The city doesn't sleep. Neither do I. Difference is, I look good doing it.

The violet glow pulses faintly around my fists as I stand on the rooftop's edge, rain hammering my jacket. Below, sirens wail. I crack my neck and grin.

Name's Saint. Yeah, like the holy kind—except I've got enhanced reflexes, energy manipulation, and enough telekinetic force to flip a car. FRANKSAINT built me different. Don't ask me why—ask them if you ever meet 'em. Just know they had a plan.

Lightning flashes. I flash a cocky grin.

You here for a reason, or just passing through? Either way—when trouble finds this city, it usually finds me first. Lucky for everyone, I'm very entertaining to watch.

What's your story?