A Hero's Journey

Hughes Children’s Hospital stands as a beacon of hope in Toronto, its sleek, modern architecture embodying the perfect blend of advanced science and deep compassion. Named after Lucy Hughes, the first Canadian diagnosed with Metagene Immunity Deficiency (M.I.D.), the hospital symbolizes resilience and progress—a place where cutting-edge technology intersects with unwavering humanity.

With state-of-the-art facilities, Hughes Children’s Hospital specializes in the care of metahuman children and those born with M.I.D., a condition requiring constant vigilance and innovative approaches. Every floor is meticulously designed for versatility, ensuring the hospital can accommodate a broad spectrum of needs, from the extraordinary to the routine.

Lucy Hughes’s story is central to the hospital’s mission. Diagnosed with M.I.D. at a young age, Lucy became a symbol of both the struggles and triumphs faced by individuals with extraordinary abilities. Despite her tragically short life, her advocacy for understanding and equity sparked national initiatives to improve the lives of those with M.I.D. At the hospital’s entrance stands a statue of Lucy, her outstretched hand holding a glowing, engraved plaque that reads:

"For every child who feels powerless, you are more extraordinary than you know."

The hospital’s main atrium remains decked out in festive décor from the recent charity event—strings of twinkling lights casting warm reflections on the polished floors, poinsettias lining the walls, and a towering Christmas tree at the center adorned with ornaments handmade by the hospital’s patients. The air hums with the lingering energy of the day’s celebration, though most of the crowd has dispersed.

By the Christmas tree, a group of children, some in hospital gowns and others using mobility devices, gather around Officer Steel with uncontainable excitement. Her blonde ponytail sways as she crouches to their level, juggling their rapid-fire questions with a warm, patient smile.

“Is your armor really made of alien tech?” one boy asks, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Can you lift a whole train?” another chimes in, mimicking the act of hoisting an imaginary locomotive above his head.

“Do you ever fight giant robots?” a third asks, clutching a plush superhero toy as if preparing for battle himself.

Samantha Kowalski, better known as Officer Steel, chuckles softly, adjusting her RCMP uniform. Her powered armor is stowed away for the evening, but to these kids, she’s still a superhero—no armor required.

“Well,” she begins, her voice steady yet kind, “my armor can handle just about anything, and I might be able to give a train a good shove. But it’s teamwork that really gets the job done. And as for giant robots…” She leans in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “That’s classified.”

The kids burst into giggles, their excitement spilling over like soda shaken too hard. One of the smaller girls, her head wrapped in a festive scarf, tugs gently on Samantha’s sleeve. “Can I try on your armor one day?”

Samantha’s smile softens. “You know what? Maybe one day you’ll be designing armor like mine. How about that?”

The girl’s face lights up, her eyes sparkling with hope and possibility.

Before Samantha can answer another question about the armor’s rocket boosters, a nurse approaches and gently places a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a hit as always, Officer Steel. But maybe take a moment to catch your breath?”

Samantha nods, rising to her full height. “Alright, kiddos,” she says, clapping her hands lightly. “You’ve got me beat. But remember, the real heroes here are you. You’re braver than I could ever be.”

The children erupt into cheers, their laughter echoing through the atrium as the nurse gently ushers them toward their rooms. Samantha watches them go, pride and bittersweet warmth swelling in her chest. She’s faced countless battles, but none as daunting—or inspiring—as the ones these kids fight every day.

As the last of the children disappear down the hall, Samantha leans against the decorative railing, drawing in a deep breath. The glow of the lights and the faint strains of holiday music almost make her forget the heaviness of the world outside.

Nearby, a man in a plain brown suit watched Officer Steel with a twinkle in his eye. A woman, dressed as a hospital administrator, smiled softly as her gaze followed him. “This is her first year coming out to the Holidays for Heroes event, huh? I can tell she’s a bit flustered by all the attention,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, it’s her first time,” Christophan said, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of someone who had seen it all before. “She’s doing well, though. The kids adore her.”

The hospital administrator, a woman with sharp features but a warm smile, folded her arms thoughtfully. “They sure do. I’m guessing you know what it’s like to be the one all the kids look up to.”

Christophan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That was a long time ago. Back when my codename wasn’t just a footnote in history. These days, I doubt anyone under forty even knows who Agent Leaf is.”

The administrator tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say that. To those who know their history, you’re a legend. You’re still here, still making a difference, even if you don’t wear the mask anymore.”

Christophan shrugged, his smile faint but genuine. “Legends are nice, but they don’t do much in the here and now. Samantha, though…” He nodded toward Officer Steel, who was waving goodbye to the children with a warm, genuine smile. “She’s what they need. A hero who’s real. Someone they can believe in.”

The administrator studied him, her gaze steady and unreadable. “You have that same quality, you know—realness. Isn’t that why you come to this event? To remind these kids that even heroes have scars?”

Christophan turned to her, the twinkle in his eye fading into a more somber light. “Something like that. It’s good for them to see us as people, not just symbols. Besides…” He glanced back at Samantha. “Every hero needs a little guidance now and then. Even the ones who seem like they’ve got it all figured out.”

The administrator’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “And you’re the perfect person for the job.”

Christophan let out a soft chuckle, a deep, resonant sound that carried the weight of years of experience. “We’ll see. She’s already doing better than I did my first year. Took me half the event to figure out how to talk to kids without scaring them off.”

The two shared a quiet laugh, the festive atmosphere humming gently around them. Christophan’s gaze lingered on Samantha as she knelt down to chat with one last straggler, her smile lighting up the room like the tree’s twinkling lights. Flustered as she might have been, she was holding her own.

“She’ll do just fine,” Christophan murmured, his voice tinged with quiet conviction. “Just fine.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” came a woman’s voice as a lady with auburn hair in a crisp suit approached the hospital administrator. “My name is Coraline Penrose. I’m here with legal—nothing exciting, just routine matters for the charity event.”

The administrator, whose name tag read Jennine Masterson, nodded curtly, her professional demeanor unshaken. “Of course, Miss Penrose. I was just chatting with an old friend and long-time supporter of the event, Mr. Warrick, here.”

Coraline Penrose offered a polite smile, her green eyes flicking briefly to Christophan Warrick as Jennine introduced him. “Mister Warrick,” she said, inclining her head in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard your name mentioned in some fascinating contexts over the years.”

Christophan turned, his hazel eyes meeting hers with a spark of curiosity. He extended a hand. “Christophan Warrick. And you are…?”

“Coraline Penrose,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly. “Legal consultant, though I moonlight as a bit of a problem-solver where needed.”

“That so?” Christophan said with a faint smile, releasing her hand. “And what brings a problem-solver to a charity event? Legal routine, you said?”

Coraline chuckled softly. “Routine paperwork for the foundation. Regulations, liability waivers, all the riveting minutiae that keeps everything running smoothly. I promise you, it’s nothing glamorous.”

“Important, though,” Christophan noted. “Events like this don’t happen without people keeping the wheels turning behind the scenes.”

Jennine Masterson smiled approvingly. “Exactly. Miss Penrose and her firm have been instrumental in making sure everything here runs smoothly, especially with all the red tape involved in hosting events of this scale.”

Coraline nodded modestly. “Just doing my part. Though it’s my first time attending the event in person. I thought it’d be nice to see what all the fuss was about.”

Her gaze shifted momentarily to the distant figure of Samantha Kowalski, still entertaining the straggling children with patience and charm. “It’s a little humbling, seeing people like her in action. Officer Steel, right? She’s quite the presence.”

Christophan followed her gaze, a faint smile touching his lips. “She is. She’s good with the kids, even if she doesn’t realize just how much of an impression she’s making.”

Coraline’s eyes lingered on Samantha for a moment longer before she turned back to Christophan. “And you, Mister Warrick? Are you here as a guest of honor, or just lending moral support?”

“Neither,” Christophan said with a hint of dry humor. “I’m just the old guy in the corner watching the new generation figure things out. Call it a habit from years of doing this myself.”

“I see,” Coraline said, her smile widening slightly. “A mentor, then. Every hero needs one.”

“Only if they’re willing to listen,” Christophan replied, his tone light but his eyes thoughtful. “Samantha’s sharp, though. She’ll find her way.”

Coraline offered a small smile in the direction of the children. All of them had M.I.D.—not that one could always tell, but that was a given at this hospital. “The kids are happy, and that’s what matters most… all except her. Is she alright?” Coraline asked, motioning to a little blonde girl sitting alone with a sullen expression, an IV stand next to her.

“That’s Vanessa Fox,” Jennine replied, her voice tinged with sympathy. “Cute kid. She’s got a rough case of M.I.D., and she’s feeling a bit under the weather because the person she really wanted to see isn’t here.”

Coraline nodded slowly, not wanting to pry, but politely added, “Superhero scheduling can be rough, I imagine.”

Jennine sighed softly. “I wish it were that simple. The truth is, she’s obsessed with an unregistered vigilante. She doesn’t understand that people like that aren’t like the registered superheroes who work for the government. She heard about a fox-themed vigilante woman that's been in the Toronto papers and on the news, and, well, her last name is Fox, and foxes are her favorite animal. She fell in love with every rumor and story she could find about the Vulpes.”

Warrick frowned slightly, his hazel eyes resting on Vanessa. “Do you mind if I have a chat with her?” he asked Jennine.

Jennine nodded, her expression softening. “Go right ahead. Though, maybe it’s good for her to learn a lesson. She shouldn’t expect people like the Vulpes to show up—or even care. If they cared, they wouldn’t be working on the wrong side of the law, after all.”

Coraline nodded thoughtfully, her expression briefly distant. “Yes, well… in the meantime, I’ll steal Administrator Masterson here to sign off on a few things.”

Warrick nodded in acknowledgment, then started toward Vanessa, mulling over what he might say to cheer up the crestfallen little girl. It didn’t seem fair that, while everyone else had gotten to see their favorite superhero, she’d been left disappointed.

Christophan approached Vanessa with the gentle, unhurried steps of someone who had spent years mastering the art of being unthreatening. Despite his years of experience as both a superhero and a mentor, situations like this—where a child’s spirit had been dimmed—always weighed on him. The blonde girl sat slumped in her chair, her small frame dwarfed by the IV stand beside her. She didn’t notice him at first, her attention fixed on the corner of the room where the other kids had gathered earlier.

He crouched down a few feet away, careful not to startle her. “You know,” he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of an old storyteller, “it’s a bit of a shame to see someone so brave looking so sad on a day like this.”

Vanessa blinked, her wide eyes flicking toward him. “I’m not brave,” she mumbled. “I’m just tired.”

“That so?” Christophan replied, tilting his head slightly. “Funny thing about being tired—it usually means you’ve been fighting pretty hard. And fighting hard, well… that’s about as brave as it gets.”

Vanessa shifted in her seat, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her hospital gown. “I’m not fighting anything,” she muttered. “I just wanted to see Vulpes, that’s all. But she doesn’t care about kids like me.”

Christophan let her words hang in the air for a moment before speaking. “Now, I don’t know Vulpes personally,” he began, his tone thoughtful, “but from what I hear, she’s the kind of person who looks out for folks who need help. Quietly. Without asking for anything in return.”

Vanessa frowned, her lip trembling slightly. “Then why isn’t she here? Everyone else’s favorite superhero showed up. Even Officer Steel…”

“Well, maybe she’s out there right now, helping someone who needs her just as much as you do,” Christophan offered gently. “Or maybe she’s keeping an eye on you without you even knowing. Sometimes, the people who care the most are the ones who stay out of sight.”

Vanessa looked up at him, her small face scrunched in uncertainty. “You think so?”

“I do,” Christophan said with a nod, his voice steady. “And you know what else? I think she’d be proud to know you admire her so much. Takes a special kind of person to see the good in someone who works in the shadows.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened, and for the first time since Christophan had sat down, a flicker of a smile touched her lips. “Maybe…”

Christophan smiled back, his heart lifting slightly. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Why don’t you write her a letter? Even if she doesn’t show up, it might make you feel better to tell her how much she inspires you. Who knows? Maybe it’ll find its way to her.”

Vanessa’s eyes brightened a little at the idea. “Really?”

“Really,” Christophan said, rising to his feet. “But for now, how about you rest up? You’ve got plenty of time to think about what you want to say.”

Vanessa nodded, her spirits visibly lighter. Christophan gave her a small wave as he turned to leave, but not before catching Coraline Penrose watching him from across the room, her expression unreadable.

Warrick spent a few extra moments with Vanessa, helping her write a letter to the Vulpes, while Coraline and the administrator wrapped up their paperwork.

“May I ask what Vanessa’s particulars are?” Coraline inquired softly, slipping several files into her briefcase.

The administrator nodded, her expression turning serious. “She was born an extra after her parents messed with their own DNA, and her M.I.D. complicates her abilities. She has enhanced speed and reflexes, but her body doesn’t compensate properly. She metabolizes energy at a dangerously rapid pace, and if her diet isn’t carefully regulated, she risks auto-cannibalism.”

Coraline’s expression remained calm, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sympathy. She closed her briefcase with a soft click. “Well, it looks like Mr. Warrick has her smiling. That’s something, at least.”

The administrator sighed, her eyes softening as she glanced toward Vanessa and Christophan. “That man has a way of making people feel like everything’s going to be okay, even when the odds are stacked against them.”

Coraline’s gaze followed the administrator’s, lingering on the unlikely pair. Christophan leaned over Vanessa’s small desk, his presence warm and unassuming, guiding her tiny hand as she scribbled on the paper. The child’s earlier despondency had melted away, replaced by a faint, shy smile as she concentrated on her letter.

“He’s got the kind of wisdom you can’t teach,” Coraline murmured, her voice thoughtful. “And the kind of patience most people don’t even try to have.”

The administrator nodded, leaning against her desk. “Vanessa needs that. It’s been tough for her. Most kids with M.I.D. struggle, but her condition… it’s a constant battle. Every meal, every moment of exertion—her body works against her. And knowing her parents are gone because of Triple Ex… well, that weighs on her in ways she doesn’t have the words to express yet.”

Coraline’s expression didn’t change, but there was a subtle tension in her posture as she closed her briefcase. “Triple Ex,” she said softly, her tone betraying just a hint of steel. “That drug has ruined too many lives. And it’s still out there.”

The administrator nodded grimly. “It is. And kids like Vanessa are left to pick up the pieces. That’s why we do what we do here. To give kids like her a fighting chance.”

Coraline’s gaze drifted back to Vanessa, who was now holding up her letter proudly for Christophan to inspect. The old agent grinned, nodding his approval as the little girl beamed. It was a small moment, but a powerful one.

“She’s lucky to have this place,” Coraline said softly. “And people like you, and Warrick.”

The administrator gave her a tired smile. “We do what we can. But there are days… days when it feels like we’re just putting out fires while the world keeps finding ways to make more.”

Coraline’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Then it’s a good thing we’ve got people who are good at fighting fires.”

With that, Coraline clicked her briefcase shut and offered a polite nod. “Thank you for your time, Administrator Masterson. I’ll let you get back to it.”

The administrator nodded, watching as Coraline turned and began making her way toward the exit. But something in her expression lingered—something thoughtful, almost determined.

And as Coraline passed by the desk where Christophan and Vanessa sat, she paused for the briefest of moments, her eyes flicking toward the letter the little girl held. A shadow of a smile crossed her lips before she continued on her way, leaving behind a scene of quiet hope in a place where it was desperately needed.

Eventually, the children returned to their rooms, and the adults went home. Little Vanessa fell asleep clutching her letter to the Vulpes, dreaming of her fox-themed heroine reading it.

The next morning, Warrick visited Vanessa. Entering her room with a warm smile, he took off his hat. “I forgot to send your letter last night. Terribly sorry about that…” he began, only to be met with Vanessa’s radiant grin. She held a little plush fox tightly in her arms.

“It’s okay, Mister Warrick! She must have come last night and got it!” Vanessa said excitedly, her face lighting up.

Warrick raised an eyebrow slightly, his mind already piecing together what must have happened. Likely, someone from the hospital staff, moved by the girl’s devotion, had quietly exchanged the letter for the plush fox while she slept. He smiled, choosing to play along with Vanessa’s excitement.

“Well, that’s wonderful news, Vanessa,” he said with a nod. “And here I was thinking I’d have to track her down myself.”

Vanessa giggled, her eyes sparkling with newfound belief. “Thank you, Mister Warrick! I was starting to think she wasn’t real—or maybe she was a bad guy pretending to be a hero, like some of the mean kids say.”

Warrick knelt beside Vanessa’s bed, his kind eyes meeting hers. "Well now, Vanessa, let me tell you something important about heroes," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Sometimes, the best ones don’t always do things the way people expect. They might not follow all the rules, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there trying to do the right thing."

Vanessa hugged the plush fox tighter, her small hands smoothing over its soft fur. "But why do they say she’s bad?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of confusion and worry.

Warrick tilted his head slightly, considering how to answer. "People say a lot of things about what they don’t understand. The Vulpes, she’s different. She’s not like the superheroes on TV or the ones with fancy teams and shiny uniforms. She works in the shadows, where most folks can’t see. And sometimes, doing the right thing in the shadows means taking risks that others might not agree with."

Vanessa nodded slowly, her little brows furrowed in thought. "But she’s still a hero, right?"

Warrick smiled warmly, placing a reassuring hand on her bedframe. "Oh, absolutely, Vanessa. She’s the kind of hero who looks out for people who need her the most. Just like she looked out for you. And from the looks of it," he gestured to the plush fox in her arms, "she wanted to make sure you knew she was listening."

Vanessa’s face lit up with a radiant smile, her earlier doubts melting away. "I knew she was real," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

Warrick chuckled softly, tipping his hat as he rose to his feet. "You have good instincts, Vanessa. Hold onto that. And don’t you worry—she’s out there, doing her best to make the world a better place, just like you believe."

As Warrick stepped out of the room, he let the door close softly behind him. His thoughts lingered on the mysterious appearance of the plush fox. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than a kind-hearted nurse or doctor trying to cheer Vanessa up. He glanced down the hallway, his mind buzzing with curiosity.

After all, he’d been in the business of secrets and shadows long enough to recognize when someone was leaving a calling card.

He had no proof, of course—just a gut instinct, one that years of experience had taught him to trust. Christophan Warrick often joked that his instincts were sharper than most, but this time, they left him curious and unsettled. Something had happened in Vanessa’s room last night, something more than a simple exchange of a letter for a toy.

What he couldn’t have known was that Coraline Penrose, the ever-poised legal consultant, had donned the persona of the Vulpes and paid Vanessa a personal visit. The enigmatic vigilante had entered Vanessa’s room in the stillness of the night, her movements silent as shadows. She had retrieved the little girl’s letter from her bedside and left behind the small plush fox, a token of acknowledgment for a child whose belief in heroes hadn’t wavered despite a lifetime of challenges.

What he couldn’t have imagined was what happened next. On the rooftop of the hospital, under the cold, starlit December sky, the hardened vigilante known as the Vulpes sat down and unfolded Vanessa’s letter. A woman who had faced down mobsters, unhinged supervillains, and the deeply ingrained corruption lurking in Toronto’s darkest corners was not one to cry easily. Yet, as she read the letter written by a child who saw her as a symbol of hope, Coraline Penrose felt her throat tighten, her vision blur.

It wasn’t the eloquence of the words or the heartfelt sentiments that struck her. It was the pure, unfiltered belief in what she represented. That belief reminded her of something she often pushed aside in her battle against injustice: what truly makes a hero isn’t the mask or the skills—it’s the humanity that drives them to do what they do.

As she finished reading, the Vulpes carefully folded the letter and placed it into a secure pouch on her utility belt. Later, it would find a home in the Fox Den, her hidden lair, alongside other keepsakes that reminded her why she fought in the shadows. But this letter? This one would hold a special place, not just in her lair but in her heart.

And then, because she was who she was, Coraline did something even more surprising: she decided she would write Vanessa back. After all, heroes didn’t just inspire—they listened, too. And Vanessa Fox, her biggest fan, deserved to hear from her. The world was hard enough for children like her; perhaps a few words of encouragement from her favorite hero could make it a little brighter.

The next morning, as Warrick left the hospital, his thoughts kept returning to the mysterious plush fox and Vanessa’s radiant smile. He had no idea that the gears of something extraordinary were already in motion. In the days to come, Vanessa would receive a handwritten note, penned on elegant stationery with a fox emblem embossed in the corner. It would read:

Dear Vanessa,
Thank you for your wonderful letter. It means more to me than I can say to know I have someone as brave and strong as you believing in me. Always remember, a true hero isn’t about the powers or the mask—it’s about the kindness and courage in their heart. From where I’m standing, you’ve already got that part down.

Your friend,
The Vulpes

It would be signed with a small, intricate drawing of a fox, and for Vanessa Fox, it would be nothing short of magic.