Author's note: This chapter was originally posted on a different account that I no longer use and I've decided to rewrite the story slightly, though this chapter remains very similar to the original.

Alfred stood atop the skyscraper, looking with fond blue eyes over his beloved city. Darkness was descending on the scene, the sun falling over the horizon. He took a breath of not-so-fresh air and smiled, relaxing a little as he looked over.

Nothing had gone wrong so far. Maybe nothing would that night. Maybe nothing would for that next week. Sometimes it was like that. Sanctum City would stay quiet for a few days, weeks even and suddenly crime would shoot up. Alfred didn't mind too much, it was nice to have a break sometimes as long as the peace didn't last too long. It wasn't just because he got bored that Alfred didn't like this, though this was a largely contributing factor, but because when there was a long period of calm it made him jumpy, like some big shot villain was coming up with a brand spanking new plan. It never happened, of course, but that wasn't the point. Alfred didn't know what attracted criminals to Sanctum City; there were plenty of other cities that were protected by lesser superheroes-Alfred respected every hero greatly, but he knew he was the awesomest-that would have been easier to break laws in, but Sanctum City seemed to attract them all, and one by one, from the pettiest shoplifter to the infamous drug lords, making it one of the grimiest, scummiest places in America. The city hadn't always been this way. When Alfred was little, Sanctum had been the safest place in the north of the US. But Galactic Shield, the city's best and most famous superhero, had disappeared along with all the others during the War. It was Alfred's dream to restore Sanctum City to the great place it once was. Alfred was not known well among the press. Though he had an impressive record when he did well, he also had a spectacular amount of failings, through no fault of his own. He was young, and he couldn't fully control his powers yet, especially under high stress situations. Perhaps his appearance also had something to do with it. His young, lanky looks, glasses and shoddy homemade costume combined made him look more like a geeky teen at a comic convention, role-playing as his favourite superhero, rather than actually making him look like one.

It was only a matter of time before the next crime occurred. In fact, it was just about to happen. But if Alfred was going to do anything right, he would first need to find a way off this roof.

It hadn't been a crime at all. More rather a distress call from an old woman who's cat was stuck in a tree. But he could feel the tingling in the back of his head; somewhere in the city, someone was actually in trouble, someone who actually needed his help.

"But what about Mr. Fluffy?" The senior citizen croaked, eyes downcast and shrivelled.

"Look, lady, I'm sorry but I'm too busy to be doing something like this, I've got to go!" Alfred explained to the old woman, whose brows furrowed quickly as Alfred turned to leave. Suddenly Alfred choked as his cape was pulled tightly back over his throat and he was dragged by the old pensioner's walking stick to the tree where her cat resided. He struggled, but found his superhuman strength gone, deflated like a balloon.

"He's up there." She said, squinting and jabbing her cane towards the ugly cat who was howling in the tree. Alfred scowled, adjusted his glasses that didn't quite fit on his flimsy mask, and retrieved Mr. Fluffy, though why the cat had such a nice, he had no idea. Not only was it a hairless Syphnx cat but it also had the attitude of a rabid midget tiger. He returned the cat to its doting mistress, not without scratches that bled profusely down his cheek, having been caught on the worse end of a nasty cat with sharp claws. Alfred was not a cat person.

"Oh, Mr. Fluffy, I was so worried about you! Lucky that this nice young lad was here to save you!" She cried, snuggling up to her skinny pink cat.

"It's not like I had a choice." Alfred mumbled to himself but despite her age, the old woman seemed to hear and narrowed her beady eyes.

"Mr. Fluffy, since this young man saved you," She smiled a little evilly. Alfred paled, shocked that a lady of about eighty-five could look so sadistic. "Why don't you give him a nice big kiss?"

And before Alfred could protest the cat in his face, screeching and swiping Alfred on the nose. He sprang back and rubbed his face, grunting from the unnecessary pain and frustration and watched as the old lady trundled off into the distance, laughing quietly.

Once again, Alfred felt the familiar alarms ringing in the back of his head, signalling to him that someone in the city needed help. The buzzing wasn't too loud, which meant that the plea wasn't too desperate, but since there was nothing else going on...

Alfred honed in his hearing, listening out for anything that sounded remotely like a distress call. And there it was.

"Help, somebody catch that thief!"Came a man's voice from somewhere in Sanctum City.

Being super fast, Alfred quickly got to the scene of the crime. A disgruntled man was standing by an ATM machine, clutching one side of his face and pointing up the street, finger shaking angrily.

"Thief! Thief!" The man saw Alfred and poked his finger in the direction he wanted him to go. "He went that way! He attacked me and made off with my money, he did, the little thief!"

Alfred saw a figure sprinting up the main street, already halfway up. No one bothered to try and stop him and he dodged quickly. He tuned into the figure, zooming in. The form looked male, though it was hard to tell as he was hooded, and Alfred's vision started to waver as the adrenaline started pumping. He was clutching something to his chest, presumably the money he had stolen. Alfred started chasing after the thief, faster than any normal human but still not at his full speed when he practised on his own. Eventually he was in front of the criminal.

"Stop!" Alfred shouted. "In the name of the law!"

However, he didn't stop. Instead he shoved Alfred to the side and continued running. The hero gave a little scream and fell hard into a puddle before jumping up and running after him again.

The figure glanced back at Alfred and Alfred saw the green flash of his eyes before he turned away again, speeding up as he turned a corner. Alfred's eyes widened and he swore silently to himself. This guy was cleverer than most criminals.

That corner lead to the main square in Sanctum City. Lined with shops and take-away restaurants, The Square was popular with many for cheap food and clothing. Alfred knew that it would be difficult to find him in the crowds, and he would be lost forever if he turned down one of the many backstreets that broke off from The Square. If a criminal knew his way around those back alleys, then he could hide anywhere. Alfred sped up and hoped, no, prayed, that he didn't. But he could already feel the heavy hands of failure pulling at his heart. He turned the corner and stopped, eyes scanning over the crowd. A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of his head and into the crevice of his right ear. He couldn't fail. He wouldn't fail! Not again. Suddenly, he heard a shout and he turned his head towards the direction of the cry. A woman had fallen over, pushed by the hooded figure, who was now shoving his way through a group of outraged teenagers, some who proceeded to chuck things at him, lighters, cigarette butts, even a glass bottle or two. Alfred continued in the hunt, quickly stopping to help up the fallen lady, who blushed at the handsome albeit slightly dorky young man's gloved touch. Alfred quickly flashed her one of a smile that would've won him an award before making off for the criminal.

Alfred was so close to the man that they were practically touching. He could hear his laboured breathing and knew that he would soon be caught. He knew for sure that the figure was a man now; closer up, the shape of the man's body, even under the hoody, was more recognisable, and besides, just the deep breathing alerted Alfred that the criminal was a man, albeit a young one, probably younger than he was. No older than seventeen, eighteen at the most.

Then Alfred reached out, fingers grabbing hold of the man's arm, but slipping off. Luckily, he caught on to the sleeve of the hoody and pulled, yanking the man towards him. The other swore violently and dropped the wad of cash notes he had stolen, scattering them all over the floor. Alfred nearly gasped. Notes worth at least $500 were there. While his eyes were averted, Alfred heard a tear as the material that was still clutched in his hand tore away from the main article of clothing. Cursing the weak material, he made one desperate lunge, which he missed, then decided to pick up the money before continuing the pursuit. He looked up to see the figure disappearing into one of the many small streets and Alfred knew he had lost. But that didn't stop him from going after him. Quickly tucking the money securely into his white-painted belt, Alfred jumped up and made his way down the empty street. He saw the person at the end of the short alley, twisting his head either way, deciding where to go, then deciding left was the best way. Alfred felt his heart leap; maybe this criminal didn't know the backstreets as well as he thought he did. Maybe he had a chance to capture him and bring him in. After many glimpses of his target, twisting and turning up and down the backstreets. Once again, the man disappeared around a corner. Alfred turned.

The street was short, and ended quickly. A dead-end. But yet, the thief was nowhere to be seen. The small passage was completely empty. There was no trace of the man who had previously been there, and Alfred felt his anger boiling up, something that rarely happened. How could he have failed? A petty criminal had escaped him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Sure, Alfred had gotten the money back, but that wasn't the point. That criminal was only young. A while in a juvenile detention centre, prison even, would have done him good, taught him a lesson. But now he would go on to commit another crime, and then another and another. Each worse and worse each time. And if Alfred couldn't catch a common criminal, how could he be expected to protect the city from future super villains? He couldn't.

Then something caught Alfred's eye. A smudge of dirty white lying in the midst of a dirty puddle. Alfred bent forward to see what it was. A single feather, more grey than white from filth, lay floating, scraggly and grubby on the water's surface. He picked it up, turning it in his fingers before throwing it away. It was just a useless piece of rubbish.

Then he returned home.

The man whose money Alfred had retrieved was so pleased with the hero that he gave him a reward of $100, an unusual occurrence in Sanctum City, where good deeds were hardly awarded. On a normal day, Alfred would've been pleased, but he wasn't.

He had returned to his apartment as Alfred F. Jones, a comic book artist for the biggest comic company in the world. He enjoyed his job. Before he had gained his powers and become a superhero he had always wanted to be a comic artist. Drawing the adventures of superheroes was as close as he ever thought he would get to their lives. His comics weren't particularly popular or well known but, along with his day job at the local cafe, they earned enough income to pay the bills.

So Alfred F. Jones was sitting at his desk, knowing he had to think up of at least another page of the comic before the deadline, tomorrow, though also knowing that he was too distracted to work. Alfred groaned and pulled at his hair, the strand that always stuck up poking between his fingers. He took his glasses off and held his head in his hands. A day had passed since Alfred had lost the man in the alley, and Alfred couldn't get his mind off it. How had he managed to escape? There were no buildings he could have gone into. The few doors and windows on that road were boarded up, Alfred had done it himself after gangs started to reside there. It was so uncool! Alfred got up, deciding to take a break. He left his apartment, putting on his coat on his way out and going onto the street. He immediately stuffed his hands inside his pockets, the cold quickly getting to him. That was the one thing Alfred did not like about Sanctum City; the unbearable cold in the winter. Once Alfred was on the main street, he bought a cup of hot coffee from a vendor, sipping. The warmth made him smile briefly and he walked on, trying to conserve the heat. He picked up a newspaper and walked to the local park, sitting on the bench under a tree, his favourite spot for relaxation. He flicked through the newspaper.

Suddenly the back of his head was tingling faintly and Alfred looked up. The coffee vendor was obviously having an argument with the young man that had been behind Alfred ad the hero stood up, moving slightly closer. It was probably nothing but if a fight did break out, he would be close enough to intervene.

"Come on, I'm only a dollar short!" The buyer made said angrily, fists clenched against his sides. "This tea is ridiculously overpriced anyway!"

"Look," The vendor argued back, "I'm can't sell to you unless you have the money! If I gave freebies to everyone, I wouldn't stay in business very long!"

"But this isn't a freebie! I've got money, you're still making a profit, just sell me the tea, you stupid git!"

When the vendor refused, the man scowled and stormed away, chucking the collected coins on the ground. Alfred watched his shivering back, his frozen hands rubbing for the warmth of friction, and felt a pang of pity. He scooped up the coins and took a dollar from his own pocket jogging up t the man and tapping him on the shoulder. He jumped and twisted, before his face frowned.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking annoyed.

The man was older than Alfred was by three or four years, dressed in a simple black hoodie with dishevelled blonde hair and absinthe green eyes. Large brows framed his face and thin rosy lips were set on his pale face. He had an accent, posh and English. Alfred held out the coins and grinned.

"I thought that you might want to buy a hot drink." He said cheerfully.

The man glanced warily at his hand, seeing the extra dollar before his face grew surly and dark.

"I don't want your charity." He said, coldly before taking on a haughty, proud look and walking off.

Alfred slowly pulled back his hand, shrugged and pocketed the change.

"What a sour old man." He said to himself, before he returned to his bench to wallow in his thoughts.

Author's note: So, what did you think? This will be a USUK fic, it may no longer be my favourite pairing (PrUK FOREVER!) but Alfred just fits the character so well. After all, he is the hero!

Sanctum City, as far as I know, is completely fictional. I would use a real place but I've never been to the US and I didn't want to get anything wrong. Sanctum City is a dumb name but it's all I could think of. Alfred doesn't have a superhero name yet. Have you guys got any suggestions?

Anyway, thanks for reading, and if you liked it, please review! I don't mind if it's not very detailed feedback, just sending me a quick note to say you liked it makes me happy.

Oh yeah, Alfred F. Jones belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.