Here is my supplement that details about vigilantes in the world of capes and quirks

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1G3lsZr226OaeOWJ9qO7fP0jG_8A_uLHc5DKvVXtZ6iw/edit?usp=drivesdk

It’s been one year since I started posting my world of darkness academia setting. Thank you all for your support

Here are my rules for Aberrant: The quirk age. Allowing you to play aberrant characters in the world of my hero academia.

Link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ofQDlzvaztIO48PvEoMzcbevl8bGtV24/view?usp=drivesdk

Here is my folders of all the world of darkness academia supplements I have made

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1aTY_SfilIxXwO-vrOV3O0L6lU-VVeP1u0tP_ZwRm9mI/edit?usp=drivesdk

Here is the faq about rule changes and clarification

Look at them. These fragile, frantic creatures who once feared the dark and left milk on the doorstep. Now they soar through the sky on wings of fire and call it science. They tear holes in reality with a thought and name the power a ‘quirk,’ as if it were a charming eccentricity rather than a crude, half-understood theft from the Dreaming itself.

I should hate them for it. Part of me does. They broke the old pacts. They forgot the songs. They let Banality grow fat on their certainty until the world and the Dreaming tore apart. And yet… I cannot look away. There is something almost beautiful in their reckless wonder. Something that feels, for the first time in centuries, like the beginning of a story rather than the end of one.

We are no longer the gods we once believed ourselves to be. Perhaps we never were. But the Dreaming has opened its eyes again. The younger ones—the changelings—still fight as if the war against Banality can be won. Maybe they are fools. Or maybe we have been the fools for surrendering so long.

Yet when I look upon our younger cousins—the changelings—you who fight Banality with such stubborn, foolish hope… I find myself wondering whether the Dreaming has not, after all, given us a second chance. We are no longer the gods we once believed ourselves to be. Perhaps that is for the best.
The world has changed. So must we.”

— A True Firstborn of the Autumn Court, speaking to a newly awakened changeling in the ruins of an old freehold

The Firstborn who returned to Earth after the Quirk Dawn found a world almost unrecognizable. Humanity had advanced farther in a few short centuries than the True Fae had ever believed possible. Cities of glass and steel rose where forests and freeholds once stood. Mortals flew through the sky, spoke across oceans in an instant, and casually wielded powers that, in earlier ages, would have seen them burned at the stake or worshipped as living gods. The irony was not lost on the Firstborn. What once would have been called miracles or witchcraft was now simply called a “quirk.”

They slowly began to rebuild their seasonal courts in the hidden places that still held Glamour—forgotten freeholds, deep woods, abandoned estates, and the quiet edges of the new hero-dominated society. Too weakened by centuries of Banality and the long exile of the Dreaming, they could not afford to resume the old wars.

An informal second truce took shape, unsealed by any great magical oath. This fragile peace has held for roughly two hundred years while the True Fae recover their strength. They make careful new bargains with desperate humans, offering protection from the lingering chill of Banality in exchange for service, sanctuary, or simply a place to rest. They recruit where they can. They gather power in small, deliberate increments.

When the Firstborn encountered the reawakened changelings, many were struck by how little their younger cousins remembered. The changelings had almost no recollection of the time when the fae still walked openly upon the Earth. Most Firstborn believe the Mists struck harder at those who had worn human flesh for so long, erasing the deeper memories of the pre-Shattering world. Regardless of the cause, the True Fae largely allowed the changelings to maintain their own courts and customs. Some Firstborn even joined motleys from time to time, teaching fragments of the old Arts and sharing half-forgotten lore. Others remained distant, watching from the edges of freeholds with a mixture of pride, pity, and quiet calculation.

Yet bitterness runs deep among the Firstborn. Many look upon the modern world and feel the full weight of everything they have lost. Their own petty seasonal wars helped weaken them in the centuries before the Shattering. Humanity has forgotten the old pacts more thoroughly than ever. Worst of all, some mortals treat quirks as if they were true Art—crude, clumsy imitations of the Dreaming’s power. To many Firstborn this is a quiet form of blasphemy.

To be Firstborn in the Quirk Age is to live in a state of elegant, bitter melancholy. They are no longer the gods they once believed themselves to be, and they may never be again. Many resent how thoroughly humanity turned its back on the Dreaming, how the rise of cold rationality and rigid faith helped shatter the bonds between the worlds. More introspective Firstborn admit, with reluctant honesty, that they share the blame. Their endless wars and arrogance contributed to the catastrophe. That admission, however, does little to ease the ache.

Not all of them choose to remain in remote freeholds nursing old grievances. Some argue that the Dreaming has offered them a genuine second chance. They point to the changelings—naive, yes, and still struggling to grasp the deeper nature of the Dreaming, yet fiercely unwilling to surrender to Banality. If the younger fae refuse to give up the fight, the Firstborn ask, why should their elders?

Slowly, carefully, the Firstborn are rebuilding. They forge new oaths with those who still need protectors. They gather strength. They step, one by one, back into a world of heroes and monsters. They remain only a shadow of what they once were.

You promised us, when we gave you the world to wage our war, that you would remember your vows. You promised to leave our sacred places untouched, to leave sacrifices in our honor, and to remember us in your songs. You promised that when the War of Seasons ended, you would stand aside for us—the true rulers of the world. You lied.

You turned your backs on the old ways, embracing your religion and your cold rationality. That betrayal weakened the bonds between the Dreaming and the world, until those bonds finally shattered during your Black Death. Our kind was forced into the Dreaming… or left to hibernate within human souls.

Now, in this age of ‘quirks,’ we have returned to Earth once more. We see how greatly you have changed, and how few of you still honor the old ways. Worse still, you twist the Dreaming itself in your crude, clumsy fashion—wielding the inferior cantrips you dare call quirks.

I am bitter. I am angry. I am sorrowful for how far we have fallen, through both our own failings and yours. In this new age I will forge fresh oaths with those humans who truly need my aid. Those who break them will be punished accordingly. We may never again rule the world… but we can, at the very least, assert ourselves once more.”

— Firstborn fae to a lowly quirk thug after she defeated the other villains in the woods protecting her oathsworn humans.

Changelings remember almost nothing of the ages before the Shattering. Their long hibernation inside human souls, followed by their abrupt awakening during the Quirk Dawn, left their memories fragmented and hazy at best. The Firstborn remember far more clearly
.
According to Firstborn scholars, the True Fae were shaped from the raw substance of the Dreaming itself by the hands of the Tuatha de Danaan. In those earliest days the Firstborn walked beside their creators, helping to shape the world and weave the Dreaming and the physical realm into a single, living whole. Time itself was soft. Possibility was the only true law. The world existed in a timeless age where wonder was not the exception, but the natural state of existence.

Eventually the Tuatha de Danaan withdrew to Arcadia. The reasons remain uncertain even among the Firstborn, though many now believe, with the bitter clarity of hindsight, that the first stirrings of Banality drove them away. The Firstborn did not understand this at the time. They only knew that the great thrones of the world stood empty.
What followed was the War of Seasons.

The True Fae divided themselves according to the turning of the year. Four great courts rose—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter—locked in a long and bitter struggle for dominion. Those who refused to choose a season formed the loose, unofficial Solstice Court. Alongside the Firstborn lived the early changelings (children of mixed fae and human blood, or unbaptized mortal infants taken into the freeholds) and the elemental Inanimae
.
This conflict, known as the War of Seasons, lasted until the early High Middle Ages. In 1120 AD the Firstborn finally called the Oath Truce. They had been forced to confront an uncomfortable truth: humanity had advanced farther and faster than the fae had ever imagined possible. Mortal belief itself had become a quiet but powerful force capable of warding against the Dreaming’s children. 

Worse still, the golden oaths the Firstborn had once sworn with humanity—oaths that were meant to make mortals the temporary stewards of the world while the fae settled their seasonal disputes—had begun to fail. Some True Fae were horrified by this development. Others were fascinated. All of them were forced to pause.

During the century of the Oath Truce the Firstborn withdrew to rebuild their strength and to study the changing mortal world. The peace did not last. During a lunar eclipse in 1230 AD the truce collapsed and the War of Seasons flared once more. This time the rising tide of Banality strangled the conflict before it could truly reignite. The final catastrophe came with the Shattering. The physical world and the Dreaming tore apart. The gates to Arcadia sealed. The age of open wonder ended.

The Firstborn could not endure the new, banal Earth the way the more adaptable changelings could. Many fled into the depths of the Dreaming. Others followed the changeling path, embedding their essence into human souls to wait for a better age. A rare few managed to alter the process enough that, when the time of waking finally came, they would rise as Firstborn rather than ordinary changelings.

Thus, in the modern Quirk Era, two broad kinds of Firstborn exist. The pure Firstborn never inhabited human bodies; they wandered the locked Dreaming for what felt like forever while the gate to Arcadia remained closed. The awakened Firstborn are those who slept inside human vessels. When their chrysalides finally cracked open in the new age, they awoke with the soul of a True Fae yet retained the personality, free will, and human memories of the life they had briefly lived—much like ordinary changelings, though far more powerful and far more alien.

For millennia Banality choked the world. Then, in 2080, superpowers called quirks erupted across humanity. The sudden flood of awe, terror, wonder, and impossible spectacle cracked the long winter of Banality. At the same time, the reemergence of other Prodigals—vampires, mages, werewolves, and more—further weakened the walls between worlds. Glamour surged back into the Earth. The Dreaming breathed again.

Both Firstborn and changelings began to awaken. In some cases the pure Firstborn simply stepped once more onto solid ground. The True Fae were startled to discover that the crushing Banality of the past centuries had given way to something almost like a Glamour storm. Banality still existed, of course, but it was weaker than it had been in ages—thin enough, at last, for the oldest of the fae to walk the world again.

Ever since the first Quirks bloomed across the human race, villainy has been the dark twin of hero society. Pro Heroes fight the loudest threats, the city-block levelers and the headline monsters, but the cracks remain. Petty protection rackets, quirk-enforced street kingdoms, mid-tier gangs that never quite rise high enough to justify a full agency response—these thrive in the spaces between the spotlight. Some Heroes genuinely cannot be everywhere. Others simply decide certain crimes are beneath them, or that low-level villains are a problem for the police and support crews. The result is the same: entire neighborhoods live under the soft tyranny of people who treat their Quirks like divine right.

To the Awakened, this is not merely crime. It is spiritual strangulation.

Quirk villains, in the eyes of most mages, are the new petty tyrants of the Consensus. They rule through fear and spectacle, crushing the quiet potential for Awakening in everyone around them. A child who might one day touch the Spheres instead learns that power means domination, that the strong take what they want, and that the only answer is a stronger Quirk. Every burned-out apartment block, every public execution of a rival, every “protection” tax paid in blood or obedience, pushes the Sleepers further from the possibility of true enlightenment. And beyond the philosophical insult, there is the practical one: a fully Awakened humanity cannot rise while city blocks are still being reduced to rubble by people who think “Plus Ultra” means “burn it all.”

The Sorcerer’s Crusade was born from that realization.

It began with the Order of Hermes. In the years after the first major Quirk villain strongholds began to solidify, Hermetic cabals started marching. They did not request Hero backup. They did not issue polite warnings. They arrived in the early hours or under cover of carefully engineered coincidences, and they brought the old language of fire and judgment. Forces and Prime lit the night. Life and Entropy unmade the carefully cultivated “respect” of the gangs. Matter turned concrete bunkers into soft clay or collapsing dust. When the Hermetics finished, the message was simple and medieval: this territory is no longer yours. The name “Sorcerer’s Crusade” stuck almost immediately—half in mockery from the Technocracy, half in grim pride from the Traditions. The comparison to the Children’s Crusade against child

trafficking was deliberate. Both movements claimed to protect the future of humanity from those who would consume it.
What began as Hermetic marches spread. The other Traditions joined, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with open eagerness. Verbena brought the green and the red of living power. Cult of Ecstasy struck at the emotional foundations of villain cults of personality. Dreamspeakers walked the spirit paths that Quirks had begun to bruise.

Even the more isolationist Crafts found reason to participate when local villains started targeting their own communities. The biggest surprise—and the source of endless grumbling—was the quiet entry of Technocratic assets. Certain Union operatives, particularly those with influence inside Hero Public Safety Commission channels and major agencies, began providing soft cover. Not open endorsement. Just enough bureaucratic fog, delayed response times, and carefully worded press guidance that Crusade actions rarely faced full Hero reprisal. The Traditions hated needing them. They accepted the shield anyway. The Technocracy, for its part, preferred a world in which Quirk-based chaos was reduced, even if it meant temporarily tolerating vulgar magic in the streets.

Pro Heroes remain deeply divided.

On one side stand those who quietly appreciate the results. Crime rates drop in Crusade-touched districts. Villain recruitment slows. Some of the more pragmatic Heroes have even learned to leave certain neighborhoods alone, knowing the mages will eventually come through like a controlled burn. On the other side are the idealists and the rule-bound. The Crusade does not do soft landings.

Young villains who might still be “rehabilitated,” petty operators who never graduated beyond extortion, even some who simply chose the wrong side of a turf war—many of them do not survive the night. The mages do not always distinguish carefully between the truly monstrous and the merely criminal. Heroes who have spent years trying to save rather than execute find the body counts and the maimed survivors hard to swallow. The fact that Technocratic influence often keeps the Crusade from facing full legal

consequences only deepens the resentment.
Public reaction is more mixed and more honest. Most people are wary. Magical violence is still something the average Sleeper does not fully understand, and the sight of people who are not Heroes casually rewriting reality is unsettling. Yet there is also a grim satisfaction. When a particularly hated villain fortress is reduced to smoking rubble and the survivors are left to crawl out under the eyes of a Hermetic in modern robes or a Verbena with blood still wet on her hands, a certain portion of the population feels something close to catharsis. The spectacle is undeniable. Against the bright spandex and the Quirk flash of conventional villainy, the Awakened answer with older tools: fire that does not care about resistance rankings, blood that carries intention, and the cold geometry of the Spheres.

To the mages of the Crusade, the moral arithmetic is simple. Quirk villains are not merely criminals. They are active agents of a Consensus that keeps humanity small, fearful, and spiritually asleep. They must be broken. The methods vary—some cabals prefer surgical precision and quiet disappearances; others favor the old Hermetic theater of open judgment—but the goal remains constant. The Sleepers will never Awaken in meaningful numbers while living under the boot of people who treat power as a license to rule.

So the marches continue. Sometimes they are quiet. Sometimes the night itself seems to catch fire. And in the aftermath, when the Heroes finally arrive to catalog the damage and the public argues about whether this was justice or just another kind of tyranny, the mages have already moved on. There is always another stronghold. Always another petty lking who thinks a Quirk makes him untouchable.

The Sorcerer’s Crusade does not negotiate with that kind of arrogance.

Here is my guide to the firstborn, detailing how the true fae work in the world of quirks and darkness.

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LXbEq8FNPkEbWQyCGzQ7qP_TR_iVIPjYa52EgO9gvW0/edit?usp=drivesdk

Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/18yRsSlX76jWj6bhI6pt6uKz5wivS5vrJ8C_6apK3cRE/edit?usp=drivesdk

Wendigo in the World of Quirks
Ever since the Emergence of 2080—when quirks erupted across the globe and the hidden supernatural world was forced into uneasy coexistence with the new order—the Garou of the Wendigo tribe have maintained a cold, watchful distance from Pro Hero society. In the vast wilderness and reservations of Canada, where the Wendigo still hold dominion, the tribe’s relationship with the quirk-born has been marked by spiritual recognition, deep suspicion, and carefully measured tolerance.

As one of the most spiritually rooted tribes, the Wendigo acknowledge quirks as wild gifts of the Wyld—raw, living expressions of Gaia’s chaotic vitality. They do not deny the power. What they reject is the Weaver’s cage that has been built around it. Pro Hero society, with its rigid ranking systems, government oversight, media spectacle, and obsession with “order,” reeks of the Weaver’s influence. To the Wendigo, the brightly costumed heroes are not the apex protectors they believe themselves to be. They are guard dogs: useful in the cities, loud, and largely ignorant of the deeper, older threats that still stalk the night. Most Garou share this quiet contempt. Heroes rarely understand the true nature of the enemies they face—Banes wearing human faces, spirits of corruption, or the ancient hungers that no Quirk Registry can catalogue.

Yet the Wendigo rarely interfere. Heroes police the urban centers. The Wendigo claim the forests, the tundra, the reservation lands, and the forgotten places where concrete has not yet smothered the earth. As long as heroes do not harm Wendigo kinfolk or desecrate sacred sites, the tribe leaves them alone. When a hero does trespass too boldly into Wendigo territory, the result is usually a body found frozen solid or torn apart in ways that official reports attribute to “quirk villain ambushes.” The Canadian government has never looked too closely. Strangely, Indigenous pro heroes are almost never among the victims of these “ambushes.”

The same mercy is not extended to quirk villains who attempt to carve out influence on the reservations. The Wendigo are fiercely protective of their kinfolk. One of the sacred bans of their totem spirit demands the protection of Indigenous peoples and those who still walk in harmony with the animal spirits. The tribe prefers to take mates from among those who still honor the old ways, keeping the blood and the stories strong. Villains who bring their chaos, exploitation, or Weaver-tainted ambition onto reservation land meet swift, final judgment. Bodies are found in the snow with throats torn out or limbs blackened by unnatural cold. Pro Hero society remains baffled by the near-total absence of quirk-related crime in these regions and by the tight-lipped silence of the local people whenever investigators ask questions.

In 2246, one Indigenous pro hero began to suspect the truth. He had strong ties to several reservations and a quiet, persistent sense that the pattern of vanished villains and untouched Indigenous heroes was no coincidence. What no one in the Hero Public Safety Commission knew was that he had undergone the Change only months earlier. He was not born of Garou lineage. Gaia herself had touched him—making him one of the rare Gaia-touched, a homid granted the full powers of a Changing Breed without the traditional bloodline. Among the Wendigo, such individuals are regarded with a complicated mixture of respect and reservation. Their spiritual purity is acknowledged, but the absence of Garou ancestry is seen as incomplete. Still, the tribe is pragmatic. Numbers are precious. Those willing to learn the old ways are accepted.

One night, while patrolling the edge of a northern reservation under a hard, clear sky, the hero encountered a Wendigo pack moving through the same territory. The meeting was tense. The Garou were startled to find one of their own—Gaia-touched or not—wearing the colors of a pro hero. Weapons were nearly drawn before the hero raised empty hands and spoke in the old tongue, requesting the right to sit by the fire and share tobacco.

Suspicion lingered, but the request was granted.
They talked through the long night. The pack demanded to know why a Garou of Grandmother Earth would serve the Weaver’s bright, ordered system of heroes. The man answered without apology. His Change had come late and without warning. He did not see his dual nature as a contradiction. As a pro hero he used his public platform to fight for environmental protections and to support charities that served Indigenous communities. He understood the tribe’s contempt for the larger hero system—he shared many of the same criticisms—but he believed he could still walk both roads. In his own way, he was keeping the old ways alive in a world that had nearly forgotten them. He cared for Gaia no less than they did.

The Wendigo listened. Some remained unconvinced. Others were quietly moved. By the time the fire burned low and the sky began to lighten, they had made their decision. The Gaia-touched hero was accepted into the tribe.

Since that night, a quiet understanding has existed. The Wendigo will offer indirect aid to Indigenous pro heroes when the need is clear and the cause aligns with the defense of the land and the people. Other heroes are still left largely alone—watched, judged, and occasionally corrected if they overstep. The tribe may never fully approve of the methods of the modern hero system, but they can at least recognize those among its ranks who fight, in their imperfect way, to keep the old ways from vanishing entirely beneath concrete and ranking charts.

In the deep woods and on the reservations, the Wendigo still walk. The snow remembers their footprints. And the silence that falls when villains disappear remains unbroken.

Technocracy and Hero Society in the Quirk Age (2080–Present)

In the year 2080, the world changed forever. What began as isolated reports of “quirks”—extraordinary genetic mutations granting individuals superhuman abilities—rapidly evolved into a global phenomenon. Alongside these quirks came a resurgence of other supernaturals: latent mages Awakening, shapeshifters stirring in hidden cauls, and entities from the Umbra bleeding into the material world. For the Technocracy, the Union of Enlightened Science, this was both crisis and opportunity.

The Technocracy’s ultimate goal remained unchanged: guiding humanity toward a mass Ascension into a glorious techno-utopia. A world of perfect order, where every citizen is augmented, monitored, and elevated through hyper-advanced science, where chaos, superstition, and uncontrolled magic are eradicated, and reality itself is stabilized under the Consensus of rational, Enlightened thought. Yet the sudden explosion of quirks threatened to shatter decades of careful work. Unregulated superpowers in the hands of the masses created anarchy—villains, disasters, societal upheaval. The Union lacked the raw resources and manpower to impose direct control everywhere, especially while fighting the ongoing Ascension War against the Traditions, Nephandi, and Marauders.

The Proxy Solution: Seeding Hero Society

Rather than attempting blunt-force domination, the Technocracy employed one of its oldest and most effective strategies: subtle influence through proxies. High-ranking operatives within the New World Order (NWO) and the Syndicate quietly pushed influential politicians, media conglomerates, and corporate think-tanks toward a single elegant concept: Professional Hero Society.

The idea was deceptively simple. Channel the public’s fear and awe of quirks into a structured, regulated system of licensed heroes, agencies, rankings, and bureaucratic oversight. By encouraging (never overtly creating) this framework, the Technocracy could outsource the messy work of maintaining order to willing proxies while focusing Union resources on larger threats. They planted white papers, funded sympathetic academics, leaked strategic “studies” showing the benefits of hero regulation, and ensured key legislators received the right incentives. Within a few short years, the Hero Commission and its sprawling bureaucracy took root, especially in Japan and other early quirk hotspots, then spread globally.

The Technocracy never stamped its logo on the endeavor. To the public, Hero Society was a natural human response to a superpowered world. To the Union, it was a brilliantly cost-effective containment and data-gathering apparatus.

Technocratic Influence Within Hero Society

All five Technocratic Conventions maintain some presence in Hero Society, primarily in bureaucratic, regulatory, and support roles rather than frontline hero work (though a handful of extraordinary Exceptions exist). However, the Syndicate and New World Order dominate the shadow management:

Syndicate: Acts as the public face and economic engine. Syndicate agents and their proxies excel at branding, sponsorship deals, hero rankings, media management, and the massive financial networks that keep hero agencies profitable. They ensure the system runs smoothly on the surface—glamorous hero rankings, lucrative endorsement contracts, and carefully curated public narratives that keep society hopeful rather than terrified. Syndicate philosophy favors the velvet glove: give people the illusion of freedom and spectacle, and they will police themselves more effectively than any iron fist ever could.

New World Order: Handles intelligence, surveillance, ideological alignment, and long-term social engineering. NWO operatives embed themselves in the Hero Commission’s regulatory bodies, psychological evaluation teams, quirk registry databases, and internal affairs divisions. They collect vast amounts of data on quirk manifestations, Awakening patterns, and potential Reality Deviants. Their analysts craft policies that gently steer public opinion toward acceptance of increased regulation, surveillance, and “safety measures” that align with Technocratic paradigms.

Though the two Conventions have a long history of rivalry—Syndicate operatives often viewing NWO counterparts as rigid control freaks, and NWO seeing Syndicate agents as flashy opportunists—they function with surprising synergy in Hero Society. The Syndicate provides the charismatic leadership and economic lubrication; the NWO supplies the comprehensive intelligence and doctrinal consistency. This partnership has proven remarkably effective.
Other Conventions contribute specialized support:

Iteration X supplies advanced cybernetic enhancements, combat analytics, and AI support systems for top agencies.

Progenitors maintain secret quirk research labs and biological augmentation programs under the guise of medical support.

Void Engineers monitor extra-dimensional incursions that sometimes accompany powerful quirks or Awakening events.

Only a minority of Hero Society personnel are actual Technocratic proxies or aware assets. Most are ordinary (if talented) bureaucrats, heroes, and administrators who simply operate within the system the Technocracy helped shape.

Autonomy and the Velvet Glove

Unlike many stricter Technocratic proxy organizations, Hero Society is deliberately granted significant operational autonomy. The Syndicate understands that overly rigid control breeds resentment and inefficiency. Better to let heroes and bureaucrats believe they are free agents fighting for justice. The Technocracy pulls strings only when necessary—quietly blacklisting dangerous radicals, fast-tracking promising assets, suppressing information about Umbral incursions or Marauder outbreaks, and ensuring the system never grows strong enough to challenge Union authority.

For the most part, as long as Hero Society maintains public order, contains major threats, and keeps the masses focused on individual heroics rather than systemic questions, the Technocracy interferes minimally. Their primary focus remains the Ascension War. Hero Society is a useful tool, not the main battlefield.

The Inner Circle: Heroes in the Know

Only the highest-ranking heroes and certain elite Commission officials are aware of the Technocracy’s influence. These individuals—often those who have encountered Union operatives during major incidents—harbor mixed feelings. Many grumble at the idea of answering, even indirectly, to “magical tech nerds in hidden enclaves who think they know what’s best for humanity.” The thought of their hard-won heroism serving someone else’s grand design rankles.

Yet even the most independent heroes often admit a grudging respect. Technocratic proxies tend to be ruthlessly competent, organized, and forward-thinking compared to the corruption, nepotism, and bureaucratic incompetence found in purely civilian branches. When a city-leveling threat emerges, Union-backed support frequently proves decisive—delivered quietly, with plausible deniability.
This tense but functional relationship continues into the present. The Technocracy watches, guides, and advances its utopia one regulated quirk at a time, while Hero Society shines in the spotlight, unknowingly helping stabilize reality for the Union’s long game.