@twicehunted || Secret identities were created for a reason: safety, protection, whatever bullshit people tacked on. Hyperion had his reasons but they weren’t nearly as noble as others. His rounds as Hyperion ended on the roof of a dimly lit building, in a less populated area of the city which was why he was comfortable removing the hood. He rolled his shoulders, getting the kinks out of his back as he walked further away from the edge of building and toward its center.
“Oh,” Hyperion said at the sudden presence of another person, “I was wondering where you’d gone. Things have been quiet without you, Huntsman.”
Hyperion’s gaze moved over to one of his oldest contacts hidden in the darkness. His usual smug smirk came up, resting itself on his expression as he noted the familiar mask. Hyperion walked over to the man to greet him with a fist bump and pull him into a friendly hug.
“I’m not trying to pull out the emo card, but fuck, man,” he said, peeling back the realm of alter egos and dipping into his real self, “I heard the shit that went down during the invasion. I’m glad you’re alive, Hunter. No joking this time.”