PACHELBEL’S PILOT - I.e.

“In any case, our agency is like any other—we need heroes to save people if a disaster should occur.”

Mr. Reynolds and Eric stepped out of the elevator into an active training area, where superheroes engage in various exercises.

The space is filled with obstacles, tires, ropes, beams, and even a couple of fire extinguishers—a testament to the rigorous training superheroes undergo.

An assortment of powers presents themselves, displaying an impressive array of natural gifts: pyrokinesis, levitation, and more, all culminating in the formation of an unmistakable sea of rainbow.

“The Heroes Initiative Agency is responsible for keeping America safe and ensuring every hero gets the training and tools they deserve.” Mr. Reynolds smiled fondly, as if remembering days long gone.

"We're talking about those guys."

“The facilities around here, they're something else, now—aren't they? I can't even begin to imagine the rigorous amounts of maintenance required—”

An electronic buzz signaled Mr. Reynolds having a warm cup of water by a robot dispensing water, its features uncannily human-like as a 'greeting' on its metallic visage—although, admittedly, a tad bit menacing and intimidating in a professional sense. It propelled itself in an unorthodox form of propulsion, akin to two force fields orbiting the same central point in a miniature motor, helped only by its low center of mass accompanied by a mini fridge sized frame.

"I've read all about the benefits the H.I.A.'s technological developments have provided, whether in public safety or education," the young man expressed his awe with eager lips. "Some of the things being published in the news have suggested that your resources surpass that of neighboring countries ten times over."

"It's not just a physical thing." Mr. Reynolds smacked his lips, disposing of the paper cup as another drone hovered by with waste disposal after gently shooing away the first. "These men and women here are all highly trained, with skills beyond what your average person would expect."

Eric couldn't help but chuckle dryly, rubbing a palm against his nape before posing a question in earnest: "So, what makes us so different?"

Mr. Reynolds took a seat on a bench, overlooking the training area while steady as a stone, the man's eyes steely in his ever-present gaze upon the active members within.

"A hero isn't something you are; it's something you do. That's what my father always said, and he was right." His attention honed solely upon the rookie. "But that doesn't change the fact that these villains keep getting away from the police or even the superheroes in this city."

Eric gazed solemnly, eyes meeting his polished shoes in a newfound sense of humility.

"Yes, they've been at it for quite a while now."

Mr. Reynolds rose, standing shoulder to shoulder before the young man.

"You want to know how we can stop these villains, huh?"

He gestured toward the busy men and women beneath him, training to do what they already knew was their responsibility.

"If a villain hurts a common man- we'll all feel it. If a bad guy uses a weapon—we'll all feel it. An armed villain can shoot five hundred bullets per minute and a defenseless citizen couldn't escape a giant meat grinder. Our job is simple... To take those weapons and render them unusable."

He suddenly turned to Eric, locking gazes.

"And that's why we have to find them first."