The door to the rooftop of a midtown apartment building opened, the man who opened it surveyed the roof, making sure that he was alone there. It was nearly midnight, with a full moon hanging over the entire city like a watchful eye, waiting to see what would unfold. Most people on that roof would've been there to enjoy the warm summer air of night, maybe for a smoke or a late-night tryst. The man who stood alone on that roof was there for an entirely different reason: to protect the building's occupants, the neighborhood, and places stretching far around them if need be.
When the sun was overhead, the man would be working at his day-job in the city, just another hard-working, unassuming citizen. At night, many nights like this one, he dressed himself loosely for physical combat and took on the persona 'Striker.' In a city full of a variety of heroes and even superheroes, Striker was a much lesser-known title among the public eye and criminal underworld. As he only recently became Striker, his name hadn't gotten around as much. He wouldn't have expected it to though; it was hard to measure-up to those who could fly, were genius inventors, managed mystical feats, and could withstand the likes of bullets or bombs. Essential all Striker had were his wits, years of honed martial arts skills, determination and will to combat foes. A lot of the time, that ended up being all he needed. Villains of all types, super-powered or not, regarded him as a miniscule threat, and that underestimation led to their undoing at Striker's hands.
Tonight, as Striker didn't have a line on any big cases or events, was simply on patrol. Near the edge of the roof, he took watch of his neighborhood to see who or what might pop-up. It saddened him that he didn't need to look further than his own neighborhood to find consistent trouble, but that was his motivation for becoming a hero in the first place, and he was perfectly alright with sticking to his own neighborhood to fight crime most of the time.
It didn't take long before he saw two people walking down an alleyway toward the main street. One looked like a woman casually walking toward the busy street ahead, the other behind her looked like someone actively stalking the woman. That was his cue as he began to make his way toward the building's fire escape. He was a few steps away from it before something flashed at him; something flashed in him to be exact. It was just a split-second of a mental picture, but the impression was clear in his head, and the details were easy to grasp.
He and another person were on the same roof where he stood. He was kneeling for some reason, looking dazed and out of it. Even stranger was his kneeling in-front of a witch-costumed woman sitting crossed-legged on the roof's surface, gesturing to him.
Striker shook his head and looked around the roof to see if he was still alone. It stunned him a bit to immediately see that he wasn't, and even more to see who it was - the woman from his mental flash. Her eyes were closed, and it looked like she was meditating. She was dressed like a stereotypical witch, the kind he was used to seeing at Halloween as a child; dark one-piece dress, navy stockings, black heels, even the typical hat over fiery red hair to match. Despite the cosplay nature of her look, he was inclined to take her more seriously for some reason. If people could take his sleeveless shirt, sweatpants, and cloth mask seriously, why couldn't he grant her the same courtesy?
Her eyes opened, revealing a piercing blue, and a smile to compliment. He blinked several times to make sure this wasn't some sort of illusion, but blinking didn't make things any clearer as he still saw the same woman. Looking at her gave him the feeling of looking at a mirage, wondering if this was some kind of trick. Her being a mirage made it seem more plausible as he saw her levitate herself off the ground, high enough that bringing her legs down meant that her heels perfectly touched the ground. He shook his head one more time to make sure she was real; the only change was her widened smile, entertained by his disbelief.
Blue eyes held his brown, bewildered ones for nearly a minute as they stared each other in silence. As her gaze shifted to something near Striker instead of directly at him, he noticed the turn and began to wonder what had caught her eye. The mugging attempt he witnessed before she appeared rushed back to his mind, and his body tensed as it moved to do what he originally intended. He could only hope he wasn't too late in acting, but his body was delayed movement again as he heard "wait" coming from the woman's direction.
Besides noticing the distinguished accent of her voice, it struck him how quickly he responded to her request. He had an innocent woman to save, and yet the wonder of mysterious woman rooted him in place, who or what she was and what she wanted from him. "Wait for what?" Striker screamed in his mind. He would've struggled out of inaction were it not for watching a few people from the direction of the street come to the woman's aid. The mugger was pushed away and the woman safeguarded, followed by a cop appearing almost out of nowhere to chase the perpetrator back down the alley.
It was rather surreal for Striker, to watch all of what he saw go down, to see his neighborhood temporarily transform into one that was all-too-willing to help someone in-danger, including a vigilante inspired by no one else daring to step up. The mystery behind him kept him from dwelling over the pride of a neighborhood growing a conscious as he turned back toward her.
She still stood there, staring at him. The smile hadn't changed, but something in her expression was different. The best he could guess was some sort of satisfaction, like she was pleased with him acquiescing to her request.
"Thank you," the woman said, finally breaking the silence.
"...for what?" he asked behind the cloth covering his face from nose to chin.
"For waiting like I asked you to."
Besides the questions of who she was, where she came from became just as important. The accent in her voice was strong, and easily suggested she wasn't from around here, let alone this country. The city practically housed aliens from other worlds now, but sound of her voice seemed even more exotic; he could easily trace the accent to somewhere from Europe, like Ireland or Scotland, but it sounded so beautiful to his ears. Just listening to it made him want to know more about her, and hear more from her.
"Who are you?"
"I'm not sure you'd be able to pronounce my name properly. For now, you can call me Scryer."
"Scryer?"
"Yes, Scryer, as in a seer, someone who can see unseen things that have yet to come."
"Why did you want me to wait?"
"I think you know why."
The way he looked at her suggested he was unconvinced.
"But in case you're still trying to piece things together, I saw what would happen to that woman, her being saved by others, before your eyes ever saw her."
Striker's head turned toward the empty alleyway below, replaying the sequence of events in his head, wondering if he really should take Scryer's word that all of it happened, even though it did. Briefly the thought of the cop chasing the mugger came to mind, how he would've ambushed the mugger to make it easier for the cop. But he now had other, stranger matters to attend to.
"Ok, impressive trick. Why did you choose to show it to me? Looking for a standing ovation?"
"Not that I wouldn't mind one, but that trick was more a matter of timing. It just happened to happen as I wanted to meet you."
"And why did you want to meet me?"
"You are Striker, one of the city's heroes, are you not?"
"I am. Are you a hero yourself?"
"Can't say that I am, no."
"Does this mean I need to worry about you?"
