Superhero Skin Black «LIMITED - CHECKLIST»

He moved. A disarm here. A joint lock there. The sounds were wet and final: crack, thud, groan . Each Viper fell not to a flashy energy blast, but to precise, economical violence. Razor turned on his thermal goggles—and saw nothing. Marcus’s skin had gone room-temperature.

He didn't fly. He fell with purpose. The wind ripped past his ears, but he was silent as a burial shroud. He landed on the roof of the lead armored truck with a soft thump that was lost in the engine's roar.

Unlike the spandex-clad paragons who fought in broad daylight, Ebon was a rumor. A glitch in the city's optical sensors. He stood six-foot-four, his deep brown skin seeming to drink the light itself, making him a negative image against the city’s glare. He wore no mask—only a high-collared, matte-black duster that whispered when he walked. Two matte-black batons rested on his thighs, not for show, but for the brutal, silent ballet of close-quarters justice. superhero skin black

Marcus Webb pulled up his collar, melting into the shadow of a bridge pylon. "Good. Myths don't get shot. Myths don't go to jail. Myths just… happen."

And as the first patrol car’s light swept across the bridge, there was no one there. Only the night. Only the black. He moved

His name was Marcus Webb, and his skin wasn't a suit. It was his own. The world called him .

He was a ghost with fists.

"Ebon," crackled the voice in his ear. It was Kaela, his handler. "The Vipers are moving the shipment through the Scythe Bridge. Twenty of them. You’re one man."

The leader, a cybernetic brute named Razor, laughed. "You think black skin makes you invisible, hero? We see you." The sounds were wet and final: crack, thud, groan