An unlikely group of misfits... that's what the Legends are. A group of nine individuals gathered together to defeat an immortal tyrant by the name of Vandal Savage.
Rip Hunter, a Time Master from the future, plucked Xiomara "Xo" Luna out of her tim...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Leg·end /ˈlejənd/ noun plural noun: legends an extremely famous or notorious person, especially in a particular field.
══════
[El Paso, Texas 2016 ]
THE SUN WARMED the last bit of air conditioning that clung to my skin. The duffel bag slung over my shoulders lazily bumped against my thigh as I walked down the street to Donnie's. The hot asphalt seeped through the soles of my shoes, heating my feet with every step.
I rounded the corner to gym, waving to the florist next door. My fingers curled around the brass door handle, flinging it open. Rock music pumped through the speakers and I flashed Donnie a grin. The muscular copper-toned man stood behind the counter, a rag thrown over his shoulder.
"Amelia," The brawl man smiled kindly, "You're later than usual."
My nose scrunched up in apology, my shoulders shrugging and a wide grin tugging at my lips.
"Sorry, my shift at the diner took longer than I expected— fryer incident, don't ask."
"I won't," He hummed through an amused smirk, "The gym is almost cleared out... but take as long as you want."
I flashed him a wink and clicked my tongue. Unzipping the pocket of my bag, I fished out my key. I left Donnie and walked off to my locker. In the center of the room lay a boxing ring. Large fogged-over windows covered the front entrance, exposed brick making up the rest of the walls. By this time, people were leaving for the day— going home to their families. I preferred to show up during the more anti-social time slots. The fewer people, the less I had to pretend to care. Popping open the lock, I threw my bag in and pulled out my headphones.
After wrapping my hands, I took to the punching bag that hung from the ceiling. This was the one place it was acceptable to punch out my frustrations. Almost six years ago to the day, I had my run-in with Sara. The League didn't stop sending people. Every few months I'd have to change locations and names. I spent a few years abroad. Never staying in one place long enough. My most recent residence being Texas for the past 5 months.
Punch. With every hit, I let out my frustration and stress from the week. Lack of sleep aided that annoyance. The paranoia grew, feeling like I was being watched. Maybe it was the surge of metahumans in Central City, hearing of Sara's exit from the League, feeling the need to uproot again and leave. Punch.
With music blasting in my ears, the last handful of people trickled out. Beads of sweat rolled down my face as I closed my eyes to catch my breath. I leaned my forehead against the bag for a few beats. Calming the tension in my body and refocusing my movements, I continued my assault on the punching bag. Precise hits and strikes. Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch.
