are the first line, the shield, and the sword. Remember that behind each like, share, or follow, we are here, fighting for you."

The duality of their existence was a constant dance—heroes on a digital stage and deities in the streets—yet never did they waiver in their duty. Los Angeles, teeming with magic and machinery, had its protectors, and the Valiant Five had etched a legacy not just on screens, but in the very soul of the city they swore to guard.

The Valiant Five rarely had a moment's respite; their social media feeds were as active as the streets they patrolled—their live sessions with fans were a blend of hero talk and humanity. Gaia's Grace, with a gentle smile, would live-stream the healing of a scorched park, her hands glowing with verdant energy.

"Every seedling matters, just as every one of you," she would say, and the comments would flood in with heart emojis and pledges to plant trees.

In the labyrinth of alleys and nightclubs, Nightwave's midnight patrols were a favorite among his followers. A whispered "Watch this" and the screen would plunge into darkness before the cries of would-be criminals met their swift, unseen justice. The comments section roared with applause and wild guessing of how he did it.

Yet, for all the adoration, the Valiant Five were ever aware of the balance they had to maintain, the dangers of such visibility, and the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"We're not just symbols," Titanfall had said in an interview after a particularly harrowing battle that left much of downtown in need of Gaia's Grace's healing touch. "We are the first line, the shield, and the sword. Remember that behind each like, share, or follow, we are here, fighting for you."

The duality of their existence was a constant dance—heroes on a digital stage and deities in the streets—yet never did they waiver in their duty. Los Angeles, teeming with magic and machinery, had its protectors, and the Valiant Five had etched a legacy not just on screens, but in the very soul of the city they swore to guard.

As the days became an endless loop of heroics and cameras in the city of angels, the symbiosis between the Valiant Five and their followers only grew more intertwined. In this world, saturated in the extraordinary, social media had become the omnipresent medium through which every act of heroism was scrutinized, celebrated, or critiqued.

The city buzzed with a new kind of energy, one that could not be harnessed by Maverick Surge's sparking fingertips, but instead was created by the collective awe and obsession of the populace. Each daring rescue, each thwarted villainous plot, was captured by the countless smartphones of spellbound onlookers, eager to share their brush with greatness. Hashtags like #V5Sighting and #HeroHigh became trending beacons, guiding the masses to the latest spectacle.

But the Valiant Five were not alone in their quest for stability. Lesser-known heroes, each with their unique brand of magic and might, found their moments immortalized by vigilant citizens. There was AeroSwift, the speedster who painted blur lines around the city's snarled traffic, her wind-whipped antics pulling in thousands of live viewers, all clamoring for a pixelated piece of the action. Pyroclast, with his smoldering charisma and fiery displays, lit up social walls as much as he lit up the night with volcanic ferocity, his flame-crowned profile becoming a fan favorite for amateur photographers.

Among the cacophony of alerts and algorithms, the everyday was no longer mundane. Live streams showed the Fireweave fighting incendiary infernos with her tapestry of flame retardant spells, while her audiences gawked at the mesmerizing dance of her life-saving enchantments. The Boulder, a hero as stoic and solid as bedrock, was captured on countless feeds pushing back against collapsing bridges and buildings, his feats of strength becoming a staple in the online pantheon of power.

The citizens of Los Angeles, once passive spectators, had now become active participants in the fabric of this fabled theatre. Content creators directed entire channels towards hero-watching, employing drones to catch those out-of-reach angles, or scheduling their livestreams around the predictable patrols of their favorite guardians.

A muted undercurrent, however, ran through this digital euphoria. There were voices on forums and secretive Discord servers whispering of the dangers of such hero-worship, the inherent risks of vigilante justice played out on social feeds. Some worried that the line between privacy and publicity was becoming irrevocably blurred, that the incessant sharing could ultimately unravel the mysterious allure that once shrouded the protectors of the city.

But these warnings did little to dampen the fervor. As Sentinel Prime would explain in a rare moment of candid vulnerability during his own live Q&A, "Our actions are meant to inspire. We exist in the light not for fame, but to embody a beacon for all. We must shine, so the shadows have no place to hide."

In the heart of Los Angeles, every flash of magic, every collision of force and fear, became a strand in a vast, vibrant web, woven by the deft fingers of the digital age. The heroes, and their stories, pulsed through the city's veins—their feats and faces not just glimpsed on the streets, but etched into the very pixels of the age.

The persistent hum of social media became a soundtrack to the spectacle of heroism. The most popular app, dubbed "HeroStream," had features tailored for the caped demographic. It offered a 'Heat-Map' overlay for spotting live hero action, 'Hero Trends' to catch the latest in hero fashion and catchphrases, and even a 'Hero Gear' section for fans to purchase branded merchandise.

Onlookers frequently flooded this platform, their devices held high as lenses focused on the extraordinary playing out in stark daylight or moonlit shadow. Each event, a blur of color and power, was broadcast in real-time by throngs of amateur reporters and seasoned influencers alike.

"Yo, yo, yo! It's your boy, SkySpy, and I've got Titanfall on cam right now! He's grounding this quake like it's nothing!" One onlooker narrated with a shaky breath, the tremors felt through his live feed. "Check that stance, fam—you're looking at the reason we're still standing!"

As HeroStream comments flurried across the screen, sending emojis and predictions skyward, another user, @CityOfAngelsEye, was quick to capture an intimate moment of valor further downtown.

"Guys, you won't believe this... Gaia's Grace just turned a concrete wasteland into a blooming oasis. Look at it!" her voice whispered in wonder. "Tell me magic isn't real. Share this stream, people need to see this magic!"

A notification ping echoed through the devices of thousands, as HeroStream's algorithm propelled the scene to 'trending' status. The app's interface pulsated with life, an interplay of hearts beating in rhythm with each shared moment.

Near a crime scene cordoned off by flashing lights, another account holder, @JusticeJunkie, live-streamed the action.

"Nightwave's going in, ladies and gents. It's darker than my ex's heart out here, but I swear he's like a ghost. Wait—BAM! Did you see that?! No? That's why he's trending, folks #HeroHigh #StealthMode."

Conversations erupted in the digital sphere, spirited debates about the morality of broadcasting every heroic deed—was it safety they provided or a spectacle? However, these ruminations were interrupted as a young girl watched Starling take flight in front of an abandoned warehouse.

"She can't be more than like, ten, but Starling's lifting that entire truck with her mind. Mom, get in here, you're missing it!" she squealed, the moment captured on her HeroStream with shaky excitement, the comments section drowning in amazement and fierce debates over the child hero's inclusion in battles so adult in nature.

Through it all, the lifestyle influencers were not to be outdone. "It's not just the fights we win, but the hearts too," mused @HeroCoutureQueen, leveraging HeroStream's sleek interface to showcase Sentinel Prime's latest armor upgrade with sultry commentary. "Sleek, functional, and with a touch of enigma—be the hero in your wardrobe with Sentinel Prime's Armor Chic," she cooed, seamlessly blending hero worship with haute couture.

HeroStream pulsed with the lifeblood of Los Angeles, carrying the triumphs and tribulations of its protectors to every corner of the city and beyond. Its power was undeniable, as was the allure of the Valiant Five and those who tread in their path—shaping a narrative where the lines between protector and performance were blurred, where every individual was invited to partake in their epic saga, one live stream at a time.