Wish Upon a Silver Star

[Arcreed]

- Chapter 0 -

o-0-o​

I stand at the edge of the building, looking out over what's left of Brockton Bay. The city that once thrived with life now lay desolate, a battleground for heroes and villains grappling against a looming golden menace. The evacuation was supposed to clear the streets, but figures in capes and masks still clash desperately beneath the wrathful gaze of the golden abomination in the sky.

It's clear to me that the golden man is just a pawn, a puppet controlled by a greater force. We can defeat the puppet a hundred times over, but unless we deal with the puppeteer, it's all in vain.

Yet, despite the chaos and destruction, I refuse to be disheartened. The path leading to this moment was fraught with challenges, lives lost, and countless obstacles. But amidst the darkness, I've seen the flicker of humanity's best and worst.

Humanity can be cowardly and depraved, but it can also be brave, kind, and ingenious. All it takes is a guiding hand, someone to point them toward the light, to remind them that they can be better. I've seen it happen—I've seen people change, become more than they ever thought they could.

And I get it. I used to see myself as less, a coward, and to be honest, I still do. The tremors wracking my body are proof of the fear coursing through me as I witness the horror unfolding below. But I know that in this fear, there's strength. Strength to stand up, face the puppeteer, and make a difference.

The journey has been a rollercoaster, but amidst the despair, hope thrives within me. Hope that humanity can stand tall against this otherworldly invader.

Besides, we might have drawn the short straw, encountering hostile beings first, but we're not alone.

There are friends out there, allies who answered our desperate call. One such peculiar friend fights alongside us, asking for nothing in return, committed to safeguarding our lives and future.

He's an odd one, no doubt.

I glance down at the Evoltruster in my hand, a small device symbolizing my profound connection with this otherworldly ally. Weightless in my grip, it carries the weight of countless memories since that fateful day when our paths intertwined.

I direct my attention to the creature manipulating the golden man, and the Evoltruster pulsates gently, reassuring me that everything will be alright.

It's time to bring this to an end.

I—no, we won't let tragedy write the final chapter. There's been sorrow and regret in our journey, but that doesn't dictate our ending. We're determined to make this a story where everyone comes home, where laughter echoes when we recount the events of today.

My name is Taylor Hebert.

I'm not a hero, nor am I a villain.

I am...

"Shall we go, Taylor?" a voice echoes in my mind.

"Yes. Let's finish this, Nexus," I respond.

A warm light emanates from the Evoltruster, bathing me in its familiar glow. I take a deep breath, then shout, "Nexuuuuus!"

A radiant burst of light envelops me as we soar towards the abomination.

I am Taylor Hebert.

He is Nexus.

Together, we are Ultraman.

 

[Arcreed]

- Beginning 1.1 -

o-0-o​

Today, everything went south faster than a roller coaster on steroids. Started off normal, with me dragging myself out of bed at the usual time, only to find the house deserted. Dad, usually a late riser, was up at the crack of dawn. He mumbled something about thugs from ABB causing trouble at the docks and bothering his workers. Classic Dad move – he never lets anyone mess with his crew.

It beats the alternative, though – the dark days that followed Mom's passing. I wish I could catch Dad's fire when he's angry. It might come in handy dealing with the mess that is my life. But hey, I'm not cut from the same cloth.

So, I roll into school thinking the day can't possibly get worse. Spoiler alert: it does. The unholy trio, featuring the delightful Sophia 'Effing' Hess, Madison 'Queen Bee' Clement, and my former BFF Emma Barnes, decides to make me their morning entertainment. Today, it's mostly Sophia leading the charge. I don't know what her deal is – maybe she stepped on a pile of dog crap or something. If that's the case, I wish I could have witnessed it.

Anyway, Sophia takes her usual awfulness to new heights. I'm not sure how to describe it – she's just being extra awful today, if that's even possible.

Sophia, being the beacon of kindness that she is, decided to give me a parting gift – a well-placed elbow to the gut as I tried to make my grand escape to a classroom. Looking back, I realize hiding in a classroom wouldn't have changed much. Predictably, no one cared enough to stop and ask why I suddenly crumpled in pain.

In a nutshell, by the time the day crawled to an end, I found myself donning extra layers to conceal the colorful bruises generously gifted by Sophia. Thankfully, it's winter, so I can chalk up the layers to the biting cold, sparing me a few curious glances from onlookers. That Hess, calculating as ever, made sure to target spots I could easily cover up.

I let out a heavy sigh. Dad would be the perfect confidant for this nightmare, but I immediately shake my head, dismissing the thought. Dad needs to focus on his job; I can handle this mess solo. I don't want a front-row seat to the replay of his pitiful state after Mom's passing. Let him have his distractions; I'll manage.

Leaning back, I gaze at the evening sky, snowflakes slowly dancing in the darkness. Some even land on my face, their cold touch a sharp contrast to the invisible battles fought during the day.

Damn, it's freezing out here. If I had known it would be this bone-chilling, I might've just camped out at home. Scratch that, though; staying home would only give my brain more fodder to stew over. I need to find a way to defrost my mind. I can do this.

But where should I go? The docks are a no-go with Dad there. The library might be an option, but then I'd have to strip off my coat, showcasing my new bruises for the world to see. Is there nowhere I can just chill, both literally and figuratively? I need a solo spot.

A light bulb moment hits me. What about Captain's Hill? Nobody in their right mind would trek up a freezing mountain at this hour, which makes it the perfect hideout. Plus, I'm willing to bet the view is worth the frostbite.

Alright. Gotta stock up on some snacks and drinks before heading to my icy fortress. Sticking close to the base camp should keep me out of trouble. Time to turn this day around.

o-0-o​

Regret is my middle name right now. Who thought it was a genius idea to hit up a mountain in the dead of winter? The wind is on a mission to freeze me solid, and I'm pretty sure I've never been this cold in my life.

But, the view is something else. Exactly as I suspected. With almost no clouds, the night sky is putting on a show. Stars twinkling like they're in competition, and hey, there's the Milky Way, casually flaunting its celestial charm. If only I had a camera to capture this. I'd love to show Dad — and Mom, too — what they're missing.

Wrapped up in my makeshift cocoon of snacks and soda, I sit on the bench, the cold wood sending shivers up my spine. The bag of chips crackles in the quiet of the night as I open it, the smell wafting up in the crisp air. Taking a sip from the soda, I can feel the chill from the can seeping into my fingers.

As I nibble on the chips, my attention shifts back to the mesmerizing night view. The stars, like diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, captivate me. I can't help but wonder, what thoughts cross the minds of those who chance upon a spectacle like this?

Do they marvel at the vastness of the universe, feeling the weight of its mysteries? Or perhaps, like me, they find solace in the quiet beauty of the night sky. I picture couples sharing whispered conversations, friends laughing, and solitary individuals seeking a moment of solitude.

Lost in these musings, I almost forget the biting cold and the bruises hidden beneath my layers. The night sky becomes a sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the day. If only for this moment, I can forget the troubles waiting for me down below and embrace the quiet wonder of the universe above.

"Oh," I breathe out, awestruck by the celestial display unfolding above. A meteor shower, a cosmic dance of shooting stars streaking across the night sky. When was the last time I witnessed such a spectacle? Was it in the days when Mom was still alive, when Emma was my closest companion, and Dad hadn't fallen prey to the clutches of alcohol after Mom's passing?

I can't pinpoint the exact moment, but I'm certain it belongs to a chapter of my life painted in hues of happiness. As I watch the meteors carve fleeting trails through the darkness, a rush of memories floods my mind. There was laughter and warmth, a time when life felt simpler and the universe held a promise of endless possibilities.

Counting the meteors streaking across the night sky, my mind inevitably drifts to a question that has likely occupied the thoughts of many: is there life out there? If alternate Earths exist, then surely other forms of life must be scattered across the vast cosmos.

Scion is often brought up in this context, the golden man of mystery, the first Parahuman. Yet, concrete evidence eludes us, and theories about him being an alien remain unproven and fantastical.

As the meteors continue their celestial dance, I ponder the perspective of extraterrestrial beings on Earth and humanity. Would they regard us with fear, disdain, or perhaps fascination? The complexities of human existence might seem alien to them, our triumphs and tribulations mere blips on their cosmic radar.

It occurs to me that understanding the thoughts of beings from another world might be as impossible as capturing the essence of a shooting star in my hands.

"Huh?" I stammer, the strange noise escaping my lips echoing the puzzlement in my mind. Amidst the meteor shower's celestial ballet, an inexplicable sight unfolds before my eyes. Two small lights engage in a mesmerizing dance, swirling and colliding in a cosmic performance that defies any logical explanation. My limited knowledge in astronomy screams that meteors simply don't move like that.

A sudden realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. "Holy... are those UFOs?" I breathe out, my disbelief turning into a curious mixture of excitement and nervous energy. If only I had a handycam to immortalize this surreal encounter.

The dance in the sky takes an unexpected turn as one of the lights blinks out of existence. The remaining light, now more pronounced, seems to grow in intensity. "Wait a second, it's... heading here?" I murmur, the realization settling in as a knot forms in the pit of my stomach.

The mysterious light intensifies, casting an ominous glow that stretches across the landscape. In the face of impending doom, my feet feel like they're encased in concrete, refusing to budge. I stand frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the growing celestial fireball hurtling toward me.

A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach accompanies the realization that escape is impossible. Panic grips me, and I can only manage a breathless, "Oh, shit." The serene night has turned into a heart-pounding spectacle, and I'm helplessly rooted in place as the impending impact becomes undeniable.

Time seems to stretch as the fiery mass grows nearer, its glow casting an eerie light over everything. The once tranquil hill is now a battleground between the unknown and the familiar. My mind races with a myriad of thoughts, but all I can do is brace myself for the imminent collision, the weight of the moment hanging in the frozen air.

Then, everything explodes.

O-0-o​

Am I... dead?

A weightless sensation envelops me as I float in an ethereal realm, questioning the very fabric of my existence. The memory of the meteor hurtling toward me remains vivid, triggering contemplation about the potential devastation it could have wrought. Recollections of news stories about basketball-sized meteors causing shockwaves flicker in my mind. If that's the case, there might not even be a trace of a body for Dad to mourn. A small comfort, perhaps, as I navigate this uncertain afterlife.

Terrified yet strangely curious, I wonder about the nature of my consciousness in this strange space. Will I be aware even in death? What sights await me if I dare to open my eyes? Despite the fear gnawing at me, a strange sense of curiosity propels me forward. With a hesitant breath, I open my eyes, and the fear gives way to an overwhelming sense of awe.

Before me unfolds a breathtaking scene, beyond the scope of earthly imagination. Intertwining lights of hues unseen on Earth stretch out in all directions, weaving a mesmerizing panorama. The lights converge toward a focal point, pulling me gently in that direction.

Surprisingly, instead of panic, an unexpected calm washes over me. Perhaps it's the beauty of these lights, wrapping around me like a warm embrace. It's a feeling I thought I'd long forgotten—the comforting warmth, as if I'm being held by my mother. Despite the uncertainty of my circumstances, my heart remains oddly tranquil.

If this is the afterlife, the sheer beauty before me challenges any preconceived fear of death. In this ethereal realm, I find solace and a strange sense of peace. As the lights guide me toward an unknown destination, I can't help but hope that, in this new existence, I'll find the reunion with my mother that I've longed for. There are so many untold stories, so many things I want to share with her since her untimely departure.

A heavy silence lingers in the vast expanse of the unknown. The breathtaking lights continue to weave their cosmic dance, but amidst the beauty, a weighty realization settles in—what about Dad?

The thought pierces through the serene calm that has enveloped me. While I'm drawn into the mesmerizing lights, a pang of concern tugs at my heart. What about the man who has been my anchor through the storms of life? What about the father who may now be left with the unexplainable absence of his only child?

Guilt mingles with tranquility as I grapple with the unanswered questions. Will Dad wonder about my sudden disappearance? Will he search for me, hoping against hope for some sign of my existence? The thoughts gnaw at me, threatening to overshadow the surreal beauty of this afterlife.

"No!"

The word echoes through the cosmos, a desperate plea reverberating through the celestial beauty that surrounds me. I can't accept this fate—I don't want to die. The thought of leaving my father alone in the wake of my inexplicable disappearance is unbearable. I still want to live. I still want to be a part of the tangible world, with its messy emotions and undeniable connections.

"Take me back! Take me home!" I scream internally, the echoes of my plea blending with the cosmic dance of lights. In this surreal realm between life and whatever comes after, I curse at the unknown forces that led me here. The desire to return to Dad, to the warmth of familiar embraces and the ordinary struggles of existence, consumes me.

In response to my desperate demand, the fireball that had struck me earlier emerges from the opposite direction with an alarming velocity. Fear tightens its grip on me as I brace for another impending collision. The impending impact, however, doesn't materialize in the destructive force I anticipated. Instead, just before contact, the fireball erupts into a mesmerizing explosion of light.

The once-fiery mass undergoes a spectacular metamorphosis, transforming into a shape both unfamiliar and otherworldly. Before me now stands a colossal figure made entirely of light, a being of majestic radiance. The celestial giant exudes an aura of profound energy, transcending the familiar bounds of earthly comprehension.

As I fix my gaze upon this luminescent entity, a wave of awe crashes over me. The earlier fear and confusion that clung to my thoughts dissipate, replaced by an overwhelming sense of wonder. It becomes increasingly clear that this ethereal entity is no ordinary force; it is something that exists beyond the confines of my understanding.

The radiant giant suddenly explodes in a burst of blinding light. The luminous eruption engulfs me entirely, wrapping me in a celestial embrace. My surroundings dissolve into brilliance, the intensity of the radiance overwhelming my senses.

As the cosmic explosion envelops me, I feel a strange and profound connection to the very fabric of the universe. The boundaries between self and the cosmic forces blur, and for a fleeting moment, I am part of the cosmic dance of light and energy.

The brilliant spectacle becomes an all-encompassing force, and my consciousness slips away like a leaf caught in a cosmic current. The last thing I register is the overwhelming glow before everything fades into an indistinct void.

o-0-o​

I gasp, my eyes snapping open in the dim light of a familiar room. My breaths come in uneven intervals as I struggle to orient myself. The ceiling above me looks all too familiar—it's my room, and I'm lying in my own bed.

A quick assessment reveals that my clothes are damp, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. It dawns on me that I must have been sweating profusely. But the disquieting residue of the dream lingers, casting a shadow over the tangible reality of my room.

I glance at the clock; it reads three in the morning. The digital display does little to dispel the lingering unease. I sit up, my mind still a whirlwind of thoughts and images from the vivid dream. Was it all just a product of my subconscious, a bad dream with no bearing on reality?

As I ponder, a sudden realization jolts me into alertness. How did I get home? When did I get home? The memory of those two mysterious lights in the sky floods back, and I remember one vanishing into the darkness. But as for the other one...

"Ack!" I clutch my head in pain, a sharp ache radiating through my skull. Frustration builds as I struggle to recall anything that happened after the lights disappeared. It's as if a fog has settled over my memories, obscuring the events that followed. The throbbing headache only intensifies the sense of disorientation, leaving me grasping at fragments of a puzzle that refuses to come together.

Feeling the persistent throb in my head, I decide to head to the bathroom in search of aspirin. Careful not to disturb my sleeping father, I navigate the familiar terrain of our home with quiet steps. I steal a glance at the living room; Dad lies on the couch, television still flickering with some late-night news. Classic Dad, dozing off mid-program.

In the bathroom, I head straight to the sink. Opening the mirrored cabinet, I locate the aspirin tucked away on the top shelves. Popping a couple of pills, I swallow them down with a gulp, hoping for a quick reprieve from the persistent headache.

As I stand there, a quick self-assessment in the mirror reveals a tired face staring back at me. Feeling like a rag, I decide a splash of water would do wonders. I turn on the tap, and the cool water splashes over my face, the sensation bringing a refreshing jolt to my body. It's as if the water washes away not only the physical exhaustion but also the lingering residue of the unsettling dream that still echoes in the recesses of my mind. I take a moment, watching the droplets fall, and when I glance back into the mirror, I find a slightly revived version of myself staring back.

I scoop the water once again, relishing the refreshing sensation as it cascades over my face. Droplets fall like a gentle rain, offering a momentary escape from the remnants of the disconcerting dream. The cool water provides a revitalizing touch, awakening my senses from the lingering fog of sleep.

After the impromptu splash, I reach for the hand towel. Drying my face with deliberate strokes, I catch my reflection in the mirror once more. At first, everything seems ordinary, the familiar contours of my face staring back at me.

And then, my blood runs cold.

Staring back at me is something that looks like me but not me at the same time. Its appearance mirrors mine in every detail—except that its entire body is covered in intricate, glowing reddish-colored lines. These lines weave a mesmerizing pattern across its form, emitting an otherworldly glow. The eyes, where my reflection's eyes should be, are instead glowing with a light as intense as the sun.

A shiver courses through me as I stare at this uncanny version of myself. The bathroom seems to hold its breath, the air charged with an inexplicable tension. It's as if the very fabric of reality has momentarily unraveled, revealing a distorted reflection that defies the laws of the mundane world.

Fear and disbelief intertwine as I continue to meet the gaze of this surreal doppelgänger, trapped within the confines of the bathroom mirror.

A chill courses through my veins as the surreal reflection in the mirror comes to life. Ever so slightly, its lips move, forming a subtle smile that sends shivers down my spine. The eyes, glowing intensely, fixate on me with an otherworldly gaze that seems to penetrate the very depths of my being.

A sense of unease settles in the room as the silence stretches, broken only by the soft hum of the bathroom's ventilation. The distorted version of myself continues to smile, its intention is beyond me.

"A..." I stammer, taking a hesitant step back. As quickly as my feet can carry me, I bolt out of the bathroom, the unsettling reflection still etched in my mind. The boundaries between the ordinary and the inexplicable blur as I race back into the safety of my room upstairs.

Slamming the door shut behind me, I feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Panic takes hold as I mutter to myself, "What the fuck! What the fucking fuck!" The expletives spill out like a desperate mantra, an attempt to grasp the reality of the inexplicable encounter.

I lean against the closed door, my breaths coming in rapid succession. The echoes of my own swearing fill the room, a feeble attempt to drown out the lingering unease. The ordinary contours of my room offer a stark contrast to the surreal experience in the bathroom, but the fear lingers still.

As my heart continues to race from the bizarre encounter in the bathroom, I suddenly hear footsteps approaching from outside my room. A knock follows, and my dad's concerned voice breaks through the tension, asking, "Tay, honey, you alright?"

Relief floods over me at the sound of his voice. I need to reassure him, make everything seem normal. "I-I'm fine! I was just a bit... startled! There was a cockroach, and I was surprised!" I hastily respond, concocting a white lie to conceal the inexplicable encounter with the mirror.

"Cockroach? Huh, wonder where it came from," Dad muses. "But, are you sure you're alright? You dashed off upstairs like Road Runner!" His tone carries a hint of jest, an attempt to lighten the mood and show his concern.

I manage a smile, trying to match his attempt at humor. "I'm fine, Dad. I'm... going back to sleep. Don't want to be late to school."

"Alright, then. Sweet dream, honey," Dad says, his voice carrying the warmth of a parent who cares. But then, as if a thought strikes him, he adds, "Oh, and Taylor, you should've told me you're that talented in cooking. I've never tasted an apple pie as tasty as the one you made."

The words hang in the air, their weight settling on my bewildered mind. What did he just say? My attempt to dismiss the compliment as I mumble, "I-it's nothing, Dad, I just followed the recipe!" feels hollow. I'm absolutely clueless as to what is going on. "A-anyway, good night!" I say, a shaky smile masking my confusion as I hurriedly jump onto the bed.

As the door closes behind me, I hear Dad's response, "Okay, good night, sweetheart," followed by the familiar sound of his footsteps receding downstairs. Left alone in the silence, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands as if they hold the answers to the inexplicable.

I don't remember ever making an apple pie for him. Scratch that, I don't even know how to make one in the first place. A wave of unease washes over me as the discrepancy between Dad's words and my reality becomes increasingly apparent.

"Just..." I close my eyes, feeling a sense of terror creeping in. "Just what's happening to me?" The question hangs in the air, unanswered. If this is all just a bad dream, I would like to wake up from it very soon, escape the disconcerting reality that seems to be warping around me.

 

[Arcreed]

- Beginning 1.2 -

o-0-o​

T-shirt, check. Glasses, check. Backpack, check.

Now, then…

I hesitate for a moment, my gaze shifting toward the mirror hanging on the wall. There's a subtle fear, a gnawing uncertainty, about what I might see reflected back at me. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously step in front of the mirror, half-expecting an otherworldly version of myself to materialize.

To my immense relief, I'm greeted by the familiar sight of my own reflection. Messy, shoulder-length black hair, freckles dotting my face, an average look that I've known for years—yeah, it's just me. No glowing, bright lines. No luminous eyes. It's a stark contrast to the reflection I saw earlier.

I release a sigh of relief, the tension easing from my shoulders. What was that anyway? A ghost? A figment of my exhausted mind playing tricks on me? I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to dispel the residual unease. The room is silent, and the mirror reflects nothing but the mundane reality of my existence.

What happened after the meteor shower continues to elude my memory. According to Dad, I made him an apple pie. A wave of confusion washes over me. Did I sleepwalk? Or was there something more to it?

Maybe I should consider seeking professional help—a therapist or perhaps a psychiatrist. The notion flits through my mind, but a quick dismissal follows. No, better not. The last thing I need is for others to start suspecting me of harboring mental illnesses.

Well, time to leave, I guess. School's time, it should be fun! Yay!

But the enthusiasm in my internal cheer quickly fades into a hollow echo of forced optimism. The reality of what awaits me at school casts a looming shadow, and the facade of excitement crumbles. I can already predict the scenes that will unfold—the taunts, the sneers, the relentless bullying that has become an unwelcome routine. Why does it have to happen to me anyway? What did I do wrong?

I sigh as I grab my backpack, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on my shoulders. The desire to enjoy a peaceful school life, devoid of the constant turmoil, seems like an unattainable dream. The mere thought of facing the dreadful trio—Sophia, Madison, and the once-close friend, Emma—sends a shiver down my spine.

"Oh, Emms," I murmur quietly, addressing the absent friend who turned her back on me. "If only you could tell me what I did wrong for you to turn your back on me."

The unanswered questions linger in the air like an ominous cloud as I reluctantly step out the door, leaving behind the relative sanctuary of my home.

"I'm... off," I mumble to no one in particular, the words dissipating in the emptiness of the house. Dad has already left for the docks, his early departure leaving the dwelling in a haunting stillness.

As I glance up to the sky, I notice that black clouds are beginning to gather, obscuring the once-clear blue canvas. The distant rumble of thunder echoes in the air, a precursor to the impending storm. Funny how it mirrors my everyday mood—a tempest of uncertainty and brewing turmoil.

With a resigned shake of my head, I adjust the straps of my backpack and start the familiar walk to school. Each step feels like a countdown to the inevitable confrontation with the trio of tormentors. The atmosphere around me seems to reflect the impending storm, the weight of anticipation pressing down as I navigate the quiet streets.

o-0-o​

No sooner do I arrive at school than a certain aggressive woman decides to make my day infinitely worse. And by "screwing me around," I mean really, really screwing me around.

"Hebert, what in the fuck are you still doing here?" Sophia Hess sneers, her tone dripping with disdain. The retort I want to throw back at her lingers on the tip of my tongue, a defiant response eager to escape. But experience has taught me that any retort would only escalate the cruelty that is about to unfold.

Sophia Hess, the embodiment of physical aggression, blocks my path. There has never been a day when she didn't find some twisted pleasure in inflicting pain on me. The best day I've had involving Sophia was when she decided to call it quits after tripping me twice. A dubious victory, to say the least.

She seizes me by my collar, slamming me against a nearby locker. Her eyes bore into mine, a blend of disgust and sadistic glee. To her, I am nothing more than prey, a plaything for her amusement. It's as if my very existence is an affront to her, and she revels in asserting her dominance.

"Not gonna say anything?" she taunts, her voice dripping with venom. "Look at you, a pathetic worm, can't even stand up for yourself."

I summon the courage to speak, my words wavering with a mixture of fear and defiance. "Let—"

"What?" she interrupts, her tone demanding submission.

"Let me go... please," I weakly plead, my voice barely audible over the din of the school hallway. The desperation in my eyes reflects the helplessness I feel, trapped in this twisted dance of torment.

Sophia leans in, her face uncomfortably close, relishing the intimidation she exudes. "Let you go? Why would I do that?" She punctuates her words with a cruel chuckle, the sound echoing in the narrow hallway.

The pressure on my collar intensifies as she tightens her grip, a malicious grin playing on her lips. The surrounding students either avert their eyes or watch with a morbid curiosity, unwilling or unable to intervene.

"You think you can just waltz through here without consequences?" Sophia sneers, her fingers digging into my collarbone. "Pathetic."

I gasp, my attempts to free myself met with futile resistance. The locker's cold metal bites into my back, leaving me at her mercy. Panic and humiliation churn within me, but I fight to keep my composure.

Sophia continues her assault, releasing her grip on my collar only to grab a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. The pain radiates through my scalp, a sharp reminder of my vulnerability. "Maybe if you begged a bit more convincingly," she taunts, her laughter cutting through the hallway.

With a cruel twist, she shoves me against the locker once more before finally letting go. I slump to the floor, a mix of pain and shame coursing through my body. The bell signaling the start of classes echoes in the distance, but Sophia's torment is far from over.

She looms over me, triumphant. "Consider this a warm-up. Next time, it won't be so easy." With a disdainful smirk, she saunters away, leaving me battered and broken on the unforgiving hallway floor.

The indifferent crowd disperses, and I'm left to gather what remains of my dignity. The scars of Sophia's aggression, both physical and emotional, linger as a haunting reminder of the daily struggle I face within the unforgiving walls of the high school. As I slowly pick myself up, I can't help but wonder how much longer I can endure this relentless torment.

As I gingerly rise from the cold floor, a strange realization washes over me. The expected pain, the dull throb that typically accompanies Sophia's physical assaults, doesn't manifest as anticipated. Confusion furrows my brow as I assess my body, half-expecting to find additional bruises, evidence of her sadistic handiwork.

To my bewilderment, there's an odd absence of physical discomfort. It's as if the impact of Sophia's aggression didn't register the way it usually does. I run my hands over my arms and torso, searching for the telltale soreness, but there's nothing. No tenderness, no lingering ache.

The realization leaves me perplexed, a strange mix of relief and disorientation. Sophia's cruelty, although emotionally scarring, didn't leave the usual physical mark. Was this a bizarre twist of fate, or was there something more to it?

As I gather my belongings and make my way to class, I grapple with this newfound revelation. The ordinary chatter of students around me becomes a distant hum as my mind replays the encounter with Sophia. It's not lost on me that the absence of physical pain doesn't diminish the emotional toll of her relentless bullying.

Entering the classroom, I take my seat with a mix of gratitude and confusion. Grateful for the respite from physical harm, yet perplexed by the unexplained shift. Perhaps this is a fleeting anomaly, a momentary break from the relentless cycle of torment.

As I open my math textbook, attempting to immerse myself in the mundane routine of a high school class, a familiar voice pierces through the air like an unwelcome dagger. "Tay~."

My heart sinks as I glance up, and there she is—Emma, accompanied by Madison. Emma's fiery red hair sways in the air like a mocking dance as she approaches, a bottle of soda dangling casually in her hand. Her smile is nothing short of smug, as if she already relishes the mental image of how I'll react to her so-called gift. Madison, standing alongside her, wears a smirk, seemingly eager to witness whatever verbal assault Emma has in store for me.

Emma's voice cuts through the air, dripping with condescension. "Hey, Tay. Thought you might need this." She extends the soda bottle toward me, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of malice and amusement.

I eye the soda bottle suspiciously, fully aware that Emma's so-called gifts usually come with a cruel twist. As she extends it toward me, a sly grin playing on her lips, I take it cautiously, my guard up.

"Just a little something to brighten your day," she sneers, her tone laced with mockery.

Before I can react, she attempts to tip the bottle over my open textbook, a mischievous glint in her eyes. The realization of her intent hits me like a punch to the gut. Another one of her calculated humiliations.

But this time, something unexpected happens. As the soda begins to spill from the bottle, my instincts kick in. Swiftly, almost reflexively, I reach out and grab her hand, halting the cascade of liquid mid-air. The classroom falls into an astonished hush as students witness the unanticipated turn of events.

Emma's eyes widen in disbelief, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Even I am left stunned by my own reaction. I never thought I'd be able to thwart one of Emma's calculated attacks. The room hangs in suspense, the unsaid question echoing through the air—how did this happen?

In that brief moment of defiance, I glimpse a flicker of uncertainty in Emma's eyes, a crack in her façade of cruelty. The power dynamics shift, if only for an instant, and the unexpected turn leaves us both grappling with the implications.

Mr. Quinlan's arrival rescues me from the spotlight, but the weight of the unspoken tension still lingers. As I release Emma's hand and the soda bottle retreats, the classroom returns to its normal cadence, yet my mind is a tumult of conflicting emotions.

With each passing minute of the lecture, the yearning to escape intensifies. The walls of the classroom seem to close in on me, and the air becomes stifling. It's at times like this that the desire to run away, to find a sanctuary far from the echoing corridors of this school, becomes almost overwhelming.

The teacher's words continue to fade into the background, and my internal struggle intensifies. The desire to escape clashes with the harsh reality of my situation, a perpetual cycle of torment with seemingly no way out.

As the class is halfway to its end, the anticipation of returning to the torment weighs heavily on my shoulders. The mere thought of facing Sophia, Emma, and Madison again sends a shiver down my spine. There's no escape, no respite, unless they decide they're satisfied with the damage they've inflicted.

Why not run away now? The voice echoes in my mind, gentle and comforting. I freeze, glancing around the classroom to identify the source, but everyone is focused on the whiteboard. Even Emma and Madison, usually the instigators of my torment, seem oblivious.

A conflicted smirk plays on my lips as I contemplate the possibility of hearing things. The notion of seeking a therapist briefly flits through my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. Weakness is not an option. I can't burden Dad with the troubles of a supposedly fragile child.

It is fine to admit your weaknesses, the voice persists, soothing and persistent.

"Stop!" I blurt out, my eyes darting nervously around the room. The voice persists, undeterred by my attempt to silence it. Is this the breaking point? Have the relentless torment and the internal battles finally pushed me over the edge?

"Miss Hebert? Mind telling me why I should stop my lesson?" Mr. Quinlan, the math teacher, directs his question at me, his voice calm even as I'm sure he is seething deep inside.

"No, I–" I stutter, my words caught in my throat as Madison seizes the opportunity to taunt me.

"What's wrong, Hebert? Cat got your tongue?" she sneers, prompting snickers from the rest of the class. The pressure intensifies, and for a moment, I'm tempted to follow the compelling voice in my head, to escape from the classroom.

Then, something wholly unexpected transpires. My hands... they begin to move autonomously! My feet, too! I-I don't understand—what's happening? In a surreal sequence, my hands effortlessly place the book into my backpack.

"Hebert, explain yourself!" Mr. Quinlan demands, his voice rising in frustration. My bewildered expression must resemble a deer caught in a spotlight, as much as I yearn to provide an explanation, I find myself equally in the dark.

"Ah–I–." Before I can articulate a coherent response, my feet propel me out of the classroom, away from the stifling confines of Winslow High School.

S-someone! Please, stop me!

The hallway blurs as I dash through the corridors, a whirlwind of confusion and urgency. Students and teachers alike turn to watch my impromptu escape, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity. The voice in my head remains a constant companion, its gentle guidance urging me onward.

In the blink of an eye, I burst through the school doors, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The outside air, crisp and liberating, greets me as I find myself standing on the school steps, free from the suffocating atmosphere within.

o-0-o​

Panic courses through my veins as I find myself propelled forward against my will. The voice in my head has fallen silent, leaving me with nothing but the rhythmic beat of my footsteps echoing in my ears. A gentle force guides me, urging me forward with a relentless determination.

The streets of Brockton Bay blur into a disorienting montage as I struggle to comprehend the inexplicable situation. The meteor shower from the previous evening flashes in my mind, and an unsettling realization begins to take shape. Did that celestial event trigger something within me?

As the cityscape unfolds before me, my feet seem to be leading me toward the docks of Brockton Bay. Confusion gnaws at me, heightened by the fact that I'm not the most athletic person. Yet, I run for miles without breaking a sweat or feeling the slightest hint of fatigue. It's as if my body has transcended its normal limitations.

The only sweat I feel is a cold one, a result of my disconcerted state. Nervousness and the inability to comprehend the unfolding events make me perspire profusely. The docks draw nearer with each step, and the unknown destination looms ahead like a question mark hanging in the air.

The bustling sounds of the docks grow louder as I approach, the scent of saltwater and industry filling the air. I can't fathom why my feet have brought me here or what awaits me at this destination. The force guiding me persists, unwavering and insistent.

Despite the distance covered, my body remains unaffected by the exertion. It's a paradoxical experience—physically untouched by the demanding journey, yet mentally overwhelmed by the uncertainty of my circumstances.

I stand at the docks, my breath steady, my body seemingly immune to the winter breeze that should be chilling me to the bone. The ambient sounds of the harbor surround me—the creaking of ships, the distant hum of machinery, and the rhythmic lapping of water against the docks.

The sun hangs directly above, casting a cold, wintry glow across the scene. It's an odd contradiction; the weather should be biting, but my senses don't register the cold as they should. Perhaps it's the adrenaline coursing through my veins or some peculiar side effect of whatever force compels me forward.

The ships' graveyard unfolds before me—a haunting collection of vessels, their skeletal frames standing as silent witnesses to the passage of time. It's a desolate place, yet the force guiding me has brought me here for a reason.

As I traverse the docks, my confusion deepens, and a torrent of questions floods my mind. Why the docks? What significance does this place hold? The skeletal structures of the ships loom around me, each creak and groan echoing the mysteries hidden within their rusted hulls.

The air I inhale invigorates me, the salty breeze from the ocean waves momentarily soothing my nerves. Regardless of the season, the rhythmic dance of the waves has a way of momentarily sweeping away the weight of my problems. I pause, taking in the serene view, finding a brief respite from the chaos unfolding within.

My mind races as I try to piece together the events that led me to this desolate place. The figure I saw in the mirror this morning—resembling me but not quite. A ghostly specter haunting my reflection. I'm not a religious person, skepticism ingrained despite the existence of Parahumans and Endbringers. But what if, against all reason, I've been possessed by a ghost?

The thought lingers, casting a shadow over the rational explanations I attempt to conjure. Could this spectral presence be the force guiding me, pulling me toward the docks? A shiver runs down my spine as the possibility takes root in my mind.

With these swirling thoughts and unanswered questions, I decide to find a spot on the docks where I can sit down and mull over my situation. The wooden planks beneath me offer a sense of stability amidst the uncertainty, and I lower myself, resting against the cool, weathered surface.

The ships' graveyard unfolds before me, the skeletal structures creating a surreal backdrop to my contemplation. The rhythmic sounds of the waves continue to soothe, providing a strange comfort as I grapple with the inexplicable circumstances that have brought me to this point.

Part of me considers the option of returning to Winslow High School, attempting to resume some semblance of normalcy. However, the image of Sophia, Emma, and Madison waiting like predators in the halls dissuades me. I don't have an explanation for my absence, not one that would make any sense, and the prospect of facing their torment fills me with dread.

Instead, I entertain the idea of skipping the day entirely. I can't explain what's happening to me, and I have never felt this vulnerable before.

The winter breeze brushes against my face, and I find a strange solace in the cold air. The open sky above, unburdened by the walls of Winslow High, allows my thoughts to expand beyond the confines of my usual struggles.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to find some semblance of inner peace.

The attempt to find inner peace is abruptly shattered by the discordant sounds of an argument not far from where I sit. My eyes snap open, and I scan the area to identify the source of the commotion. There, not too far away, I witness a group of dock workers and tourists being harassed by a gang of thugs brandishing swords and knives.

The armbands they wear—green and red—bear the unmistakable mark of the Azn Bad Boys, one of the largest crime gangs in Brockton Bay. The notorious Lung leads this gang, a cape villain known for his formidable abilities. The realization sends a chill down my spine, knowing that crossing paths with the Azn Bad Boys is never a trivial matter.

The scene unfolds before me, a tableau of vulnerability and exploitation, a stark reminder of the sinister underbelly concealed beneath the surface of Brockton Bay. My heartbeat reverberates in my ears as I crouch behind a stack of crates, desperately attempting to meld into the shadows, avoiding the prying eyes of the Azn Bad Boys—the notorious gang notorious for their unscrupulous methods.

The grim reality of the situation sinks in, the dock workers and tourists left defenseless against the intimidating presence of the Azn Bad Boys. The once serene dock, now a battleground, pulses with an energy I never sought to engage with.

As I observe the escalating tension, fear courses through me, a visceral reminder of my own powerlessness in the face of Brockton Bay's criminal elements. However, my paralysis is shattered by a chilling realization—among the innocent victims caught in this crossfire, there are children. The thought of their safety being compromised propels me into a mental space where I question my own inaction.

In this moment of contemplation, I imagine my mother, a paragon of courage. Would she have stood idly by, allowing the injustices to unfold? The answer is a resounding no. She would have confronted the gang members, unwavering in her pursuit of what she deemed right.

I glance at my trembling hands, questioning my ability to make any meaningful impact. What can a seemingly weak and powerless girl do in the face of such danger? Then, a whisper of encouragement surfaces in my mind—I can help, even if only a little. It's a notion that contradicts my own self-perception, leading me to scoff at the audacity of such a thought.

Yet, the voice persists, telling me that I can help. Summoning the remnants of my courage, I scan the surroundings for any object that might aid me. Spotting a small pebble at my feet, I snatch it up, clutching it in my hand. Hesitation lingers, but with a deep breath, I commit to the impromptu plan.

Standing tall, I hurl the pebble towards the Azn Bad Boys, the seemingly insignificant projectile soaring through the air with surprising accuracy. To my astonishment, it connects with the back of one gang member's head, rendering him unconscious. The sudden shift in dynamics leaves me in disbelief, struggling to comprehend how such a modest throw could yield impactful results.

Seizing the moment, I watch as the dock workers and tourists, guided by the distraction, make a hurried escape to safety. The fallen gang member lies on the ground, a testament to the unexpected impact of my feeble throw. The Azn Bad Boys, now focused on their incapacitated comrade, exchange glances of confusion and anger.

My heart races with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. I hadn't anticipated the success of my impulsive action, and uncertainty swirls within me. The voice in my head, silent during the critical moment, leaves me to grapple with the consequences of my newfound ability.

As the gang members regroup, I retreat into the shadows, attempting to navigate the docks unnoticed. The voice resurfaces, its tone firm yet gentle.

Good start, Taylor.

Startled, I glance around, confirming that no one else is nearby.

My breath catches in my throat as I hear the approaching footsteps. Panic sets in, and I try to make a hasty escape, my heart pounding in my chest. However, the distinctive sound of my boots against the wooden docks inadvertently reveals my location.

The Azn Bad Boys, alerted to my presence, emerge from the shadows with menacing grins. Brandishing their weapons—knives and swords—they encircle me, cutting off any potential escape routes. Fear grips me, and I take a step back, only to find myself cornered against a stack of crates.

The leader of the gang, a burly man with a red armband, steps forward with a malicious glint in his eyes. "Look what we've got here. A little rat playing hero."

I swallow hard, my mind racing to find a way out of this perilous situation.

"Thought you could mess with us and get away, huh?" the leader sneers, his cronies closing in with predatory intent.

"You're gonna regret sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," one of the thugs warns, raising a knife threateningly.

As the thug swings his knife menacingly, a surge of adrenaline courses through my veins. Without conscious thought, I close my eyes, bracing for impact.

To my astonishment, my hand intercepts the man's wrist mid-swing. The collision sends a shockwave through me, but the grip holds firm. In that moment of vulnerability, I seize the opportunity. With a swift motion, I sweep his feet from under him, causing him to lose balance and stumble.

My body acts autonomously, as if guided by an unseen force. In one fluid motion, I hoist the disoriented thug over my shoulder and, with an unexpected surge of strength, hurl him into the cold depths of the sea.

The splash echoes in the silence that follows, and the remaining gang members stare in disbelief at their incapacitated comrade now struggling in the water. I stand there, my hand still extended from the impromptu maneuver, a mixture of shock and confusion etched across my face.

"Who the hell is this chick?" one of the thugs mutters, eyeing me with a mix of confusion and apprehension.

The gang's leader, unfazed by his comrade's misfortune, scowls and steps forward. "Enough games. You're gonna pay for that."

As I attempt to explain, my words sound absurd even to my own ears. "I didn't do that! It was... it was like someone else was controlling me!" I gesture to emphasize my confusion, but my shaky voice and wild-eyed expression only make me appear more erratic.

The gang members exchange incredulous glances, their skepticism evident. "Controlling you? You're loonier than you look," scoffs one of the thugs.

I can't blame them for their disbelief. After all, I'm struggling to comprehend the inexplicable events unfolding around me. The voice in my head, the newfound physical prowess, it's all beyond the realms of rational explanation.

"Look, just let me go. I don't want any trouble," I plead, aware that my words hold little weight. The thugs, undeterred by my feeble attempt at reason, advance with a renewed determination.

Step back, Taylor.

Without questioning, I instinctively take a step back, my body responding to the unseen guidance just in time. The leader of the gang, wielding a menacing sword, swings it through the air where I stood moments ago.

My heart pounds in my chest, the reality of the situation sinking in. The voice saved me. But who—or what—is guiding me?

The gang members, now visibly unnerved, exchange wary glances. "What the hell just happened?" one of them mutters.

Jump into the sea.

As their attention falters, the voice in my head urges me to seize the opportunity and jump into the sea

"What?!"

Panic rises within me; the winter sea is frigid, and I'm not a strong swimmer. The logical part of my mind screams against the idea, but my body, once again under the influence of the mysterious force, moves of its own accord.

As I plunge into the icy depths of the harbor, bracing myself for the expected cold shock, an unexpected warmth envelops me. It's not the biting chill of winter water that greets me; instead, I find myself encased in a luminous, red sphere. Eyes wide open in disbelief, I marvel at the surreal scene unfolding around me.

The sphere, glowing with an otherworldly radiance, shields me from the harshness of the underwater world. The muted sounds of the harbor become a distant murmur, and I can feel the gentle current as it brushes against the protective barrier. It's as though I'm suspended in a pocket of warmth within the frigid sea.

The warmth of the sphere continues to cradle me in its gentle embrace, shielding me from the biting cold of the harbor's depths. As the surreal experience unfolds, the events of the day finally catch up to me, and the fatigue of both body and mind becomes overwhelming.

With each passing moment, the weight of the day's unexpected twists and turns bears down on me. The encounter with the Azn Bad Boys, the mysterious voice guiding my actions, and now this inexplicable protective sphere—all of it weaves a tapestry of confusion and uncertainty.

As I surrender to the soothing warmth, consciousness slips away like grains of sand through my fingers. The sounds of the harbor, the muted whispers of the water, and the distant echoes of the city blend into a tranquil symphony, lulling me into a deep sleep.

o-0-o​

I gasp as I reluctantly open my eyes, my consciousness returning to a reality both alien and mesmerizing. The sky above is a tapestry of vivid hues, a kaleidoscope that defies the familiar blue canvas. Floating lands beneath me add to the surreal spectacle, defying gravity and logic.

Anxiety grips me, rendering each breath a challenge in this unfamiliar environment. The ethereal landscape pulsates with an otherworldly energy, leaving me to grapple with the unsettling realization that I am no longer in the world I once knew.

A thunderous sound ruptures the strange tranquility, diverting my attention to the distance. There, a silver giant engages in a fierce battle against monstrous entities, grotesque in forms I could never have imagined. The sheer spectacle renders me breathless, caught between awe and terror.

Is this a dream, a fantastical illusion conjured by my fatigued mind? The battle between the silver giant and the nightmarish creatures unfolds like a cinematic sequence, blurring the lines between reality and the surreal.

In the midst of the cosmic clash, a single word echoes in my mind, unbidden and enigmatic. "Ultraman," I mutter, the syllables escaping my lips as if guided by an unseen force. The name resonates with an inexplicable familiarity, intertwining with the unfolding spectacle.

Ultraman, with deliberate movements, crosses its arms into an L-style. From its right arm, a radiant beam emanates, piercing through the monstrous foes and disintegrating them into cosmic dust. The display of power is both mesmerizing and daunting, raising more questions than answers.

The alien sky then splits open, giving birth to a swirling wormhole that tears through the fabric of reality. Emerging from the celestial gateway is an organic sphere, its unfolding revealing an immense, worm-like creature, an embodiment of cosmic dread.

Ultraman, undeterred, readies itself to confront the colossal adversary as it undulates toward him. The impending clash paints a cosmic tableau, each movement echoing in the caverns of my bewildered mind.

o-0-o​

Abruptly, I awaken on a dry section of a beach, the sensation of sand beneath me a stark contrast to the cosmic battleground I had witnessed moments ago. Sitting up, I shake off the clinging grains from my hair, trying to reconcile the surreal events with the mundane reality of the beach. The sun still hangs high in the sky, casting its warm glow over the tranquil scene. I surmise that not much time has elapsed since my altercation with the ABB thugs.

With the ships' graveyard visible to the north, I speculate that I must be somewhere around Shantytown. How I arrived here is a mystery, and the disjointed transition from a cosmic battlefield to a desolate beach leaves me grappling with the inexplicable nature of my experiences.

A shiver runs down my spine as I ponder the possibility of the ABB thugs discovering my whereabouts. The threat of their retaliation lingers in my thoughts, urging me to remain vigilant. A quick glance around reveals no immediate threats, providing a momentary respite. The distant cry of seagulls and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore create a stark contrast to the chaos I had witnessed before.

Standing up, I wrestle with the surreal memories that linger in my mind. Was it all a dream, a vivid manifestation of my subconscious, or something more inexplicable? The uncertainty grips me, and fear gnaws at the edges of my thoughts. The lingering warmth of the cosmic sphere contrasts with the cool sea breeze, leaving me with a sense of disorientation.

I have no answers, no understanding of what is happening to me, or if anyone can offer help. For now, a decision forms in my mind—I'll head to the library. Knowledge has always been my refuge, a place where I seek solace and answers. With a keyword in mind—Ultraman—I hope to unravel the enigma that has woven itself into the fabric of my reality.

"Achoo!" I sneeze, the sudden chill in the air a reminder of my damp clothes. Never mind. I better head back home first and change into dry clothes.

 

[Arcreed]

- Beginning 1.3 -

o-0-o​

Pushing the front door open, I stumble inside, my clothes clinging to me like a second skin. Hurriedly, I shed them, letting the damp fabric hit the floor in a hasty cascade. I avoid catching my reflection in the mirrors, terrified that I might glimpse something otherworldly staring back at me.

A peculiar sensation lingers within me, something unprovable yet undeniably real. I can feel it, deep in my bones—a presence that isn't native to my being. It's as if I've become a vessel for something beyond my understanding. Maybe, just maybe, it's connected to that towering silver giant from the dream that refuses to fade, a dream so vivid and clear it's etched into my memory like a scene from reality.

I'm no dream expert, but that was far from ordinary. The colors, the details—it's like a surreal painting eternally hanging in the gallery of my mind. And then there's that strange word, 'Ultraman,' echoing in my thoughts like a distant, persistent whisper.

But, if what I experienced wasn't a mere dream but an actual event, then…

No. I forcefully shake my head. It's not certain that it was a tangible, real occurrence. I mean, what would I even say to a therapist? "Hey, doc, I had this dream that wasn't really a dream, and in it, there was a silver giant battling hordes of monsters. Crazy, huh!" I'd be the one consigned to the padded room, labeled as the lunatic.

Glancing at the clock, I see it's already afternoon. With a determined mindset, I change into dry clothes in a flash. I can't shake off the unsettling feeling that something's dwelling within me, possibly pulling the strings of my own movements. I refuse to be a puppet, dancing to someone else's tune.

Having made up my mind, I decide to head to Brockton Bay's central library to unravel the mystery behind 'Ultraman.' Time is of the essence, and I want to utilize every available moment for research. The library usually closes around 8 pm, but I aim to get there with ample time to spare. Winter vacation is looming just a few days away, and I want to make the most of this opportunity.

As I prepare to leave, I pass by the mirror near the entrance without giving it a second thought. Little do I realize that my reflection lingers, almost as if it's trying to convey a message that I'm too preoccupied to receive.

o-0-o​

The cold wind nips at my cheeks as I step outside of my house, and I pull my coat tighter around me. The streets around my house are unusually empty, but my mind is too fixated on the inexplicable phenomenon within me to pay much attention to the desolate streets. I await the bus, staring at the digital display that teases me with the minutes ticking by.

It's a quiet wait. The occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of a passing car are the only sounds that break the silence. My breath forms misty clouds in the chilly air, a visual representation of the uncertainty swirling within me.

Finally, the bus rumbles into view, and I board, finding a seat near the window. The journey to the library is expected to take about 20 to 30 minutes, a seemingly endless stretch if the traffic is unkind or if any cape-related incidents decide to spice up the commute. I peer out the window, observing the cityscape passing by, buildings standing like silent sentinels against the overcast sky.

My mind races with questions. What was that word, 'Ultraman'? And how does it connect to the bizarre happenings in my life? The city outside may be quiet, but my thoughts are a cacophony of confusion and curiosity.

The bus rumbles on, navigating through the city's labyrinthine streets. I glance at my reflection in the window, half-expecting it to reveal some hidden truth. But, nothing happens..

As the bus approaches the library, anticipation and anxiety wrestle within me. The doors of the bus open with a hiss, and I step onto the pavement.

"Fuuuhh…" I inhale deeply, stretching my body as I step off the bus. "Hmm? What's that?" I glance around, my eyes catching on an unusual sight. The city is swarmed with PRT presence, their distinct uniforms a stark contrast against the urban backdrop. It's not uncommon to see a few PRT officers patrolling, but this is different.

As I observe, I notice that many of them are geared up in full-body armor. It's the kind reserved for dealing with highly dangerous capes like Lungs or Hookwolf. A chill runs down my spine. What could be happening to warrant this level of preparation? Is there a cape causing trouble, or something more sinister unfolding in the shadows of the city?

I decide to blend into the crowd, my curiosity now heightened to a fever pitch. I follow the ebb and flow of people, my ears straining to catch snippets of conversation. Whispers of an unknown threat, a disturbance in the cape community, float through the air like spectral warnings. The tension is thick, an invisible current that everyone seems to feel, and whatever is happening, it must be very serious.

As I navigate through the crowd, the urgency in people's voices becomes more palpable. Concerned glances are exchanged like a silent agreement that something is amiss, and the usual bustle of the city has been replaced by an ominous undercurrent. PRT officers, clad in their formidable full-body gears, move with purpose through the streets, their expressions unreadable behind the masks that shield their identities.

Then, my eyes catch the unmistakable presence of two of Brockton Bay's revered heroes. One is a man, resplendent in red body armor with a visor that gleams in the pale light. Next to him stands a dark-haired, olive-skinned woman, her attire adorned with a scarf and sash fashioned after the American flag, accentuated by stylized, fitted army fatigues.

I know them well. Heck, who in Brockton Bay does not know their local heroes?

The Protectorate members: Assault and Miss Militia.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of them. The fact that these stalwart defenders are on the scene only intensifies the gravity of the situation. I inch closer, trying to catch snippets of their conversation with other PRT officers. The hushed tones and terse exchanges hint at the severity of the threat they are facing.

I decide to approach, cautiously weaving through the crowd until I'm within earshot. Their presence alone is enough to evoke a sense of reassurance, but the underlying tension in the air suggests that even these heroes may be grappling with an adversary of unknown magnitude.

"Hey! What's going on? Is there some cape threat?" The urgency in the shout captures my attention, and like many others, I turn to identify the source. A young woman stands there, a few years older than me, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She possesses a mild, above-average appearance with vulpine facial features, freckles decorating the bridge of her nose, and eyes described as "bottle-glass green." Her outfit consists of a one-piece dress, and she wears glasses, adding an air of intellectual curiosity to her demeanor.

A murmur ripples through the crowd, but no one seems to have a clear answer. The uncertainty in the air is almost palpable. The woman's voice cuts through the tension again, determined and insistent, "I need to know what's happening. Is the city under threat?"

PRT officers exchange guarded glances but remain tight-lipped. The heroes, Assault and Miss Militia, share a brief, meaningful look before Miss Militia steps forward, her voice projecting authority. "There is no immediate threat. This is merely a drill—a training exercise between the Protectorate and PRT, aimed at enhancing our coordination in case of actual threats."

The revelation washes over the crowd, a mix of relief and confusion evident on people's faces. The young woman who initially sought answers looks both surprised and skeptical. "A drill? Why wasn't there any prior announcement? People are scared!"

Miss Militia acknowledges the concern with a nod. "We understand the confusion, and we apologize for any distress caused. The lack of announcement was intentional to ensure a realistic response. We'll take your feedback into consideration for future exercises."

Assault steps forward, attempting to ease the tension with a reassuring smile. "Your safety is our top priority. Rest assured, this drill is designed to make us better equipped to handle real threats efficiently."

The young woman, though still visibly uneasy, seems to begrudgingly accept the explanation. "Fine, but next time, at least give us a heads up. We have a right to know what's happening in our own city."

Miss Militia nods again, her expression sympathetic. "Noted. We appreciate your cooperation and your dedication to the safety of Brockton Bay."

As the heroes and PRT officers disperse, the crowd begins to dissolve, the initial anxiety giving way to a cautious calm. The young woman, however, lingers for a moment, her "bottle-glass green" eyes still reflecting a mix of skepticism and concern.

Then, she clicks her tongue in dissatisfaction, though the reason remains elusive. What is bothering her? Oh, perhaps she's a journalist seeking a story. Unfortunately, the unexpected turn of events hasn't provided her with the scoop she was anticipating. But that's not my concern, so I decide to leave and head to the library.

As I pass her, I catch a mutter under her breath, "So you guys want to hide what happened, huh?" Her words linger in the air, and a small spark of curiosity ignites within me. I look back at the woman, but she's already walking away, her steps purposeful and seemingly fueled by dissatisfaction.

"What's that all about?" I ask nobody in particular, my voice swallowed by the city's ambient noise.

The chilly wind nips at my face as I make my way through the city streets. The unsettling events of the day have left a residue of questions in my mind. What was the purpose of this mysterious drill? And why did the young woman seem so intent on exposing something beneath the surface?

o-0-o​

After a while, I finally stand before the library. I push open the heavy door, and the warm, hushed ambiance within welcomes me. The librarian at the information desk glances up, and I find myself hesitating for a moment. The young woman's muttering still echoes in my ears, creating a subtle tension in the air.

With a resolve to focus on my quest for information, I approach the nearest computer and begin accessing the database, while simultaneously opening the internet.

"U-L-T-R-A-M-A-N." I meticulously type the keyword into the database, anticipating a breakthrough. However, what materializes on the screen are merely a series of western comic books. "Okay…this is not helping," I curse under my breath, the frustration evident in my tone. The Ultraman I seek is undoubtedly not a mere man in a blue skinsuit and red cape.

Frustration intensifies, I opt for a different strategy. I type 'Silver Giant' into the library database, hoping for a more specific hit. Regrettably, the results offer a list of fictional works by obscure authors, leaving me disheartened.

I sigh, reclining in my chair. The search results suggest that the library holds no information on the particular Ultraman I'm in pursuit of. Perhaps the Internet will yield more fruitful outcomes?

With renewed determination, I return to the search engine and input 'Silver Giant Ultraman.' The results flood in, but my optimism is immediately quashed. Once again, the search outcome consists of an array of fictional works, devoid of any useful information about the Silver Giant or Ultraman.

Leaning back, my shoulders weigh heavy with disappointment. There is nothing—no information that can guide me. I close my eyes, feeling mentally exhausted. It's strange; usually, by this hour, I'd be fatigued both mentally and physically from the relentless bullying and torment. Yet now, I don't sense the slightest bit of physical fatigue. If anything, this is the most invigorated I've felt since... well, since perhaps kindergarten or first grade.

Now that I think about it...

I glance around cautiously, ensuring no prying eyes are upon me. Convinced of my privacy, I power down the computer monitor and slowly roll up my shirt until the right side of my stomach is reflected on the screen.

Amidst all that has transpired, I had forgotten about the bruises that Hess inflicted on me yesterday. Strangely, while it caused discomfort then, since this morning, the pain has vanished entirely.

I stare at the reflection on the monitor, anticipating to encounter bluish skin. Instead, my bruises have disappeared. A chill courses down my spine as I grapple with the inexplicable vanishing act. It's not just the absence of pain; the discoloration that should have marked my skin is entirely gone. I touch the area tentatively, half-expecting residual tenderness, but there's nothing. It's as if the bruises never existed.

I sit there, staring at the reflection on the monitor, my mind buzzing with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. The disappearance of the bruises raises more questions than answers. How could injuries, inflicted just a day ago, vanish without a trace?

Nothing makes sense. The dream, the inexplicable possession, the cryptic word 'Ultraman,' and now the mysterious healing of my injuries—none of it adds up, especially since… since...

I turn on the monitor again, desperation fueling my search. I quickly scan the news for reports of meteor showers last night, and a couple of articles catch my eye.

"Last meteor shower of the year.

Meteor showers visible in the sky above North America.

Meteor showers give a nice end to a tumultuous year..."

I slump in my chair. Nothing useful. Again. Why is it so difficult to find the right information?

Then, a headline below piques my interest—an article about capes experiencing health problems. Intrigued, I decide to investigate further.

"All the capes in the city of Chicago reported feeling nauseous and light-headed at the exact same time—the incident happened at around 19:37 pm Central Time. No explanation is currently given as to what has caused it, but the Parahuman Response Team, the Protectorate, and the police are working together to find out the cause behind it."

All the capes in Chicago? That's absurd. Was it the work of a new cape? Perhaps a secret tinkertech weapon designed to target capes specifically?

As I scroll down, I discover similar headlines from various locations worldwide. The news articles from around the world continue to paint a surreal picture. Capes in London, New Delhi, South Africa, and countless other locations—all reporting similar symptoms at the exact same time.

"How could this be?" I whisper, my intrigue now mingled with horror. A realization dawns on me, prompting me to return to the article about the meteor showers. It can't be a coincidence, right?

The article states that the meteor showers occurred at around 20:37 pm Eastern Time—the exact same time that all the capes worldwide started to experience health issues. A chill runs down my spine. Was this the reason the Protectorate and the PRT were out in full force just now? Were they trying to unravel the mystery behind the simultaneous affliction of capes around the globe?

But, if something of this magnitude had occurred, why did nobody report it on TV or radio? I refresh the page, and then suddenly, the news article has become unavailable. I furrow my brows, a sense of unease settling in. Was the information being deliberately suppressed, or was it a technical glitch?

Determined to find answers, I switch to a different news site and search for any mention of the global phenomenon involving capes. To my surprise, there's no trace of the events I just read about—the meteor showers, the simultaneous health issues among capes, the joint efforts of the Parahuman Response Team and the Protectorate. It's as if the entire incident has been wiped from the digital landscape.

A seed of doubt takes root in my mind. Was the information even real, or was it some elaborate fabrication? I consider the possibility that I stumbled upon a hoax, but the strange occurrences in my own life—the dream, the word 'Ultraman,' the healing of my bruises—make me reluctant to dismiss it entirely.

Intrigued and somewhat perturbed, I turn to social media, thinking that perhaps eyewitness accounts or discussions might shed light on the situation. To my surprise, there's an absence of any chatter regarding the global health issues of capes or the meteor showers. It's as if the entire world is oblivious to the events that unfolded just moments ago.

An unsettling sensation gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. I find myself deep in contemplation, grappling with the bizarre chain of events that have unfolded before me. A lingering suspicion creeps in—have I stumbled upon a truth that someone, or something, desperately wants to keep hidden? The involvement of the Protectorate and the PRT in a potentially secretive investigation, coupled with the sudden unavailability of the news article, suggests a concerted effort to control the narrative.

As I begin to speculate, my thoughts are abruptly interrupted by an excruciating assault on my senses. "Agh!" I instinctively clutch my head, a searing pain radiating through every fiber of my being. It's an intensity of pain that feels otherworldly, as if my very thoughts are being invaded.

What is this? The pain is overwhelming, like a storm raging within my mind.

An image flashes before my eyes—an unexpected intrusion into my consciousness. Wait, is that me? I see myself sitting in front of the computer, writhing in agony as I clutch my head. The vision then shifts, as if I now possess another set of eyes, and I find myself moving through the library.

It keeps moving until it reaches a table some distance away from me. Sitting there, spying on me, is...

The vision abruptly ends, and with it the headache also disappears, being replaced by a surge of urgency that propels me toward the person who was observing me. I try to maintain composure, mindful of the library's hushed atmosphere, but impatience fuels my steps.

"Ueeggh…"

There she is—the woman who was questioning the Protectorate earlier. She now clutches her head and stomach, her face pale and she looks like she could fall down at any moment. I approach cautiously, my concern tempered by the realization that there's more to this mysterious connection than meets the eye.

Are you okay?" I inquire, my voice a hushed whisper, mindful of the library's ambiance. But the woman is in no condition to respond.

"I…" she begins, wheezing. "I'm fine…".

Her words falter, and it's painfully clear that she is far from fine. She attempts to push herself up, but her strength wanes, and she begins to teeter dangerously. Without a second thought, I reach out and grab hold of her, preventing an imminent fall to the unforgiving floor. She looks up at me, her eyes a mix of gratitude and discomfort.

"You're far from fine!" I say to her. "Hang on, let me go inform the librarian."

As I attempt to head to the librarian, the woman grabs hold of my arm. "I'm fine. Just slightly dizzy. This is normal for me," she says.

"Are you sure?" I ask, my concern evident in my voice. It's hard to reconcile the idea that such distress is a regular occurrence for her.

She nods, a hint of weariness in her eyes. "Yes, I appreciate your help, but it'll pass. It always does. Just give me a moment."

Reluctantly, I release my grip, allowing her to regain some composure. I hover nearby, ready to assist if needed.

The woman takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Thank you," she says, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and resilience.

I find a nearby chair for her to sit, and as she settles down, I can't shake the feeling that there's more to her story than she's revealing.

I really want to know why she was intensely staring at me earlier, but how should I ask her? I can't possibly say to her, 'hey, so, it's crazy, but I somehow knew you were watching me,' or something like that. Besides, looking at her, I doubt she's in any condition to answer any of my questions.

Wait a second.

A sudden realization strikes me, and I become acutely aware of just how freaky the whole situation is. But what's even more unsettling is the fact that, despite the bizarre events unfolding around me, I'm not freaking out as much as I should be. In fact, I am remarkably calm—calmer than any normal human is supposed to be.

A cold sweat drips down my back, a stark contrast to the calm exterior I'm trying to maintain. Should I just take it as a sign that I am surprisingly mature for my age? Or, perhaps it's the opposite. Maybe, it's because I've come to accept that I'm being possessed by something. It's as if my mind has acclimated to the idea that weird things would happen constantly.

I can't escape the nagging feeling that this calmness is not entirely natural. Is it a defense mechanism, a way for my mind to cope with the inexplicable? Or is it the influence of whatever entity has taken residence within me?

I gulp, trying not to let my anxiety show on my face.

"You alright? You're looking pale," the woman observes, her concern evident.

"I'm fine. I'm going to go to the cafe, you want to come?" I suggest, attempting to divert my thoughts from the disconcerting calmness that has settled over me.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes studying me with a mix of empathy and suspicion. "No, I'm good. I'll sit here for a while."

"Oh, alright then. I still think you need to get some help," I say, my concern for her well-being breaking through the facade of calmness.

The woman offers a wry smile. "Maybe next time," she says, her voice carrying a hint of bitterness.

Leaving the woman alone, I decide to head to the cafe. The enticing aroma of coffee wafts through the air, providing a much-needed break from the craziness of the last twenty-four hours of my life. Though my original intention is to get warm cocoa, the only thing that could have made it better is if the cafe were located inside the library, shielding me from the brisk outside air.

"Shit." I curse under my breath as I approach the cafe, only to find it fully occupied. It's a shame; I was hoping to sit down for a moment and enjoy a warm drink. Oh, well, I can still have it as a take-away.

Purchasing the warm cocoa, I sip it slowly, letting its comforting warmth seep into both my mind and body.

"Ahh… This is life."

As I stand there, contemplating my next move, I weigh the options. Should I go back home? Perhaps finding a quiet place to sit first would be a better idea. I'm not ready to return to the library just yet. If a stranger suddenly stares at you, you'd be reluctant to stay in that place, won't you?

The city unfolds before me, bustling with life and stories yet to be discovered. With my warm cocoa in hand, I stroll through the streets, searching for a spot to gather my thoughts. The ordinary sounds of the city become a backdrop to the extraordinary events that have unfolded in my life.

As I find a quiet bench in a nearby park, I settle down, watching the world go by. The warmth of the cocoa cradled in my hands provides a comforting anchor, a respite from the whirlwind of inexplicable events. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, and the distant hum of the city becomes a soothing melody.

The park transforms into a sanctuary, a temporary escape from the complexities that have woven themselves into the fabric of my reality. I take a moment to appreciate the simple pleasures—the play of sunlight through the foliage, the distant laughter of children, and the rhythmic pulse of life that reverberates through the urban landscape.

With each sip of the warm cocoa, a profound sense of tranquility washes over me, gently bridging the gap between the ordinary and the extraordinary. The bench transforms into a haven, a refuge where I can serenely gather my thoughts, introspecting on the strange occurrences that have unfurled in such a brief span of time.

It's a delightful experience, allowing myself to savor the warmth of the cocoa in peaceful solitude while witnessing the sun's gradual descent from the sky. The park undergoes a magical transformation as twilight hues paint the world in muted tones, creating a serene backdrop that enhances the contemplative atmosphere.

Yet, this transient peace, as enchanting as it is, harbors an undercurrent of foreboding.

The abrupt intrusion of that ominous thought shatters the tranquility like fragile glass, leaving me disoriented and on edge. I scan my surroundings, seeking the source of this sudden unease, but the park remains undisturbed, bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

Where did that thought come from, and why does it herald an impending disruption?

Before I can decipher the origin of the unsettling premonition, a guttural scream escapes my lips. The warm cocoa slips from my grasp, its comforting essence now staining the ground beneath the bench. It's happening again, another intrusion into my reality, but what form will it take this time?

A disorienting vision envelops me—a familiar old train station now transformed into a museum. Central Square, frequented by tourists, materializes before my eyes. The scene shifts, revealing the ominous figures of Victor from Empire Eighty-Eight and Rune, accompanied by a dozen fully-armed gang members. Their intentions are clear, and a chilling realization courses through me.

Are they insane? Do they intend to engage in a shootout with the PRT? Assault and Miss Militia are still in the vicinity, aren't they?

No, that's not essential. What matters now is escape. This park is too close to Central Square, and I can't fathom how far the violence would spread once it erupts.

As I attempt to stand, my mind is once again assaulted by vivid visions. Scenes of chaos and confrontation play out, and desperation sets in.

"Stop! Stop showing this! Stop it!"

Desperation propels my words into the quiet park, as if pleading with unseen forces. "What do you want from me?!" I scream, the words echoing in the serene surroundings. "What do you want me to do?" I repeat, this time with a voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want me to play the hero and stop them? Sorry to break it to you, but that's not happening. I'm not a hero, not a cape. I'm just a normal girl, and facing them means certain death. Those people in Central Square? I can't help them."

My breath comes in ragged wheezes, and I slump against the bench, grappling with the weight of the inexplicable visions that have thrust themselves into my consciousness.

"Let's... let's just leave this to the heroes. I'm sure they can handle it just fine." The words escape my lips in a breathless whisper, an attempt to rationalize and distance myself from the looming threat. But even as I utter them, a seed of doubt takes root, questioning whether leaving it to the heroes is truly the best course of action.

You will not regret it?

Startled, I immediately try to calm myself down. By now, I shouldn't have been surprised to hear a voice in my head speaking to me.

Deciding to answer the voice in my head, I reply, "I…I won't."

Are you sure?

"I'm sure! What's with you?! Why are you questioning me like this?!"

Because you want to be a hero.

The voice's reminder sends a shiver down my spine. Yes, I did entertain dreams of being a hero in the past, but the current reality is far from the heroic tales I envisioned. I'm just an ordinary girl, thrust into extraordinary circumstances. The weight of the visions, the possession, and the mysterious entity residing within me—it all feels like a burden too heavy for someone who once aspired to be a hero.

"What can I do? Tell me, what can a lone, pathetic, weak girl like me do?"

You can help.

"Right…I can't even do anything right by myself—"

You are not alone.

I fall silent, letting the weight of those words sink in.

I am here with you.

The park, once a tranquil haven, transforms into an arena of internal conflict. The voice's assurances clash with my insecurities, and the impending threat in Central Square adds a layer of urgency to the situation.

As uncertainty hangs in the air, the voice persists, We can help, together.

The idea of collaboration with the mysterious entity dwelling within me is both daunting and intriguing. A surge of conflicting emotions—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of determination—swirl within me. The visions, once a source of distress, now seem to carry a potential for something more. A partnership that defies logic but promises a way forward.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Okay, let's say I entertain this idea. How can we possibly help? What can we do against armed gang members and cape villains?"

In response, several glowing lines start to appear over my body, starting from the tips of my fingers all the way to my shoulders and feet. I stare at the glowing lines with recognition. These look awfully familiar.

As the lines weave and dance across my skin, a surge of energy courses through me, creating an otherworldly aura. It's as if the mysterious entity within me is manifesting its presence in a tangible, visible form. The park around me seems to dim as the lines intensify, glowing with an ethereal light.

Then, the lights recede into my body, leaving a lingering sense of newfound power. I grapple with this unfamiliar sensation, a blend of exhilaration and uncertainty. I feel... what should I say, powerful? The energy coursing through me suggests capabilities beyond the realm of the ordinary. It's an intoxicating sensation, like discovering untapped potential lying dormant within.

"Alright... alright..." I mutter, still trying to come to terms with the inexplicable transformation. The glow may have faded, but the residual energy remains, making me acutely aware of a latent power waiting to be harnessed.

I glance towards Central Square, the urgency of the impending threat pressing upon me. Though I'm unsure of the full extent of my abilities or how to utilize them effectively, a conviction takes root within me. Despite the uncertainties, I can't ignore the sense of responsibility that accompanies this newfound power.

"I still don't know what is going on or what I can do exactly to make a difference," I admit to myself. "But, at the very least, I think I can help save a few people."

o-0-o​

A/N: Annnd this concludes the rewriting of my original draft. From this point on the update will take a bit longer because I will have to write the next chapter from scratch, and not to mention I want to also work on my other fanfic: Blue Archive: Sparda-Sensei's Chronicle. Also, Happy New Year to all of you.

 

[Arcreed]

A/N: I did some experiment with this chapter. Whenever the POV focuses on Taylor, the writing will be in first person. Other POVs were written in third person using past tense. Please tell me if it's working (or not). Criticisms and suggestions are welcome.

Also, goodbye Rune!

o-0-o​

- Beginning 1.4 -

o-0-o​

I've got a confession to make, you know?

Earlier, I threw around some cool-sounding lines like, 'I'm gonna do my best to save at least a few people,' but truth be told, I'm knee-deep in this mess with no clue how to navigate it. The options in front of me seem like a tangled web of uncertainty. I could throw on a cape, bust some walls, and kick ass, or I could head over to the PRT and spill the beans about Victor and Rune. But let's be honest—neither sounds foolproof.

For starters, I'm clueless about how a parahuman hero is supposed to act. It's not like there's a manual for this stuff. Plus, if there's suddenly an unknown parahuman out there attacking Empire Eighty-Eight members before they even launch their attack, I'd bet my last dollar everyone will point their fingers at me, accusing me of agitating those Nazi bastards into causing mayhem.

And then there's the PRT option. If I decide to play the good citizen and warn them, they will ask how I got my hands on this intel. I'm no expert on their protocol, but I can bet my lucky stars that it might be too late by the time they start taking me seriously.

So here I am, stuck at this crossroads, wondering which path won't lead to disaster. I glance around, the city's skyline a maze of towering structures and flickering lights. It's like the world is holding its breath, waiting for me to make a move. My gut churns with uncertainty, and the weight of the decision presses down on me like a thousand-pound boulder.

I can feel the minutes stretching like an eternity, each second winding me tighter, forcing me closer to a choice I'm not sure I'm ready to make. The air around me becomes charged with tension, as if the very molecules are holding their breath, waiting for my next move. Every option on the table seems to have consequences, looming over me like shadows in the dimming light.

I find myself absentmindedly rubbing my temples, a futile attempt to ease the growing headache that has accompanied the stress of the situation. It's like a drumbeat in my skull, a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and I'm standing at the center of a storm I never asked for.

If only I could get a bird's eye view of Central Square, maybe then I could think more clearly about how to handle this mess. The cityscape stretches out before me like a puzzle, and I'm missing key pieces. Victor and Rune could be anywhere, and my lack of information feels like a weight dragging me down.

And truth be told, I can't help but ponder the nature of the powers that have seemingly been thrust upon me. There's this strange, electric energy coursing through my veins, making me feel different, unique even. It's a quiet power, like a whispered secret shared with me and me alone. I find myself daydreaming about having wings or the ability to soar through the night sky. If I could fly, I could quickly survey the land from above.

"Huh?"

Just as the thought of flying flits through my mind, an unexpected sensation takes hold. I start to float, my feet lifting off the ground. It's surreal, like a dream I never knew I had.

"Seriously?"

My internal monologue is interrupted by the reality of my levitation. Panic sets in. No, that's not important right now! What matters is finding something—anything—to cover my face! I can't have people recognizing me; it's a one-way ticket to more trouble. The newfound power may be intriguing, but anonymity is my best friend in this mess of uncertainties right now.

I fumble through my backpack, praying to find a scarf, a hat, anything that can conceal my identity. The night wind brushes against my face as I search, a stark reminder that I'm suspended in the air, exposed. It's like being on a tightrope between two worlds—normality and the unknown. My heart pounds in my chest as I finally secure a scarf, hastily wrapping it around my face.

"Okay…I can do this…" I mutter to myself, the words muffled by the fabric covering my mouth. With newfound determination, I maneuver myself and begin flying up and up, and up.

Amazing. It just feels…right. Almost like I was born for this. The sensation of soaring through the sky is an inexplicable harmony, as if my very existence aligns with the currents of the air. I thought flying would be difficult; humans weren't designed to fly, after all. I had heard that capes who gained the ability to fly often found it challenging to control themselves mid-air for a while after they got their powers.

Well, not me!

My hands touch the clouds. I look down, and my eyes widen in amazement when I see the whole Central Square–nay, the whole Brockton Bay beneath my feet.

What they said is true: everything looks small when viewed from above. With all its chaos and problems, the city seems like a miniature model. Tiny cars move along the streets like ants, and the buildings I once thought were towering giants now resemble mere blocks stacked together.

The night sky stretches out in all directions, a vast canvas dotted with stars. I feel a sense of freedom, untethered from the worries that ground me. For a moment, the weight of my choices and the uncertainty of the situation are replaced by the sheer wonder of flight.

As I hover among the clouds, I can't help but marvel at the beauty of the city beneath me. The shimmering lights, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional blare of sirens—all part of a tapestry that seemed so tangled when I was on the ground. Up here, it's almost serene.

But the serenity is short-lived as I remember the predicament I'm in. The tranquility I felt among the clouds slowly dissipated, replaced by the weight of responsibility pressing on my shoulders. I can't linger in the sky indefinitely. Though the city may seem peaceful from this ethereal vantage point, I am acutely aware of the tempest brewing below. Victor and Rune, the looming threats, are still at large.

Being blessed with the ability to soar through the skies is fantastic, no doubt about it. But it's kinda pointless if I can't locate those troublemakers. The wind playfully tousles my hair as I cinch the scarf around my face, a subtle reminder that the thrill of flight brings its own share of hurdles. Now functioning as an improvised mask, the scarf shields my identity from the curious gazes of the city below.

Descending gracefully onto the rooftop of the ancient train station, I feel the brisk breeze brushing against my face. Did anyone catch a glimpse of my airborne antics? I hope not. Broadcasting my presence isn't on the agenda. The night air is crisp as I touch down, my feet meeting the chilly concrete. I glance around, ensuring solitude before cautiously peering over the edge.

Surveying the surroundings, I try to recall the vision that pinpointed Victor and Rune's location. My mind sifts through the fragmented images, recalling they were nestled in some narrow alley, surrounded by towering structures not too far from Central Square. From the vantage point of this antiquated train station, that would place them to the east.

I clench my fists, determination surging through me as I make a silent vow to locate them before they unleash whatever chaos is brewing in their devious minds.

The distant hum of the city below echoes in my ears as I take flight once more, navigating the skyline with newfound purpose. Skimming low between buildings like a phantom in the night, I'm cautious not to attract any unwanted attention.

Tracking down two villains and a dozen armed goons shouldn't be rocket science. Yet, as I soar through the cityscape, I realize finding them is just the tip of the iceberg.

Mid-flight, a sudden gust of wind carries distant voices to my ears. The night transforms into a symphony of indistinct murmurs, but my focus sharpens like a finely honed blade. Homing in on the sound, my senses reach a level I never thought possible. With precision, I alight on the rooftop of a skyscraper, my gaze fixed below. Unwavering, I spot two ominous figures amidst a sea of paramilitary men and black vans.

Victor and Rune.

The Empire Eighty-Eight.

They're busy loading an arsenal—a bone-chilling sight—into the vans. Pistols, machine guns, and... are those grenades? My mind races, attempting to fathom the magnitude of destruction they might unleash.

I can't help but wonder, what's going through their twisted minds? I question their motives, unable to discern any logical reason for wreaking havoc in a densely populated tourist spot. They should know better. A showdown with the PRT and Protectorate is inevitable. And the prospect of dragging the Azn Bad Boys and Merchants into the chaos seems like the only plausible outcome.

Or is that their endgame?

The chilling realization hits me like an icy gust of wind. Are they intentionally courting chaos? Is this a calculated move in some dark game only they comprehend? My thoughts spiral, contemplating the perilous game they're playing with the city and its unsuspecting inhabitants.

With my face concealed by the scarf, I weigh my options. I can't allow them to carry out whatever sinister plan they have in mind. The responsibility to act tugs at me, urging me to step in and prevent the impending catastrophe.

Oh, darn it, why didn't I bring a camera? This is evidence, right? Proof of a crime in the making, isn't it? Frustration and realization surge through me. Sure, the crime hasn't happened yet, but snapping pictures of them unloading those weapons should be sufficient for the PRT and the Protectorate to take action, shouldn't it?

The realization smacks into me like a bolt of lightning. My hand instinctively dives into my backpack, fingers fumbling in a frantic search for anything resembling a camera. The distant hum of the city morphs into a deafening silence as I curse my lack of foresight. Amidst the thrill of flying and the rush of having superpowers, the idea of documenting their nefarious activities had completely slipped my mind.

"Hmm?" Victor and Rune slip into a ten-story building through the back door, leaving their goons behind. Hold on a second, that building diagonally across from me... is it Empire Eighty-Eight's? Yet, it appears like a run-of-the-mill office building. The stark contrast between the mundane exterior and the malevolence within sends shivers down my spine.

My focus shifts to the goons; most have entered the vans, seemingly prepping the vehicles. Two of them act as lookouts on both ends of the alley, while a few engage in casual banter. Nerves kick in, and I decide to get closer to them. I navigate the air currents with precision, flying in and landing on top of the building where Victor and Rune vanished.

Peering down, I attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation. Earlier, in mid-air, I somehow managed to pick up sounds even farther away than this. So, I strain my senses, aiming to replicate that uncanny auditory feat.

C'mon.

C'mon...!

"Come...on! Gah!"

...Yeah, it's not working. I can't hear a darn thing.

"If only there's some way I can manually alter the range of my hearing..."

Very well.

"Huh?"

It's as if an electric current surges through me. A subtle energy permeates my senses, and suddenly, the distant chatter crystallizes into distinct words. The rooftop beneath me vibrates with newfound intensity, the once indecipherable murmurings now transforming into articulate sentences. The atmosphere crackles with tension as I silently stand, absorbing the gravity of the unfolding dialogue.

"Uhhh, thanks?" I express my gratitude, but silence echoes in response—an anticipation so thick it resonates louder than words. I shift my focus to eavesdropping on the goons, hoping their conversation will unveil the mysteries behind their sinister motives.

"...But, man, I thought Hookwolf's bad. But, Victor and Rune are just as bad." The mention of Hookwolf sends a shiver down my spine. Who doesn't know Hookwolf? A formidable heavy hitter for Empire Eighty-Eight and a lieutenant of Kaiser, the group's leader.

"It's because of that, you know." Because of what? My mind races with questions.

"You're kidding me, right now? That's just a hoax some eccentric tinker spread on the internet." Hoax? My confusion deepens.

"It's authentic. I was there last night when I saw Stormtiger suddenly drop to the ground and began convulsing."

"For real?"

Last night? Convulsing? What happened last night that caused Stormtiger to—oh. Realization dawns upon me; they were discussing the worldwide phenomenon during the meteor shower, where capes suffered from lightheadedness at the very least.

"So, Victor has the audacious idea of trying to draw out whoever was responsible for last night by causing chaos among non-capes."

"Shit. For real? Did he have some intel on this guy?" The puzzle pieces start to fall into place.

"No way, Jose. It's all just conjecture on his part. He believes that whoever was responsible must harbor a deep grudge against capes, given that only capes were affected, so…he decided the best way to get their attention is to disrupt the lives of non-capes. Also, he said he needed to blow off some steam by subjugating the lesser people."

"Well…that's extraordinarily unhinged of him."

"You don't like it?"

"Nah, just relieved that he chose a location mostly frequented by non-Aryans. A few of us being sacrificed seems inevitable, but if the end result is a thorough cleansing before Christmas, I'm all for it."

"...Can't argue against that."

The chilling callousness of their conversation sends shivers down my spine. What is this? What the hell is this? What the heck are these people saying?!

The rooftop beneath me seems to absorb the weight of their words, and my stomach twists with a mix of disgust and disbelief. The distant city lights twinkle below, completely oblivious to the sinister discourse unfolding above their unsuspecting heads. The crisp night air becomes stifling as I grapple with the harsh reality of Victor and Rune's malicious intentions.

Continuing to eavesdrop, the chilling nonchalance with which they discuss causing chaos and sacrificing lives for some perceived cleansing before Christmas sickens me to the core. The callous disregard for the value of human life, especially those they consider "lesser people," ignites a fire within me. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms as my resolve solidifies.

Alright. I've made up my mind. Focusing my attention on one of the goons on the lookout—the one stationed on the north side—I decide to start with him.

Silently, I soar above the unsuspecting man. Taking a deep breath, I reassess the gravity of the situation. Okay. I can do this. Then, as swift as an eagle capturing its prey, I descend with calculated precision and grab the man firmly by the shoulders.

"What the-"

His surprise lasts only an instant as I immediately lift him into the air. The ground below shrinks, and the city sprawls beneath us. The once-distant skyscrapers now become miniature structures, and the bustling cityscape transforms into a sprawling mosaic of lights. His frantic shouts are muted against the rush of wind as we ascend higher, higher than even the tallest buildings around.

"Who are you? What's happening? Hands off me!"

"You sure about that?"

I respond with a cryptic smile, the city lights dancing in my eyes as I maintain our ascent. His futile struggles to break free only emphasize the desperation in his voice.

In an abrupt yet calculated move, I release my hold on him. His terrified screams pierce the air as he plummets from the sky, his bravado shattered in the face of freefall. The reality proves that he's not as tough as he portrays.

Swiftly, I dart beneath him, catching him mid-fall just before he meets the unforgiving ground. The abrupt stop leaves him breathless and disoriented. It's a lesson, a taste of the peril they intended for innocent lives below.

I drop him unceremoniously onto the rooftop of the skyscraper where I had spied on them earlier. The impact echoes in the night air as he wheezes, visibly shaken by the experience. Even through his mask and goggles, I can discern the panic in his eyes as they dart around, taking in the height and isolation of his new perch. The city lights twinkle below, casting an ethereal glow, and the distant hum of traffic carries through the air—a stark reminder of the precarious situation he now finds himself in. The skyline stretches in every direction, a maze of concrete and steel, and the silence between us is punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city, echoing the gravity of the moment.

Now then… I wonder what information he can provide about their so-called 'cleaning' operation.

As I land behind him, he suddenly whirls towards me, gun drawn.

Oh, heck. I didn't think this through. I assumed he would be too terrified to react properly after experiencing that fall, but it seems he still has a grasp on himself.

"Hands up, you cape bitch."

He's visibly shaking, adding an extra layer of danger to the situation since he could accidentally pull the trigger at any moment. I, too, am at a loss. What? Did anyone expect a fifteen-year-old nobody from Winslow High to know how to handle a situation where she has to face a paramilitary man?

Reluctantly, I comply and slowly raise my hands, feeling the cold rooftop beneath my fingertips. The wind tousles my hair as I sense the weight of the situation intensify. The city below seems distant, a surreal backdrop to the confrontation unfolding on this isolated stage.

His gaze narrows, the tension palpable in the air. I can see the uncertainty in his eyes, a mix of fear and adrenaline. This is uncharted territory for both of us, and the gravity of the moment hangs heavy.

"Now, tell me who you are, and why the hell you're meddling in Empire Eighty-Eight's business," he demands, his voice edged with a dangerous urgency. I swallow hard, acutely aware of the gun pointed at me.

Should I try to negotiate with him? No, that wouldn't work, would it? But, if we can settle this peacefully, wouldn't it be for the best? Yeah, right. As if anyone could have a peaceful discussion with these Nazi bastards.

As I mull over my options, my silence is taken as a sign of noncompliance, and he fires a shot—a shot that slightly misses my head. The deafening echo reverberates through the rooftop, and I feel the whizzing wind of the passing bullet graze my hair.

Instinctively, I drop to the ground, seeking cover behind a ventilation unit. The cold concrete presses against my palms as I try to steady my racing heart. This just got real. I can't believe I'm facing gunfire, not in a million years would I have imagined this.

"Answer me, damn it! Who the hell are you?"

His voice is a harsh reminder of the danger that looms. I take a deep breath, weighing my words carefully. Negotiation may be a futile endeavor, but stalling for time might just be my only option.

"You--" I begin, voice shaking. "What you guys are planning to do is wrong!"

"You know of our plan? Who the hell are you?! How did you know that?!" His aggression intensifies, but I maintain a resolute gaze, my mind racing for an escape route from this perilous situation.

In a desperate bid to divert his attention, I fling my bag toward him, hoping it will serve as a compelling distraction. He unleashes a hailstorm of bullets upon my bag—there go my books—and seizing this chaotic opportunity, I sprint toward him.

Hold on, this is a catastrophic idea! He recalibrates his aim and pulls the trigger.

Shit!

Instinctively, I cross my arms and shut my eyes, fear clutching at my heart. Seconds drag on, and there's still no pain.

"What in the hell..."

His voice trembles with disbelief, and I hesitantly open my eyes. To say I was taken aback would be an understatement.

The bullets, once hurtling toward me, are suspended in the air. Held aloft by what, you might ask? Well, there's this radiant, swirling... nomenclature escapes me, but it arrested the bullets mid-flight, a veritable shield from impending demise.

Undeterred, he fires a few more rounds, yet each bullet meets the same fate—halted by the radiant, swirling... for now, let's dub it a force shield. I'll brainstorm a more fitting moniker later.

The enigmatic force continues to shimmer before me, crafting a protective barrier against the lethal onslaught. The gunman stares, dumbfounded, fixated on the hovering bullets.

"Well… I smirk, the triumphant grin playing on my lips, "didn't see that coming, did you?" Frankly, neither did I. The unexpected manifestation of my powers has given me a newfound confidence. I stride forward, boldly and fearlessly closing the distance between us.

"Shit!" Panic seizes him as he bolts for the emergency exit, his footsteps echoing through the empty rooftop. Oh, no, you don't! Determination fuels my pursuit as I give chase, my strides covering the distance with a swiftness that surprises even me.

His eyes widen at my unexpected speed. Honestly, I didn't foresee this level of velocity either. The surprise on his face is mirrored by my own astonishment at the capabilities these powers have granted me.

Swiftly overtaking him, I channel the energy of the moment and slam my foot into the emergency door, utilizing it as an impromptu brake to halt our chase with a resounding impact.

BAM! The door protests loudly, emitting a sound that was definitely not in the architectural plans. I glance back at my foot and the now-misshapen door buried deep in the walls. Thank goodness there's no security camera... right? A hint of concern creeps into my thoughts, but there's no time to dwell on it as the immediate priority is the man attempting to flee.

I turn my attention to the man, who is now slumping to the ground as his knees give way under the pressure of the situation. The rooftop, once a battlefield, is now a stage for our confrontation.

Now, what do I say to him?

"You're going to spill everything about your so-called 'cleaning' operation, or else…" I growl, striving for a menacing tone. The demand hangs in the air, accompanied by the weight of the circumstances and the undeniable power I now wield.

He simply nods in defeat, having run out of options. The gravity of the situation settles, and I brace myself for the revelations that may come next.

o-0-o​

"So, let me get this straight... your grand plan boils down to masquerading as foreign terrorists and recklessly unleashing gunfire on everyone? Is that the entirety of it?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

At this moment, we float ten thousand feet above the ground. The man, whom I've arbitrarily dubbed 'Jimmy' for brevity's sake, hangs upside down, enduring the frigid air and the sensation of blood rushing to his head. The sole impediment preventing him from a potentially fatal plunge is my grasp on his ankle.

I find myself involuntarily shaking my head. Could the Empire Eight-Eight truly consist of individuals of such simplistic thinking?

"I daresay a first-grader could have concocted a more sophisticated scheme."

"I-it's precisely as you say, ma'am."

"Now, enlighten me. What conceivable benefits does Victor, Rune, or Empire Eighty-Eight derive from this…dubious endeavor?"

"I-I'm sorry, but I don't know!"

"Very well... and what about you, Jimmy? What compelled you to partake in this 'operation'? Were you harboring a desire to vent your frustrations as well?"

"N-n-"

"Speak up, Jimmy. My hand is growing sweaty."

"Th-the pay was good."

The cold wind swirls around us, carrying the substantial weight of our discourse. I glance at Jimmy, his countenance twisted with fear and remorse. The once boundless sky, symbolizing freedom, now assumes the role of a critical observer to our suspended dialogue.

The echoes of our conversation linger in the air, a testament to the gravity of the situation. I maintain my stern gaze on Jimmy, silently demanding more insight into the motives behind this ill-fated plan.

…

…

…

"Bye."

I relinquish my hold on his ankle, allowing him to plummet from the sky. His desperate cries for help and forgiveness echo in the air as he hurtles downward. The distant city lights below flicker, casting an eerie glow on the unfolding scene. The cold wind swirls around us, carrying the echoes of his pleas as if nature itself bears witness to this moment of life and death.

I stare at Jimmy, my grip on his fate wavering. I grit my teeth, torn between the desire for justice and the innate reluctance to be the harbinger of death.

"I can't."

I had tried to harden my heart, to convince myself that the world might be better off without people like him. Yet, when faced with the stark reality of his imminent demise, I find that I can't let him die. My sense of morality overrides the darker impulses that might have fueled such a decision.

I fly toward him, urgency propelling me forward as I strive to reach him before he meets the unforgiving ground. The wind rushes past, and I manage to seize him just in the nick of time. With careful precision, I descend and gently place him on the ground below.

Jimmy lies there, his unconscious form a silent testament to the swirling complexities of morality, a canvas painted in the hues of right and wrong, mercy and judgment. The distant city lights twinkle, oblivious to the moral quandary that played out in the cold night air. As I stand beside him, I can't evade the gravity of the choices made and the inevitable consequences that will unfurl.

The contemplative silence is shattered by the abrupt crackling of a radio, emanating from a device nestled on Jimmy's person.

"James, where are you?"

Ah, James, not too far off from Jimmy. Intrigued, I lean in to eavesdrop, curiosity overcoming any reticence.

"James, respond! We're in the final preparation phase of the operation!"

The word "Operation" reverberates in my mind, a signal that Empire Eighty-Eight is on the move. They're poised to unleash whatever chaos they've meticulously planned. My gaze shifts to the unconscious Jimmy, and a moment of contemplation ensues. Should I answer the call, masquerading as him, attempting to glean intel from their conversation? The idea lingers briefly, but I shake my head. Impersonation, mimicking someone else's voice convincingly, lies beyond my current capabilities.

With a determined sigh, I reach for the radio. My decision is made.

"Please, stop while you can," I urge, my voice carrying a gravity that transcends the urgency of the situation.

"...Who is this? What did you do to James!" The voice on the other end quivers with a mix of anger and concern.

I ignore the outburst, maintaining my focus. "You still have a chance to stop."

"Or what? Do your worst, bitch."

The venomous retort hangs in the air like a palpable threat. Negotiation swiftly proves futile, and the tension in the atmosphere thickens. The city below carries on, blissfully unaware of the imminent storm gathering in the shadows. Contemplating my next move, I acknowledge the weight of the pivotal choices that lay ahead, choices that carve the trajectory of unfolding events.

Decisively, I make a swift decision. Ripping off Jimmy's mask, I cover my face entirely with it, rendering my identity inscrutable. I adjust the goggles, ensuring a secure fit, attempting to cloak myself in the guise of the man who is now sprawled unconscious beside me.

With determined purpose, I delve into Jimmy's pockets, convinced that he carries a phone. My search is rewarded with a cheap, disposable device. Bingo.

I pull out the phone, dial the Parahuman Response Team's hotline, and await a connection.

"Hello, this is the Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Team office speaking. How may I help you?"

"Empire Eighty-Eight is planning an attack on Central Square tonight. They are being led by Victor and Rune and are disguising themselves as a foreign terrorist group," I assert, urgency lacing every word, emphasizing the gravity of the information.

"E-excuse me?"

"Please send as many heroes as you can."

"Wait, ple–"

Abruptly, I close the phone and return it to Jimmy's pocket, severing the connection before they can delve deeper. The die is cast, and now it's a race against time to avert the impending disaster.

o-0-o​

The lively tapestry of diverse backgrounds converged in the heart of Brockton Bay, where the Central Square pulsed with revelry. While not the most iconic or thrilling location, it held historical significance, adorned with museums that attracted both history enthusiasts and first-time visitors to the city. Amidst the diverse crowd, the Central Square became a melting pot of experiences.

It was that time of the year when people from various walks of life flocked to the city. Despite Brockton Bay's troubled reputation as one of the worst places, especially with the prevalence of gangs and villainous capes, some foreigners were drawn by curiosity or a desire to witness the infamous city firsthand.

For newcomers, encountering the renowned New Wave heroes, like the charismatic Glory Girl and the famous healer Panacea, was a significant draw. Others hoped to witness the might of the Protectorate's capes, such as Miss Militia and the renowned tinker Armsmaster. Despite the inherent dangers, the prospect of watching these capes in action proved irresistible.

However, a notable portion of arrivals during this time had more nefarious intentions. It was an opportune moment for discreet "transactions," the nature of which remained veiled in mystery. Such clandestine dealings were considered above the station of many, including the agent of change navigating the bustling streets. In his perception, he was merely an executor of the sacred duty entrusted to him by the leadership of Empire Eighty-Eight.

As the agent of Empire Eighty-Eight wove through the vibrant tapestry of the Central Square, his convictions echoed in his mind. A man staunchly devoted to the twisted ideology of racial supremacy, he saw himself as a guardian, a harbinger of purity in a city he perceived as tainted by the presence of non-whites.

His steps carried him through the lively crowd, his gaze discerning and judgmental. The revelry around him seemed like a facade, concealing the venomous thoughts that simmered within. The diversity that made the Central Square vibrant became, in his eyes, a blemish on the city's character.

As he navigated the throng, he overheard conversations in different languages, witnessed people of varying ethnicities celebrating together. To him, it was an affront to the sanctity of the city, a violation of what he believed Brockton Bay should be.

His mission that night aligned with his skewed sense of righteousness. He carried out orders with a sense of duty, believing that purging the city of those he deemed impure was an act of salvation. In the shadows, his eyes scanned the square, evaluating the crowd, searching for signs of what he perceived as contamination.

Meanwhile, the unwitting tourists and locals continued their celebrations, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. In the backdrop of the Central Square's festivities, the agent of Empire Eighty-Eight positioned himself strategically, ready to execute the next phase of his mission.

Heading to the top of the decaying remnants of a once-proud American real estate building, the agent of Empire Eighty-Eight quickly assumed his vantage point with calculated precision. The derelict building mirrored the state of Brockton Bay, a city on the brink of collapse, and it served as a fitting allegory for his twisted convictions.

Unfurling a sports bag laden with gears, he meticulously assembled a modern sniper rifle. As the metal components clicked into place, he offered a simple prayer, seeking solace in the possibility of divine acceptance should this mission become his final act of devotion.

Unlike the mercenaries who joined for the lure of pay or the thrill-seekers enticed by promises of 'fun,' he stood alone in his commitment born from a sense of duty. His loyalty transcended monetary incentives, stemming from a conviction deeply rooted in the warped teachings of Empire Eighty-Eight.

With practiced ease, he donned the paramilitary attire, the embodiment of his readiness for the impending operation. The uniform, adjusted with precision, reflected a childhood steeped in military training under his father's watchful eye. Yet, he relinquished the conventional duty of serving his country for an even grander 'purpose'—one that aligned with the warped ideals of racial supremacy.

He rehearsed an Asian language, not distinguishing between dialects, as they all sounded like the "garbled screech of apes" in his prejudiced ears. Contemptuously dismissing linguistic nuances, he devalued entire cultures, reducing them to an indistinct clamor.

Amid the preparation, a warning disrupted his focus—an indication that their operation had been compromised. The schedule was adjusted hastily, prompting a momentary surge of anger from Victor, the operation's leader. Despite the setback, the agent remained unperturbed, convinced that the absence of PRT and Protectorate presence provided an opportunity to execute their sinister plan without interference.

His unwavering belief in the supremacy of his race provided him with an unshakable confidence, a conviction shared by the majority of Empire Eighty-Eight members. They perceived themselves as the chosen ones destined to triumph, dismissing the PRT and Protectorate as mere inconveniences that would be easily overcome by Victor and Rune.

His mission, resonating with the perverse ideology coursing through Empire Eighty-Eight, was to sow invincible chaos. As the city below celebrated, he anticipated the impending turmoil, his trigger finger itching for the eruption of violence.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps startled him. He swiftly turned, a pistol drawn, but relief washed over him as he recognized a fellow member of Empire Eighty-Eight, clad in the same ominous attire.

"Hey," he greeted cordially.

"H-hello," came a surprisingly feminine voice. A woman? That was an unexpected sight; Kaiser typically consigned women to rear positions, unless they were capes.

"I-I've been sent to assist. J-just in case...since there seems like a...breach in the operation," she stammered nervously.

He nodded, acknowledging the need for backup in the unpredictable environment of Brockton Bay. Whatever enemy they faced, having an extra set of hands couldn't hurt.

The woman stood beside him, her demeanor marked by palpable anxiety.

"You new to this?" he inquired.

"T-this is my first outing," she confessed.

"New blood?" he pressed.

"Y-yes...joined the Empire last month," she explained.

"How did you join?" he prodded.

"Beating up some blacks on my way home," she confessed. "They...bullied me a lot."

"You've got balls, I'll give you that," he acknowledged, impressed. "Did you kill them?"

"N-no, but I made sure they regretted ever living in this city."

He whistled, glancing at his watch. The signal indicating the operation's commencement should arrive soon.

"Y-you're waiting for the operation?" she suddenly asked.

"Yes, should be starting as soon as the signal's sent. What? You didn't get the briefing?" he asked, glancing at her with a mix of irritation and condescension.

"N-no, I wasn't informed about the exact timing. They just told me to be on standby," she stammered, her nervousness palpable.

"Amateurs. Whatever, just make sure you stay close to me, and see how we will cleanse this city," he declared, a twisted sense of purpose animating his words.

"Cleanse..." she muttered, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "So, you believed we would succeed?"

"Of course," he affirmed with zealous certainty. "If we didn't succeed, then we might as well die. Look below you, those vermins, destroying our city, our culture, our... purity," he spat, his disdain for the perceived invaders evident.

The girl fell silent, absorbing his fervor.

"You understood, right? You were still young... well, you sounded young. How old were you anyway?" he asked, his tone shifting to something almost paternal.

"Eighteen," she replied.

"You had a bright future ahead of you."

"Really?"

"Trust me. You made the correct choice joining the Empire. I could even show you the ropes so you could climb higher," he said, his hand inching toward hers.

The girl, seemingly cooperative, placed her hand on his. As he reveled in what he perceived as a reward for his devotion, he was taken aback when she abruptly lifted him and hurled him back down to the floor with such force that the structure beneath cracked.

"You disgusted me. All of you."

Her voice dripped with venom, leaving him bewildered. Before he could demand her identity, a powerful fist connected with his face, rendering him unconscious.

o-0-o​

I stand over the man's unconscious form, the satisfaction of justice momentarily eclipsed by the urgency of the looming threat. He was the fourth one I incapacitated; just how many more of these extremists are lurking in the shadows?

As I scan the desolate rooftop, my thoughts echo with concern. There are still Victor and Rune to deal with. On that matter, where is the PRT? Where is the Protectorate? Why haven't they come? Please, don't tell me they thought my call to them was a prank.

The eerie silence that follows my takedown of the thug resonates in the dimly lit rooftop, amplifying the gravity of the situation. It's almost as if the city itself holds its breath, waiting for the impending clash between justice and malevolence.

Fine. If the heroes and the authorities won't take action, I'll deal with them myself.

I hone in on the stillness that blankets the rooftop, my heightened senses attuned to the muted symphony of sounds that define the city. The usual cacophony is subdued, transforming every creak of a rusty pipe and every distant hum of traffic into a potential clue. I move with the cautious grace of a ghost in the night, my every step deliberate, as I strain to pick up any sound that might betray the presence of Victor or Rune.

"No good. I can't pick up on their location."

I mutter my frustration into the silent air, my determination undeterred. Clenching my teeth, I push myself to the limit, desperately searching for any auditory thread that could lead me to the perpetrators of this malevolent plot.

"Come on… there's got to be something…!"

Just as frustration begins to knot my muscles, it happens again.

My vision escapes my body.

Unlike before, where I resisted it, this time, I surrender to the mysterious force. Like a gentle, flowing river, I witness the scenery change before my eyes, navigating through an ethereal landscape until I arrive at a nondescript room in a dimly lit basement.

Two figures stand alone in that room, silently overseeing a multitude of monitors. One is a man adorned in a black breastplate that descends to a v-neck, contrasting with a blood-red shirt and black pants. His identity obscured by a mask covering the top half of his face.

The other figure is a young girl, donned in a costume intricately designed to mimic that of a magic user. Her robe features a blend of black and red hues, her gaze fixed on the displays before her.

They are Victor and Rune, the architects of this nefarious plot.

What are they doing in there? Just as I ponder this, the vision shifts again, this time revealing the train museum before transitioning to what appears to be a closed convenience store situated on the opposite side of the old train museum. Then, I find myself back in my body.

With no other lead in sight, I move cautiously toward the closed convenience store, my every step guided by the shadows as I maintain a low profile. Peering inside discreetly, I'm startled by the revelation—a concealed sanctuary for Empire Eighty-Eight thugs, proudly adorned with their emblem on their attire. It stands in stark contrast to the paramilitary operatives who plan the chaos unfolding around them.

Within the clandestine confines, hushed conversations unfold. The thugs discuss their sinister plan, eagerly awaiting the signal to storm out once the body count rises. They aim to pose as saviors while cunningly pinning the blame on unsuspecting foreigners.

A wave of disbelief crashes over me. They intend to orchestrate a staged act of terrorism, all for the perverse glory of being perceived as heroes? The audacity of their malevolent plot sends a chill down my spine, and the weight of responsibility intensifies as I realize the magnitude of the impending disaster I must prevent.

My mind races as I comprehend the gravity of the situation. Everything hinges on the signal from Victor. If he doesn't give the go-ahead, their despicable operation may not come to fruition.

The sequence of visions I witnessed earlier now takes on newfound importance. If my suspicions are correct, Victor and Rune likely reside in the basement of the museum. Swift action is imperative—I must expose their nefarious plot and prevent this manufactured catastrophe from unfolding.

However, uncertainty gnaws at my resolve. How do I infiltrate the basement of the museum, and how did they gain access to it in the first place? Could there be a concealed entrance, unbeknownst to the public eye?

Surveying the surroundings, I search for irregularities or hidden passages, hoping for a clue. The museum's exterior yields no obvious signs of alternative access points. Frustration mounts, the impending catastrophe's weight pressing on me.

In a moment of desperation, I turn to the voice in my head, the mysterious source of visions that guided me thus far. "Hey, you. Can you... I don't know, do that vision-thingy again? Show me how to reach Victor and Rune?" My words hang in the air, awaiting a response.

Seconds pass, and the world shifts around me. The familiar sensation of vision transport envelops me, guiding me through an ethereal landscape until I stand before the museum once more. This time, the vision offers more than fleeting glimpses.

In my mind's eye, a concealed entrance materializes behind the museum, veiled by thick foliage. The vision leads me through a labyrinth of shadows, unveiling a hidden door that opens into the basement. Relief washes over me as the path to Victor and Rune becomes clear.

Returning to reality armed with newfound knowledge, I set my sights on the concealed entrance. The urgency of the situation propels me forward, navigating through shadows to avoid alerting the Empire Eighty-Eight thugs that may be hidden in the crowds.

With a surge of determination, I approach the concealed entrance revealed by the vision, hidden behind a tapestry of thick foliage.

As I near the hidden door leading to the basement, my heart pounds with anticipation. I know that the impending confrontation with Victor and Rune will test my resolve. The echoes of their sinister discussions in the convenience store still linger in my mind, fueling my determination to thwart their nefarious plot.

The entrance swings open with an eerie creak, and I step into the dimly lit underground passage. The air is thick with tension as I traverse the clandestine corridors, my senses heightened to every sound and movement.

Eventually, I reach a door, the threshold to the basement chamber where Victor and Rune likely scheme. I press my ear against the cold metal, straining to catch any murmurs or indications of their presence. Silence reigns on the other side, sending shivers down my spine.

Taking a deep breath, I prepare for the confrontation that awaits. With careful precision, I push open the door and step into the dimly lit chamber. The sight that greets me is chilling—a makeshift command center adorned with monitors displaying surveillance feeds of Central Square. Victor and Rune stand at the center, orchestrating their sinister plan with an air of malevolence.

As they turn to face me, the room plunges into an uneasy silence.

o-0-o​

Victor paced back and forth, his eyes fixated on the monitors displaying the view of Central Square. The security cameras, surreptitiously controlled by the Empire, provided a clandestine perspective on the city hub. Unbeknownst to the public, the museum served as both a facade and a strategic outpost, purchased under the guise of a non-profit organization dedicated to aiding the impoverished—a clever ruse to conceal the Empire's darker activities.

Incensed, Victor wrestled with a storm of agitation that had gripped him since a disconcerting blackout nearly half an hour last night. It wasn't an isolated experience—every cape he associated with in the Empire, even the notoriously bloodthirsty Hookwolf, shared this unease and restlessness. The Empire's formidable figures, usually unwavering, found themselves battling the same lightheadedness. Only the toughest among them managed to avoid fainting, a fact that stung Victor with a twinge of self-directed frustration.

Dismayed at his perceived lack of toughness, Victor learned from Kaiser, the Empire's leader, that this mysterious phenomenon occurred globally. Governments and the Protectorate, he claimed, were suppressing the information to avert widespread panic. How Kaiser had acquired this knowledge remained a mystery to Victor, heightening his discomfort.

Despite his role as a high-ranking officer, Victor grappled with an unsettling sensation lingering at the edges of his consciousness. A persistent paranoia invaded his thoughts, an expectation of imminent danger, a sensation of losing control. He loathed this vulnerability, the nagging feeling that he was no longer in command of his destiny.

Seeking to reclaim that sense of supremacy, Victor directed his focus toward the imminent operation. While he might have articulated a desire to expose the culprit behind the global phenomenon, his true motivation lay in the need to restore his perceived control and dominance. It was a bid to feel good about himself again, a quest for reassurance in a world that had turned unsettlingly unpredictable.

Despite expressing his intentions vaguely, Victor suspected that Kaiser saw through the facades. Surprisingly, Kaiser sanctioned the operation, permitting Victor to pursue his ulterior motive. The unexpected approval raised questions, but Victor chose not to dwell on them now. As long as he could vent his frustration, it was a positive thing in Victor's mind.

Rune, despite being significantly younger than him, looked less enthused. She came closer to him, saying, "Hey. Can't you, like, calm down?" with exasperation. Her disapproval hung in the air, a stark contrast to Victor's unbridled enthusiasm.

"I'm just eager to get things moving," Victor replied, barely masking the edge in his tone. The mysterious phenomena and the unsettling vulnerability it brought lingered in his mind, fueling his need for control.

Rune rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "You're not the only one feeling weird, Victor. I fainted for almost the whole night, but I didn't spend my time pacing around the room like I've lost my head."

Victor shot her a glance, annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Well, we all cope in different ways. I prefer to stay active. It keeps me focused."

She shrugged, "Focused on what? This temper tantrum you dragged me into?"

He smirked, unapologetic. "Call it what you want. It's about reclaiming control, Rune. Something you might understand if you weren't so busy being a skeptic."

Rune sighed, her frustration evident. "This is about more than control, Victor. There's something bigger going on. I can feel it, even if I can't explain it. We need to be careful, not charge in like a bunch of mindless thugs."

Victor's expression hardened, the tension between them palpable. "I've got my reasons, Rune. You should focus on your role, and let me handle mine."

The exchange left an underlying tension as they prepared for the operation. Victor's eagerness mirrored a desire to reclaim something beyond mere control, something Rune sensed but couldn't quite grasp.

Just as Victor was readying himself to issue orders, the door to the room swung open, revealing the silhouette of a figure clad in a paramilitary getup. The air in the room tensed, and all eyes turned toward the unexpected entrant.

"Hey. Who gave you permission to enter? You're supposed to be out there," Rune said, her voice a mix of irritation and authority.

The newcomer remained silent, their face obscured by shadows cast from the dim lights within the room and the mask they were wearing. An eerie intensity emanated from them, and it became apparent that their attention was fixed directly on Victor.

Taken aback by the unwarranted intrusion, Victor narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you? State your business."

The newcomer continued their silent gaze, an unsettling quiet settling over the room. Rune exchanged a puzzled glance with Victor, both registering the unusual presence of the stranger.

Rune took a step forward, her skepticism palpable. "Speak up, or get out. We don't have time for games."

"I..." the newcomer spoke, the voice sounding like it belonged to a young female. "I'm here to stop you."

"Huh?" was all Rune could utter before she was punched in the face, sending her flying and crashing into the monitors.

"Fuck! Who are you?!"

"Just a nobody."

Victor, now on high alert, reached for his weapon, but the mysterious intruder moved with unexpected agility. In a swift motion, she pinned him to the floor, her strength and determination apparent despite her seemingly amateurish movements.

Victor grunted under her grip, assessing the situation. "A brute, eh?" he asked, a wry smile playing on his lips as he tested her resolve.

The masked intruder maintained her silence, a stoic expression hidden behind the mask. Her eyes, however, spoke volumes of conviction and defiance. The tension in the room escalated as the Empire members watched the unexpected confrontation unfold, unsure of how to respond to this unforeseen challenge to their authority.

Victor, despite being temporarily subdued, remained defiant. "You think you can stop us with brute force? You're in for a rude awakening."

As if to emphasize his point, Victor's words were punctuated by the sudden eruption of violence. The newcomer, still maintaining her silence, found herself blasted away, the impact sent the mysterious intruder hurtling across the room, colliding with a concrete wall. A muffled groan escaped from beneath the mask as she struggled to regain her bearings.

Rune, fueled by a surge of anger, wasted no time in retaliating.

"Fuck you, you swine! You broke my teeth!" Rune spat out, blood staining her lips as she clutched her face.

Victor, amused by the chaos unfolding, couldn't resist a sarcastic comment. "You look more grown up that way."

"Fuck you!" Rune raged, her eyes ablaze with fury. "Stay out of this; I'll kill her myself."

Victor raised an eyebrow, observing the heated exchange between Rune and their mysterious adversary. The atmosphere in the room crackled with tension as the masked intruder quickly rose up, evidently unfazed by the retaliation.

Victor, unfazed by the commotion, rose from the floor, readjusting his attire with a casual demeanor. "You've got spirit," he said, addressing the masked intruder who struggled to stand amidst Rune's retaliatory assault. "But spirit alone won't save you here."

The mysterious newcomer, undeterred by Rune's retaliation, managed to regain her footing. Her gaze remained fixed on Victor, determination burning in her eyes. It was a silent declaration that she wouldn't back down, no matter the odds.

As the tension in the room reached its peak, the clash between Empire Eighty-Eight and the masked intruder escalated into a chaotic confrontation.

o-0-o​

Oh, shit! What the hell did I just do?! That had to be the most impulsive and idiotic move I've ever made. The plan was to slip into the room, pose as backup, and attempt to disable their communications. Not the most foolproof strategy, but it was better than nothing, right? It definitely did not involve sucker-punching Rune square in the face!

But, dammit, I couldn't help it. That thing was... is just plain grotesque. What the hell even is it? Several tendrils extend from the back of Rune's head into... is that a black hole? A white hole? Just a hole? It's like there's a tear in reality itself.

Yet, that's not what sent me into a panic. It was when Rune came closer, and a small crystal, no larger than a pebble, emerged from her forehead, unfolding like a sinister flower. Then, an eldritch eye within stared—or rather glared—right at me, its tendrils reaching out.

I lost it and swung at Rune. The crystal retracted, and several tendrils shot out from her head and created that hole.

In the midst of this cosmic horror, my mind races. Doesn't anyone else see this? Or is this such a common sight for capes that they're completely unfazed?

The room, initially tense from my abrupt entrance, now descends into chaos. Victor, Rune, and I are locked in a bizarre confrontation, and the dynamics of the room shift into a surreal battleground. Rune, recovering from the sucker punch, retaliates with a mesmerizing display of her powers.

I've seen Rune in action a few times before on television. Her telekinesis can apparently lift an object with a weight of up to a ton (thanks PHO!). If that's the case, then it's safe for me to assume that what she did earlier to me was that she used those broken monitors lying on the ground as projectiles. Why she didn't use her power directly on me remains a mystery, adding another layer of complexity to her already enigmatic abilities.

Victor, on the other hand, is a bit of a mystery himself. I've seen him fight barehanded and with close-range weapons against his enemies, but what are his actual powers? Is he a thinker? A mover? A brute? Or some combination of the three or other powers? The lack of concrete information about Victor's abilities keeps me on edge, heightening the uncertainty of this already chaotic situation.

Victor suddenly dashes towards me, knives in hand. His movements are swift and deliberate, a testament to years of experience in close-quarters combat. As he closes the distance, I instinctively take a step back, my mind racing to decipher his intentions and capabilities.

The glint of the blades reflects the dim light in the room, adding a sinister edge to the unfolding confrontation. Victor's eyes, intense and focused, lock onto mine. There's a predatory aura about him, and I can't shake the feeling that I'm dealing with more than just a skilled combatant.

I rack my brain for any information about Victor, but the files are scant, revealing little about the specifics of his powers. Is he enhanced with superhuman strength, enabling him to overpower opponents with sheer force? Or does he possess an array of combat-focused abilities that make him a formidable adversary in close combat?

Victor lunges forward, a flurry of knife strikes aimed at my position. I evade the initial onslaught, narrowly dodging the razor-sharp blades. The close calls send a shiver down my spine, emphasizing the urgency of understanding Victor's capabilities. Is he relying on enhanced reflexes, or does he possess a thinker power that anticipates my movements?

Amidst the chaos, Rune's telekinetic display intensifies, creating a whirlwind of debris in the room.

"Hey, asshole!" Rune shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of clashing powers and flying debris. She places her hand on the security computers and uses them as projectiles. Sharp fragments of broken screens and metal bits hurtle through the air with unpredictable trajectories, adding a deadly element to the already turbulent battlefield.

The confined space of the room amplifies the danger, and the air is thick with the scent of impending violence. Panic grips me as I assess the limited exits available. The room is too cramped for a battle like this. I need to find a way out! I try to exit from where I entered, but Rune, seemingly realizing that I'm trying to escape, hurls her projectiles at the door.

"Oh, no, no, no. Don't you dare think you can run after declaring war on us, you pussy."

My heart pounds as desperation takes hold. What should I do? What can I do?! I can, uhh... fly, I have enhanced strength...

"Huh."

The answer is there all along! I look at the ceiling, my mind racing to formulate a plan. I hope I'm powerful enough to bust through walls.

With a burst of determination, I leap toward the ceiling, my enhanced strength propelling me upwards. The concrete crumbles as I crash through, creating an opening above the chaos below. The sudden shift in perspective gives me a momentary advantage as I navigate through the debris-filled air, seeking a safer vantage point to reassess the situation.

I land on cold floors, the abrupt transition from chaos to eerie silence unsettling. Now, where the hell am I? The surroundings are dimly lit, revealing a vast storage area for artworks. Paintings adorned with intricate strokes, sculptures exuding an air of classical elegance—I don't know their values, but these look expensive. Am I in the lower ground level of the museum?

Okay, let me gather my thoughts first. The silence in this hidden sanctuary amplifies the drumming of my heart as I try to formulate a plan. Every precious piece of art, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, adds an extra layer of pressure.

Just as I brace myself to proceed cautiously, a heavy thud reverberates from behind me. When I turn back, my heart leaps into my throat—Rune and Victor have followed me, by riding a large piece of rubble to reach this floor.

"What's wrong? Think you could escape that easily?" Rune's voice pierces the stillness, a blend of derision and challenge lingering in the air.

I gaze in their direction, yet also deliberately avoid eye contact.

No doubt, in the recesses of my mind, I register them as Victor and Rune. But, is there something wrong with my sight? Seriously, what the hell is happening?

Initially, it was just Rune, but now Victor too?

From the neck down, I see their distinctly human forms, but as for their faces…that's another story. Their visages are obscured by...damn, I can't quite put my finger on it. Snakes? No, more repulsive. Worms? Perhaps tapeworms? But aren't tapeworms supposed to be opaque, not translucent and crystal-like as these?

Victor fixes me with a predatory gleam. "Enhanced strength and flight. So, you're an Alexandria package, huh?"

I stay mute. I can't bring myself to respond when dozens—maybe hundreds—of 'eyes,' for lack of a better term, bore into me. All share the same hateful glare, as though I'm an affront to them, their most loathed enemy.

How can I be so sure? Because I recognize those eyes. They're the same ones that have stared back at me daily in the mirror after I return home.

Instead of answering, I ready myself to confront them. The 'worms' slither back into Victor and Rune through their nasal holes, eye sockets, and ears, although the tendrils extending from the back of Rune's head remain.

I feel like I'm about to vomit.

"Let's get this over with. We've got a festival to start," Victor says, a twisted enthusiasm tainting his words.

As if on cue, numerous projectiles hurtle toward me—nails, glass shards, and even pebbles. I instinctively raise my arms for defense.

"What the hell?! That's cheating!" Rune protests.

Before my arms, the swirling energy—the force field, as I've dubbed it—reappears, shielding me from Rune's barrage. Relief washes over me. It worked! I feared the force field might not appear, but that's not the case. The mysterious entity within me proves to be a reliable ally, fending off Rune's assault.

"You're also a Shaker?! Damn it, this one's gonna be tricky to deal with," Victor exclaims.

"Then, I'll just crush her head!" Rune manipulates several large rubble pieces, hurtling them toward my head.

You know...I don't understand why some people feel the need to announce where they're gonna attack.

As I raise the force field above my head, anticipating the onslaught of projectiles hurtling toward me, there's a sudden twist in their trajectory. They veer off course, avoiding my defense, and slam into my stomach.

"Oof!"

The impact jolts me, a sharp reminder of the physical toll this bizarre battle is taking. Surprisingly, it's not as excruciating as I expected, but I can't afford to underestimate the threat posed by Victor and Rune.

Regaining my composure, I brace myself for another attack. Another rubble hurtles my way, and this time, I decide against relying solely on the force field. I swiftly dodge, sidestepping the debris with a fluid motion.

"Gotcha."

Victor, having silently maneuvered to my left side, now aims a shotgun directly at me. Panic surges through me—damn, I focused too much on Rune and neglected the imminent danger from Victor.

Instinctively, I crouch, narrowly avoiding the hail of shotgun pellets that tear through the air. The sharp sound of the gunfire echoes through the confined space, adding a chaotic note to the already tense situation.

"Nice try," Victor sneers, reloading his shotgun. "But you can't dodge forever."

As Victor smirks, confident that I can't evade his attacks indefinitely, I decide to flip the script. No more dancing around his gunfire. It's time to take control of this chaotic dance. I brace myself and charge forward, abandoning evasive maneuvers.

With determination burning in my veins, I close the distance between us, closing in on Victor before he can react. His eyes widen in surprise as I slam into him, delivering a powerful blow square in the jaw. The sound of the impact echoes through the storage area, momentarily drowning out the lingering chaos.

Victor staggers backward, momentarily disoriented. The shotgun slips from his grasp, clattering to the floor. A triumphant surge courses through me. It's not just about dodging and defending; it's about seizing opportunities and turning the tide.

I don't grant him a moment to catch his breath. My hands clasp together into a formidable fist, ready to deliver a resounding blow. Victor, recognizing the impending strike, stammers pathetically, "W-wait!"

But I'm beyond waiting. My fist descends with relentless force, connecting with Victor's face in a devastating impact. The satisfying crunch of breaking bones reverberates through the room as his nose crumples under the impact. A spray of blood mingles with the chaos, and a sickening crash follows as his front teeth are sent flying from his mouth.

"Victor!" Rune gasps, her voice laced with a mix of shock and rage. "You sonnova--!"

Before she can complete her expletive-laden retort, I pivot, redirecting my focus toward Rune. The confrontation isn't over, and I can't afford to let her gain the upper ground. Rune, now fully aware of the stakes, summons her telekinetic powers with heightened urgency.

As if commanding a legion of invisible hands, she manipulates debris, attempting to create a protective barrier between us. But I refuse to be hindered. Drawing upon the force field within me, I manifest it as a concentrated shield, deflecting the improvised projectiles with calculated precision.

Undeterred by Rune's desperate attempts to shield herself, I dash toward her, relying on my speed to outmaneuver the barrage of projectiles. I grit my teeth, pushing through the pains and injuries inflicted by the flying debris. Oddly enough, the pain feels almost trivial compared to the torment I endured daily at the hands of Emma, Madison, and Hess. This fight is actually nothing compared to surviving their cruelty.

"Stay away!" Rune yells desperately, her voice echoing in the tumultuous space.

I pay her no heed. There's no turning back now; I'm determined to end this. As I close the distance, I can see the fear in her eyes. Good.

I swing another punch, this time targeting her stomach. The impact is visceral, and Rune gasps for air as I hold her upright. For a moment, her body goes limp. Panic surges within me as I quickly check for signs of breathing. Thankfully, she's still alive. I managed to knock her out without causing any permanent harm.

As relief courses through my veins, I take a step back, allowing the weight of the situation to settle on my shoulders. The room, once a battleground, now reverberates with an eerie silence. My breaths are heavy, and the remnants of the dissipating force field linger, a tangible reminder of the intense clash that unfolded moments ago.

"It's... over," I mutter in a sigh of relief. Just as I prepare to walk away from the unconscious forms of Victor and Rune, the voice in my head speaks with an urgency that sends a shiver down my spine.

Taylor, it is not over yet.

"What?" I ask, turning back to glance at Rune and Victor. Victor remains unconscious, but Rune, or rather, the enigmatic tendrils extending from her head, tells a different story altogether.

Without warning, the tendrils lash out at me. I had dismissed them as a mere figment of my imagination, but as they make contact, a cold realization sets in. These tendrils are far from imaginary.

The tendrils wrap around my hands and feet with an unnatural strength, rendering me powerless. Before I can react, they thrust me into the mysterious hole that Rune had conjured.

o-0-o​

In that split second, the world around me warps, and darkness envelops me entirely. The sensation is disorienting, and I can do nothing but scream as the void claims me. The echoes of my voice dissipate into the unknown, leaving me suspended in a realm that defies all comprehension.

Time loses its meaning, and I find myself in a disconcerting void. Panic sets in, my screams swallowed by the emptiness that surrounds me. I attempt to move, but there's no sense of direction in this formless abyss.

As suddenly as the descent ceased, I find myself on solid ground, the surroundings vastly different from the hidden sanctuary within the museum. The air carries an oppressive weight, charged with an otherworldly energy that sends shivers down my spine.

In this unfamiliar space, something materializes before me. Initially resembling a pebble, it radiates a crystal-like beauty, dimly glowing amidst the darkness. The wrongness of its presence induces a cold sweat, and my instincts scream at the unnatural sight.

Then, the impossible happens—it begins to unfold. The transformation defies any logical explanation. It takes the shape of a bird, then seamlessly shifts into a goat. Continuing its metamorphosis, it assumes the form of Rune, only to unfold again and again, like an unholy kaleidoscope of aberrations.

The unfolding doesn't cease. It continues until the once-beautiful crystal morphs into a colossal monstrosity, towering like a building with hundreds of sharp teeth. Its shape eludes my attempts at description, resembling a twisted amalgamation of a starfish and a snail made entirely of crystalline structures.

"Holy mother of..." I mutter in despair, my voice trailing off in the face of this incomprehensible horror.

I stand frozen, paralyzed by the enormity of what unfolds before me. My mind races, attempting to rationalize the irrational. What force in the cosmos could birth such an abomination, defying the laws of nature and sanity?

As the monstrous entity completes its transformation, it fixes its attention on me. The piercing gaze of countless eyes, eerily reminiscent of Rune's eldritch vision, locks onto my very essence. A wave of dread washes over me, eclipsing the initial shock with a bone-chilling realization—I am insignificant in the face of this cosmic horror.

A guttural sound emanates from the monstrous entity, an otherworldly symphony that reverberates in the air. The ethereal resonance chills me to the bone.

"What in the hell is this?" I ask, my voice trembling with fear. The desire to run courses through my veins, but an overwhelming terror roots me in place, rendering me incapable of anything but standing still.

A space beast, the voice in my head calmly asserts.

"A space what?" I manage to stammer, the absurdity of the term grappling with my already overwhelmed senses.

A space beast. That is the term coined by humanity of another universe for monsters like this, the voice explains, its matter-of-fact tone doing little to ease my escalating panic.

Another universe? Like Earth Aleph? The very notion adds a layer of complexity to my already bewildered state.

Taylor, will you fight with me against it? the voice implores.

Fight? Against this colossal, shape-shifting horror? Is the voice out of its mind? How in the world could I possibly stand a chance against such a cosmic monstrosity?

We can do it. You are not alone. I will fight with you, the voice reassures, its conviction oddly comforting amidst the chaos.

I grapple with the audacity of the proposition, but before I can fully process it, the monstrous entity lunges forward, opening its gaping maw with the intent to engulf me whole.

"Fine! Let's do it! I'm not going to die today!" I yell, a defiant declaration aimed at the cosmic horror threatening to consume me.

In response to my resolve, a miraculous transformation ensues. Glowing red lines materialize across my body, creating a luminous network of silver light that pierces through the oppressive darkness. It's as if the very essence of my being radiates with newfound power, a manifestation of the force within me.

As the power courses through me, I experience an unprecedented transformation. In a matter of moments, my stature burgeons to match that of the monstrous space beast. A metallic sheen envelops my entire form, as a resilient silver armor, accented with shades of gray, manifests across my body. My visage assumes an otherworldly quality, my face adopting a silver mask-like appearance. A conspicuous v-shaped red crystal pulsates rhythmically in my chest, emanating a vibrant glow that resonates with the essence of the power surging within me.

The familiarity of this transformation strikes me with a profound sense of déjà vu. It's not the first time I've witnessed this surreal metamorphosis. The dream – or was it a premonition? – flashes vividly in my mind. The silver giant: Ultraman.

Amidst the mental whirlwind, I realize there's no time to ponder the enigma of my transformation. The monstrous space beast lunges at me with primal aggression, its cosmic maw aimed at devouring me whole.

In a display of newfound agility, I evade its predatory advance with nimble jumps and swift sidesteps. Ultraman's enhanced reflexes prove crucial as I throw a flurry of punches, each strike a testament to the power surging through my silver-clad form. The creature recoils, screeching in frustration at the unexpected resilience of its newfound adversary.

The beast, undeterred, resorts to telekinetic prowess reminiscent of Rune's earlier assault. It manipulates the very fabric of the void, hurtling colossal boulders toward me with terrifying force. The projectiles, propelled by unseen energies, collide with Ultraman's armored form, delivering powerful impacts that send me sprawling backward.

The silver giant absorbs the blows, enduring the onslaught with unwavering resolve. My mind races to adapt to the evolving battle strategy. I tap into Ultraman's capabilities, utilizing the energy at my disposal to shield against the relentless barrage.

Recovering swiftly, I spring back into action, closing the distance between the beast and me. My fists, clad in the ethereal glow of Ultraman's power, strike with precision. The cosmic entity retaliates with a renewed frenzy, tendrils lashing out in intricate patterns, attempting to ensnare and subdue me.

The skirmish continues, an otherworldly dance unfolding within the cosmic tapestry. Each move, each clash, resounds through the void as I grapple with the nefarious space beast. Confronting this menace, my memories of the dream flicker, casting a brief light on Ultraman's capabilities.

A surge of energy courses through my limbs, resonating in my very core. Seizing the moment, I unleash a barrage of flying energy blades that slice through the tendrils of the monstrous entity. The beast recoils, screeching in agony as the blades find their mark.

Capitalizing on the creature's vulnerability, I propel forward, delivering a devastating energy-infused punch that sends the beast staggering backward. As the malevolent force struggles to regain its composure, I take a step back, summoning the energy within me.

Bringing my arms together in a cross-like formation, the cosmic energy pulsates with an ethereal glow. My determination solidifies, and with a swift, fluid motion, I unleash a concentrated beam—a radiant force that surges forth like an endless torrent. The energy beam engulfs the space beast, its malevolence shattered in an explosion grander than any I have ever witnessed.

In the aftermath of our triumph, a fleeting joy washes over me. Yet, the celebration is cut short as the fabric of space around us begins to crumble, unraveling like a cosmic tapestry coming undone.

"What do we do? We're not gonna be stuck here, are we?" I voice my concern – though no sound actually comes out of my mouth – seeking answers amid the disintegrating astral environment.

Allow me.

"Huh?" My confusion is momentary as a sudden transformation occurs. Encased within a vibrant red sphere, I find myself hurtling through the chaos of collapsing space with an insane speed.

The sensation is both exhilarating and disorienting as the red sphere propels us through the cosmic upheaval. The kaleidoscopic chaos shifts and contorts around us, but the protective embrace of the red sphere shields me from the cosmic tempest.

As we breach the confines of collapsing space, a dazzling light envelops me.

o-0-o​

I find myself standing amidst the bustling crowd in Central Square. The energy that had woven through me dissipates, and my form reverts back to its original state, a fifteen-year-old girl in casual clothing.

I glance around, disoriented by the sudden change of scenery, only to notice a growing commotion in the square. People are talking animatedly, and a sense of urgency permeates the air.

Determined to make sense of the situation, I approach a nearby bystander and inquire, "Hey, what's going on?"

"Empire Eighty-Eight is what's going on!" the person responds, their tone a mix of excitement and concern. "The PRT and Protectorate came earlier, and they did a sweep of the area! They found members of Empire Eighty-Eight hiding nearby, and Rune and Victor unconscious and heavily injured! The PRT is hauling their asses to secure locations as we speak!"

As the news sinks in, a profound sense of relief washes over me, the weight of anxiety lifting from my shoulders like a heavy fog dissipating. I can't help but feel an overwhelming gladness, an emotion that courses through me like a soothing balm. They came! The heroes actually came! It's a revelation that floods me with gratitude, and a deep reassurance settles within the core of my being.

In the midst of this emotional whirlwind, the voice in my head unexpectedly reaches out, its tone gentle and congratulatory, resonating with an affirmation that catches me off guard.

Well done, Taylor.

Well done? Me? The words echo in my mind, and a mixture of confusion and disbelief tinges my thoughts. What did I do to deserve such praise? I haven't accomplished anything noteworthy, or so I believe.

You saved them. Your choice, your determination, saved them.

The voice persists, attributing a significant weight to my actions that I struggle to acknowledge. No. I didn't do anything. I haven't done anything that deserves...

Sniff.

Wait, what's happening? Is it raining? Damn it, I should have brought an umbrella with me. I glance around, only to realize that the moisture on my cheeks isn't from raindrops but tears. The unexpected surge of emotions catches me off guard, and I hastily wipe away the tears, wrestling with this unfamiliar vulnerability.

I grapple with the unfamiliar sensation, trying to dissect when was the last time someone praised me like this. The answer eludes me, lost in the recesses of memory. The genuine acknowledgment and appreciation from the voice evoke a poignant reflection on the significance of my choices and their impact on the world around me.

o-0-o​

It takes another hour for me to make the decision to head home. Along the way, I notice that the clock has already advanced to 10:22 PM, and a sudden sneeze catches me off guard. I can't help but hope that Dad isn't home yet. The prospect of facing him and having to explain where I've been, especially coming home this late, leaves me at a loss for words. I navigate the streets with a mixture of apprehension and weariness, unsure of what awaits me when I finally step through the front door.

"Hey," I decide to break the silence, feeling compelled to address the enigmatic being within me. "You're Ultraman, right?" I inquire, directing my question towards the ethereal presence that has become an unexpected companion. It–no, he remains silent, prompting me to continue. "I had this dream of you fighting. The word 'Ultraman' just kinda stuck in my mind ever since."

Not a dream, but a memory, he suddenly speaks, the resonance of his voice carrying a weight of ages.

"Your memory..."

Just as I saw glimpses of your memory, you saw mine, he says, his words unveiling a connection that transcends the boundaries of our individual selves.

"Huh... that's... interesting," I remark, my brain too fatigued to fully grasp the implications of this newfound connection. "So, Ultraman is your name?"

One of many. In other places, it is also a title, he explains, his tone carrying a sense of wisdom accumulated over eons.

"Okay? So, it's like a cape name, isn't it?" I quip, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of humor. He doesn't respond, and I cough in embarrassment. Then, I ask, "Hey... why me? Why are you in me?"

You needed help.

"That's it?" I ask, suppressing the urge to delve into the specifics of the help I needed from him. I decide to save that for a later date; there's too much going on today, and if it turns out to be something overwhelming, well... I think I might go crazy.

That is all the reason I need, he asserts, a serene, resolute conviction underscoring his words.

"Wow... you're a goody two shoes, aren't you?" I say, chuckling at the thought of having an interdimensional do-gooder as my newfound partner. He remains silent, perhaps unperturbed by my jest.

I relish the refreshing night breeze, taking a moment to appreciate the newfound camaraderie before bringing up another question. "What should I call you? You know my name already, but I don't know yours, so... tell me, what should I call you?"

Silence reigns for a few moments, the night carrying a weighty anticipation. Then, a single word is carried by the gentle breeze.

Nexus.

"Nexus, huh?" I respond with a grin, finding a certain resonance in the name. "I like it. Well, nice to meet you, Nexus."

Nice to meet you, too, Taylor Hebert.

o-0-o​

End of chapter.

 

[Arcreed]

- Interlude 1 -

o-0-o​

In the murky depths of a corner apartment, hidden away in a dark section of Brockton Bay, a woman found herself ensnared in the unrelenting clutches of a pounding migraine. A chill of discomfort draped her body, causing her shirt to adhere unpleasantly. An attempt to draw back the curtains and welcome the daylight into the room was swiftly abandoned after another sharp surge of pain rippled through her temples.

"Damn it," she muttered, vexation etched across her countenance as the persistent ache scoffed at the medication she had ingested. Hastily, she navigated her way to the bathroom, realizing she hadn't bothered to tidy up after her nocturnal arrival. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she peeled away layers of makeup that masked her true age. With each gentle swipe, the visage of a seventeen-year-old girl emerged.

The mirror declared her as Lisa Wilbourn, with dark blonde tresses cascading around her face. Her appearance, subtly above par, bore vulpine facial features suggesting a sharp intelligence. Freckles adorned the bridge of her nose, imbuing a hint of youthful charm, while her eyes, described as "bottle-glass green," exuded a mysterious allure.

"What are you gawking at?" she snapped at her own reflection, frustration palpable in her tone. Dismissing the internal debate, she chose to retreat to her bed. The apartment might not have been lavish, but it served its purpose.

Reclining on the bed, Lisa pondered the events leading to this moment. The headache wasn't a mere physical ailment; it was a symptom of the taxing strain that accompanied her unique abilities. She wasn't just Lisa Wilbourn—she was Tattletale, a moniker earned in the gritty underbelly of Brockton Bay's cape scene.

The clock on the nightstand ticked away as she closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to meander into the recesses of her past. Memories of her trigger event and the beginning of her career flickered before her eyes like a disjointed movie reel. She could still feel the intensity of that moment, the torrent of information flooding her mind.

With weariness etched across her features, she reached for a notebook on the nightstand. Its pages were a mosaic of cryptic scribbles and meticulous observations—a tangible testament to her unyielding pursuit of knowledge, the potent weapon she wielded in a city where information could decide who lived and who…didn't.

Flipping through the dog-eared pages, worn and weathered by the relentless pursuit of information, she landed on the latest entries. Hasty notes, scribbled with a sense of urgency, chronicled the encounter from the previous afternoon. The inked lines on the paper seemed to engage in a chaotic dance, encapsulating the essence of a serendipitous meeting with a younger stranger—an enigma lingering on the fringes of her existence.

Fate had woven their paths together in an unpredictable twist, and had it not been for the capricious nature of her powers, Lisa might have brushed off the girl after attempting to glean information from Assault and Miss Militia about the events of the night before yesterday. The intelligence her powers provided on this stranger remained a perplexing enigma—distinctly peculiar and frustratingly inconclusive.

[She is human. It is not human.]

The bewilderment stirred within her an insatiable urge, driving her to try to unravel the mystery and prompting her to tail the girl into the library. Her observational acumen was sharp, yet her powers frustratingly yielded only superficial insights.

[Is fearful. Seeking knowledge. Frustrated by the lack of answers. Hints of mistreatment.]

Puzzled, Lisa pondered the girl's anxieties. If bullying were the root cause and she was too fearful to seek help from others, resorting to online help would be a logical deduction.

[Not frightened by bullying.]

Her eyebrows arched ever so slightly.

[It perceives.]

"What?" she inwardly mused.

[It gazes back.]

In an instant, a blinding radiance enveloped her, and a searing headache seized her senses. Bewildered and disoriented, Lisa recoiled when the girl approached. Panic gripped her, and she swiftly declined the girl's suggestion to consult a doctor, fleeing the library in haste.

The subsequent memories blurred into a chaotic frenzy—darting back to her apartment, swallowing headache medicine with a brazen defiance of caution. As she replayed the earlier event, her fingers massaged her temples, yet the persistent ache showed no signs of relenting. But there was no time for respite. A message had materialized on her phone, a missive from her employer, a constant prodding to redirect her focus to the looming quandary at hand.

There was still the research her so-called boss had "kindly requested" her to undertake. Yesterday, the unexpected unfolded concurrently for every parahuman, a phenomenon her powers could only vaguely allude to. The meteor shower the previous night seemed to correlate, yet the enigmatic ailment afflicting every known parahuman, including herself, eluded explanation.

The inquiries lingered, and her employer demanded swift answers. However, her powers, typically a fount of insights, offered only a cryptic response that left her as confused as her employer.

"It was dazzling," she read the conclusion given by her powers, gritting her teeth against the persistent headache, Lisa tossed the notebook aside. It was no use dwelling on the mysterious girl and her blinding light. Instead, she refocused on her boss's urgent message.

Her cramped apartment suddenly felt even more suffocating, and the dim lighting did little to ease the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach. The throbbing in her head intensified as she delved into her powers, seeking answers that seemed to slip through her mental fingers like grains of sand. A spark of frustration flared within her.

"It was dazzling," she repeated with a heavy dose of sarcasm, shaking her head. "Real helpful, powers." Despite the lingering mystery that hung over her like a storm cloud, Lisa found herself unable to shake off the image of the young girl from the library.

There was an elusive quality about her, something that reverberated in the recesses of Lisa's mind. The cryptic encounter had left a lingering unease, a nagging feeling that eluded definition. It was like trying to grasp shadows in the dark.

Her phone buzzed, rudely interrupting her thoughts. Another message from her boss, and this time, the tone was more insistent. The urgency conveyed in the texts matched the urgency racing through Lisa's own thoughts. She needed to unravel this puzzle, and she needed to do it fast.

With a determined glint in her eyes, Lisa decided the time had come to tap into her extensive network of connections. She reached for her phone, fingers dancing over the keys as she dialed the secure number she had reserved for her informant in the PRT—a clandestine ally navigating the bureaucratic labyrinth.

"Hey, Smith, it's Annie," she spoke in a hushed tone, invoking the alias she used to maintain discretion.

On the other end of the line, Smith responded with a gruff acknowledgement. "What do you need?"

Leaning back in her chair, Lisa's mind raced with the urgency of the situation. "I'm chasing down some info on the recent parahuman shenanigans. Anything juicy that might be flying under the radar?"

Smith chuckled, a sound laden with both camaraderie and skepticism. "You know I'm not running a charity here, Annie. What do you have to offer?"

Quick on her feet, Lisa thought fast, her eyes scanning the room for something of value. "How about two rare books?" she proposed, choosing a currency that had proven invaluable in her dealings.

There was a pause on the other end, and Lisa could almost envision Smith weighing the value of the information against her offer. Finally, he grunted in agreement. "Two books. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Deal," Lisa declared, satisfaction coloring her tone. With the information pipeline now in motion, she knew she had a shot at getting some answers. The clock was ticking, and she needed to piece together the puzzle before her employer's patience wore thin with the lack of progress.

o-0-o​

Perched in her office, a robust woman with steely-gray eyes and a bob-style haircut bleached to a crisp shade of blonde surveyed the chaos unfolding in the reports sprawled across her desk. Emily Piggot, the reigning Director of PRT ENE, couldn't shake the gravity of the situation depicted in the detailed accounts provided by Dragon.

Yesterday's upheaval with the Empire and the preceding night's surge in parahuman admissions to hospitals globally had her on edge. She scrutinized the information, her navy blue jacket and skirt lending a touch of formality to the room that echoed with the tension of unfolding events.

The matter with the Empire aside, what was even more worrying was the lack of information regarding the probable causes of the ailment that affected the parahumans. Emily leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm on the desk. The reports were sketchy at best, and the medical community was struggling to make sense of the sudden surge in parahuman hospitalizations.

Fortunately, there weren't any signs of permanent damage to the parahumans – the capes under her jurisdiction. It was a faint silver lining in the midst of chaos, a glimmer of relief amid the storm. Emily couldn't afford to lose any of these capes, not because she had a soft spot for them – she didn't – but because she knew what would hit the fan if she lost one of the few tools she had to enforce authority in this god-forsaken city.

She saw the capes as a double-edged sword, a necessary evil in her line of work. Emily scowled, realizing that, despite her disdain for these masked folks with their fancy powers, they were like the duct tape holding the city together. Lose them, and everything unravels. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she had to admit it.

Sitting back in her chair, Emily drummed her fingers on the desk, contemplating the peculiar balance she had to maintain. The capes may get on her nerves, but they were a necessary evil, like a creaky wheel keeping the machinery of justice moving. Without them, chaos would reign supreme, and that was a mess she wasn't willing to mop up.

A knock echoed through the office, shattering Emily Piggot's concentration. "Come in," she called out, her eyes snapping back from the intricate dance of possibilities on her desk to the present moment. The door creaked open, revealing Miss Militia – or Hannah, as she insisted on being called when not wrapped in her costume – flanked by a doctor assigned to tend to the medical needs of Victor and Rune.

"Director Piggot," the doctor nodded respectfully, his name tag identifying him as Felix Mendez, a senior radiologist. Emily's brow furrowed. Why in the world did Miss Militia bring a radiologist? Suspicion carved lines into her expression as she waited for an explanation.

"Is this about Victor and Rune?" Emily questioned, and Miss Militia nodded in confirmation. "Were the results of their medical check-up... concerning?"

The memory of finding Victor and Rune sprawled in the art storage of Central Square's old museum flashed in Emily's mind. The injuries were brutal, especially Victor's. Emily winced, recalling the extent of the damage to his face. She doubted normal medical procedures could fix it; tinkertech might be the only solution to restore Victor's once recognizable features.

"It's Victor, isn't it? So, you're here to discuss the permission to use tinkertech to fix his injury?" Emily posited, more a statement than a question.

Miss Militia hesitated for a moment before responding, causing a surprised twitch on Emily's face. "Yes and no," she replied, leaving Emily no choice but to demand an explanation.

"Explain," Emily demanded, leaning forward, her gaze fixed on Miss Militia and Dr. Mendez.

Miss Militia took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and determination. "Director, Victor's injuries are bad, but they're still treatable. There are plans for reconstructive surgery and the potential use of tinkertech to mend the damage. However," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "Rune's situation is different."

Emily's forehead creased with worry. "Different how?"

Miss Militia hesitated, glancing at Dr. Mendez for a moment before turning her attention back to Emily. "Rune's visible injuries are much less severe than Victor's, but there's something... deeper. Something we can't heal, no matter what we try."

Emily's expression tightened, a mixture of frustration and concern playing on her features. "What do you mean, something you can't heal?"

Dr. Mendez spoke up, his voice measured. "Director, it's not a matter of conventional injuries."

He then placed a folder on Piggot's desk, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. "These are the brain imaging images of Victor, Rune, Miss Militia, and a non-parahuman PRT operative." Dr. Mendez's hands were steady as he revealed the contents of the folder. "Take a look and compare the ones between Victor and Miss Militia with the ones between Rune and the PRT operative."

Piggot carefully held up the images, studying each one intently, her brow furrowed. She claimed she didn't see much difference, except that the skull of Victor appeared damaged. "What am I supposed to be seeing here, Doctor?"

Mendez leaned forward, pointing out details on the images. "Look closer, Director. Focus on the brain structures, particularly the region known as the Corona Pollentia. It's a part of the brain that all parahumans are theoretically supposed to have."

Piggot squinted at the images, her eyes narrowing in concentration. After a moment, she looked up at Dr. Mendez. "I still don't see anything wrong. What am I missing?"

Mendez then directed her attention to the comparative images of Rune and the non-powered PRT operative. "Now, compare Rune's brain structure with the non-powered individual. Do you notice anything different?"

Piggot put the images side-by-side, her eyes scanning them meticulously. Suddenly, her eyes widened. Rune's brain structure lacked something that all parahumans were theoretically supposed to have. Her brain lacked the Corona Pollentia.

"What the hell does this mean?" Piggot demanded, her voice sharp with urgency.

Mendez took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "The images suggest that Rune used to have the Corona Pollentia on her brain, just like any other parahuman. But it's missing now. It's as if it has been... erased."

Piggot stared at the images, the weight of the revelation sinking in. "Erased? Don't you mean 'removed'?"

Mendez shook his head, stating, "I would have agreed with you, except there were no signs of external injuries to suggest that the Corona Pollentia had been physically removed. There's no incision, no trauma. It's like it was never there in the first place."

Piggot's brow furrowed in frustration. "So, what are you saying? Are you telling me this unknown can just erase a parahuman's apparent source of powers from their brain without leaving a trace?"

Unknown. That was the temporary designation given to the unknown parahuman who was recorded engaging in battle with Victor and Rune in that storage area. She did not know yet what classifications would be given to this person, but judging from the footage, she would bet her savings that it would include Brute and Shaker.

In fact, she would throw in Mover and Breaker as well, since the footage showed the unknown disappearing in a flash of light.

She had ordered Armsmaster to study the footage, but he was being unusually slow with his report. Perhaps she should give him a call after this.

Mendez nodded solemnly. "That seems to be the likeliest case."

Piggot leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. "Is it possible that Rune never had one to begin with? Maybe she was an exception."

Mendez shook his head, his expression unwavering. "The shape of her brain strongly suggests otherwise, Director. The Corona Pollentia was there, and now it's not. This is not a natural occurrence. It's a deliberate act."

Piggot's frustration grew, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "What does this mean for Rune? Does this mean she's lost her powers?"

Mendez exchanged a glance with Miss Militia before responding. "We don't know yet, Director. Rune is still unconscious, and we haven't been able to conduct the necessary tests. We need to understand the extent of this alteration before we can determine the impact on her powers."

Piggot nodded, a sense of urgency settling in. "I want the tests done as soon as possible. We need to know what we're dealing with," Piggot ordered. She leaned forward, her gaze steady as she added, "And make sure this information stays in-house. We can't afford any leaks. The last thing we need is panic and chaos spreading through the city over this. Understand?"

Miss Militia and Mendez nodded in agreement. "Understood, Director. We'll keep this under wraps until we have a clearer picture of what's going on," Miss Militia affirmed.

Mendez, flipping the folder closed, chimed in, "Patient confidentiality will be strictly maintained. We won't compromise the security of this information."

With a collective understanding, the duo dispersed, each with their assigned tasks to unravel the mystery surrounding Rune's condition.

As the door closed behind them, Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair, the weight of the situation pressing on her shoulders.

She sighed tiredly. She really needed to take a break.

o-0-o​

Danny Hebert paced the living room, his anxiety reaching fever pitch as he eagerly awaited his daughter Taylor's descent from her room.

The previous day had thrown him a curveball with a disconcerting call from the school, revealing that Taylor had pulled a disappearing act from her classes and had yet to make a return. While other parents might've been ticked off about a bit of truancy, Danny's concern went far beyond skipped lessons; he feared that something was seriously amiss with Taylor.

The anxiety clawed at him because, come hell or high water, Taylor had always been a picture of resilience. Even in the wake of her mother Annette's tragic demise, she'd soldiered on, trudging off to school without a whiff of complaint, like a warrior marching into the fray. Danny didn't expect her to be immune to grief, but the abrupt departure from her usual rock-solid routine set off alarm bells in his paternal instincts.

He couldn't shake the vivid memories of Taylor soldiering on, supported by her best friend Emma, even after Annette's death. Emma had been a lifeline, a comforting presence for Taylor in those trying times. The camaraderie between the two friends had been a glimmer of hope, proof of Taylor's unbreakable spirit.

Now, as he nervously paced the room, the ghost of Annette haunted him. The woman who had been the bedrock of their family was gone, leaving Danny to shoulder the weight of parenting alone. It was Taylor's dogged determination to lead a semblance of normalcy that had given him the strength to rise from the ashes of grief. The routine, the mundane rituals of daily life, had served as a therapeutic balm for both father and daughter.

But today, with Taylor deviating from her routine, anxiety clung to him like a stubborn shadow. Regret gnawed at him for not rushing home immediately after that disconcerting call. He had to deal with serious issues involving some of the dock union members, and by the time he returned, Taylor was already fast asleep.

The fear that something sinister might be unfolding in her life, beyond the challenges she had already faced, refused to let go. As he waited, the house echoed with unspoken worries, the silence punctuated only by the ticking of the clock. Danny prayed for Taylor to walk through that door, dispelling the heavy atmosphere with her mere presence.

As Taylor hurried down the stairs, her bag slung over her shoulder, Danny couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and concern. Relief at seeing her safe and sound, yet concern over the mysterious events of the previous day that had left him on edge. He wanted to talk to her about what happened but hesitated, not wanting to push her away with intrusive questions.

"Hey, Taylor," Danny called out, trying to sound casual. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

Taylor glanced up, her expression slightly hesitant. It was a subtle shift that didn't escape Danny's notice. "Just some things I want to take care of," she replied, her gaze avoiding his.

Danny arched an eyebrow, a curious frown playing on his face. It had been a while since Taylor had mentioned having things she wanted to do. The last time she had expressed such determination was before the tragic loss of Annette. That memory lingered in the air, unspoken yet palpable.

"Things to do, huh?" Danny said, trying to keep his tone light. "Mind filling your old man in? It's been a bit since you mentioned having plans of your own."

Taylor shifted on her feet, a mixture of reluctance and vulnerability in her eyes. "Dad, I just need some time to figure things out, okay? It's nothing to worry about."

Despite her reassurance, Danny couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He took a deep breath, deciding to tread carefully. "Taylor, I got a call from the school yesterday. You left your classes in the morning and didn't go back. What's going on?"

Taylor sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit. "I... I needed a break, Dad. Just some time to clear my head."

Danny studied her face, searching for clues. "Is everything alright, kiddo? You've been through so much, and I just want to make sure you're okay."

Her gaze met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of vulnerability before she masked it. "I appreciate it, Dad. Really. But I can handle it. I just need some space right now."

Danny nodded, his concern not fully assuaged but understanding her need for independence. "Alright, Taylor. Just remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. You don't have to face everything alone."

Seeing Taylor headed toward the door, Danny couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath the surface. He watched her leave, a mix of worry and fatherly love etched on his face.

As Taylor reached for the doorknob, poised to step out, she abruptly halted in her tracks. A moment of hesitation washed over her, and she seemed to mumble something under her breath—words that Danny strained to catch but couldn't quite make out. It was like she was having a conversation with herself.

Unexpectedly, Taylor pivoted back to face Danny. There was a steely resolve in her eyes, a determination that caught him off guard. Breaking the silence, she addressed him directly, her words slicing through the tension.

"I'm heading out, Dad. Catch you later."

The sudden declaration left Danny momentarily stunned. He scrutinized her face, searching for any clue about what might be brewing beneath the surface. There was a fleeting vulnerability in her eyes, a cocktail of determination and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Sure thing, Little Owl," he responded, his voice gentle but laced with concern. "Take care of yourself, alright? And remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

With that, Taylor nodded, offering a small but genuine smile. She stepped through the doorway, and the door clicked shut behind her, leaving Danny standing in the hushed living room, his thoughts swirling with a mix of worry and curiosity.

"Catch you later, huh?" He couldn't remember how long ago since he last heard those words from his daughter. Usually, their exchanges were brief – 'I'm off' or 'bye,' met with a simple 'take care' from him.

Once again, the house settled into an uneasy quiet, the weight of unspoken concerns hanging thick in the air. Danny couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Taylor's sudden departure than she was letting on. As he stared at the closed door, a father's instinct whispered to him that this was just the beginning of a chapter he didn't fully grasp.

For now, all he could do was wait for his daughter to open up to him. So, he lingered in the quiet, poised to lend support whenever she chose to share the burdens that seemed to weigh heavily on her shoulders.

o-0-o​

"How long are you going to stare at the ceiling for?" The query echoed through the room, emanating from a man obscured behind an opaque, glassy helm. Clad in a blue-green skintight suit with a built-in hood and cape, his sleeves draped over his hands, the world knew him as the esteemed hero Eidolon. But to her, he was simply David.

Despite the masked facade he wore, the frustration in his voice was palpable. The recipient of his question sat in a chair, fixated on the pristine white ceiling of Cauldron's base, her gaze seemingly penetrating the walls to a scene beyond.

She was an attractive, pale-skinned woman with black hair that fell in waves, slightly longer than shoulder length. Dressed in a white formal shirt beneath a black suit, complemented by black pants and a white tie, her black fedora rested casually on the round table beside her.

To those assembled around the table, she was known as Contessa.

"David, calm down," intervened another person seated at the round table, a woman with long, flowing black hair. Her appearance suggested Hispanic heritage, and at a glance, she seemed to be in her mid-to-late twenties. Publicly recognized as the hero Alexandria, she harbored a secret identity as the chief director of the PRT: Rebecca Costa-Brown.

David scoffed, his irritation still evident. "Calm down? We still don't know what caused that...that...I don't even know what to call it—attack? Yes, let's go with that. The attack that affected all parahumans worldwide, and we still have no clue what's causing it," he exclaimed.

"I understand your frustration," acknowledged Rebecca. "I realize the dangerous implications of what happened. If someone or something out there is powerful enough to affect all parahumans, it warrants inclusion in our list of immediate threats."

"And yet, our most revered thinker has said nothing so far," David added, casting a pointed look at Contessa.

For the last 36 hours, Contessa had remained unresponsive to David's inquiries, as well as those from others. Her attention seemed irrevocably fixed on the skies beyond the ceiling, leaving her companions in a state of uneasy anticipation.

As Contessa's unwavering gaze remained locked onto the elusive horizon, David shattered the heavy silence, his impatience bubbling to the surface once again. "Where's the Number Man?" he inquired, the tone of his voice blending concern and frustration in equal measure.

Rebecca, leaning back in her chair, let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the situation. "Still resting," she replied, running a hand through her hair in a gesture of weariness. "He claims he feels like he just had the worst hangover of his life."

The door creaked open, admitting a dark-skinned woman with flowing hair dressed in an outfit reminiscent of a doctor's attire. Known as 'Doctor Mother' to those assembled, her entrance altered the ambiance, injecting a sense of solemnity into the room.

Quietly, Doctor Mother approached Contessa, leaning in slightly as she posed a pointed question. "Any significant changes to the paths?" Contessa's continued silence hung in the room like an impenetrable fog of uncertainty.

Breaking the stillness, Rebecca inquired, "What's prompting you to ask that?"

With a measured tone, Doctor Mother proceeded to share troubling news gleaned from their operatives within Brockton Bay's PRT. "Our people have reported worrying developments," she began. "Rune's Corona Pollentia has disappeared."

Rebecca's surprise was unmistakable. Though she had heard of the clashes between Victor and Rune against an unidentified parahuman, the PRT and Protectorate remained in the dark regarding the identity of this adversary. Rune's condition had not made its way to Rebecca's ears.

Doctor Mother delved further into the revelation, disclosing that the Director of PRT ENE, Piggot, had imposed strict confidentiality measures around the matter to stave off panic within their ranks.

Doctor Mother then turned her attention back to Contessa. She repeated her inquiry, her voice slicing through the tension in the room like a blade, "Any alterations to the path?" The collective breath of the room seemed to pause, a shared sense of anticipation filling the air as everyone eagerly awaited Contessa's response.

Despite the palpable tension, Contessa remained reticent, her unyielding focus seemingly impervious to the persistent queries swirling around her.

Undaunted in her quest for information, Doctor Mother changed her approach, addressing Contessa by her given name, "Fortuna." The mere utterance of the name induced a subtle twitch in Contessa's shoulders, a nearly imperceptible reaction that hinted at the gravity of the unfolding situation.

"Fortuna," Doctor Mother pressed on, her tone now a concoction of urgency and expectation, "what are you seeing?" The weight of the escalating crisis hung heavily in the room, and Doctor Mother's question carried a profound sense of anticipation, as though the destiny of the world hinged on the elusive insights Contessa held within her enigmatic sight.

After an unending silence that seemed to stretch on indefinitely, Contessa finally shattered it with a revelation that hung in the air like a closely guarded secret. "…It is out there."

"It?" Doctor Mother echoed, the single word lingering in the room like a mysterious cipher, waiting to be unraveled.

"You're referring to something akin to Scion? Another one of its ilk?" Alexandria probed, her question sending a ripple of tension that tightened the air. Notably, David visibly tensed at the mere suggestion.

Contrary to expectations, Contessa shook her head lightly, her gaze still riveted on the unseen expanse beyond. She then uttered words that felt like a revelation veiled in mystery, "It came to Earth from that brilliant light."

The room collectively absorbed the weight of Contessa's disclosure. The gravity of her words seemed to hang in the air, leaving the assembled group suspended in a moment of profound realization. Doctor Mother, her eyes narrowing with concern, asked, "Is it responsible for the widespread affliction among parahumans?"

Contessa, her countenance still inscrutable, shifted her gaze towards Doctor Mother, her voice cutting through the air with an unwavering certainty. "Yes," she replied, the word hanging in the room like a solemn decree.

Curiosity etched across his face, David couldn't help but voice the burning question on everyone's mind. "What is this…'It''?" he asked, a note of urgency underscoring his words.

Contessa's response was measured and deliberate. "I don't know," she admitted, her eyes betraying a hint of uncertainty. "But it is out there."

The revelation lingered, a heavy fog of uncertainty settling in the room. The assembly exchanged wary glances, each member grappling with the gravity of Contessa's disclosure. The existence of an unknown entity, the architect behind the widespread affliction among parahumans, hung over them like an ominous shadow.

In the midst of the tense atmosphere, Doctor Mother leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Contessa. "Can you path it?" she inquired, her expression unchanging.

Contessa, however, simply shook her head, dispelling any optimism that might have lingered in the room. Alexandria, quick to seek clarification, asked, "Why not? You've always been able to path anyone or anything."

Contessa's response was succinct, her voice carrying the weight of a profound limitation. "It's too bright," she explained. "Dazzling, blinding. My shard cannot see through that brilliance," she said, not bothering to hide the admiration in her tone.

A collective hush descended upon the room as the heroes absorbed the gravity of Contessa's words.

Rebecca, the chief director in her dual identity, broke the silence, her voice steady despite the growing unease. "So, we're left in the dark," she mused, a touch of irony in her words.

Contessa, her gaze unwavering and determined, nodded. "Yes, we are," she affirmed, a tinge of resignation in her tone. "We must deal with it. We cannot let this new variable derail everything."

David, ever astute to subtleties, caught the nuanced tone in Contessa's words. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. "You know where to find this thing, don't you?" he pressed, demanding answers with an intensity that hung heavy in the room.

Contessa met his gaze with an unwavering stare. "Since 36 hours ago," she began, her voice measured and deliberate, "there are certain paths that have become near invisible to me. These paths have been obscured by the same blinding light."

The revelation hung in the air, a weighty truth that seemed to intensify the gravity of their situation. The room held its breath, waiting for Contessa to unravel the implications of her cryptic statement.

Contessa continued, her words carrying a solemn weight. "These obscured paths, each one of them, shared a common denominator," she declared, her gaze scanning the faces of her attentive audience.

A collective tension settled over the room as everyone leaned in, their focus solely on Contessa. The implications of her revelation were profound, and each hero in the room felt the weight of uncertainty bearing down on them.

"All of them were connected to Brockton Bay."

o-0-o​

End of chapter. Review and Criticism are welcomed.

A/N: Dear readers.

I hope you like what you read so far. I was planning to make a PHO Interludes for this fic but, sadly, after a few tries, I realized that I was simply not good enough to make PHO interludes. As such, I will leave it open if anyone wants to create PHOs of this fic, while I will be focusing on the main story.

Thank you for your attention.

 

[Arcreed]

- Questions 2.1 -

o-0-o​

The blaring sound of the alarm yanks me out of sleep, and I sluggishly sit up in bed. My surroundings gradually come into focus as I blink away the remnants of slumber. The room remains dimly lit, with only a faint hint of morning light seeping through the blinds.

I reach out, searching groggily for my glasses on the bedside table. The urgency of the alarm spurs me into action, but the mental exhaustion from the previous night weighs heavily on me. I struggle to remember where I left my glasses after stumbling home. The chaotic events from last night replay in my mind, and I realize that even changing out of my clothes had slipped my mind.

Finally, I spot my glasses under a discarded jacket, a reminder of my rushed entrance into the room. Slipping them on, the world sharpens into focus, revealing the mess surrounding me. My bag lies on the floor, its contents strewn across the room.

With a sigh, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and push myself upright. The cold floor beneath my bare feet jolts me awake further. Glancing at the clock, I see that it's just before seven in the morning.

"Is it just me, or do I feel... light?" I ponder aloud. Given my lack of athleticism and exercise routine, I would have expected more sore muscles after last night's events.

Unless...

"Hey, Nexus, do you have any insight on this?" I address my enigmatic companion.

Wait. How exactly should I treat him? Can I even consider him a roommate? How exactly does this whole thing work? Is he like a…parasite attaching himself to me? Referring to him as a parasite seems impolite, but I'm unsure how else to describe him.

I don't mind if that's how you perceive me, Nexus responds calmly, acknowledging my view of our peculiar relationship.

"Okay, spill the beans. You can read my thoughts, right?" I inquire, cutting through the uncertainty with a straightforward question.

Yes, Nexus affirms concisely, leaving little room for ambiguity.

"Can't you, like, turn that off?" I inquire, hoping for a bit of control over the invasion of my privacy.

I cannot, Nexus replies with an air of finality, dashing my hopes of maintaining mental boundaries.

"Why not?" I question, my frustration becoming palpable.

Because we have merged. I would need to leave your body to separate your thoughts from mine, or vice versa.

"Let me take a wild guess... you're unable to do that, too? You know, leaving my body?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm; my skepticism tinged with the frustration of receiving evasive answers.

No, comes Nexus's concise reply, delivering a blow of continued uncertainty.

"Can I, at the very least, know why?" I press, seeking some clarity in the face of persistent ambiguity.

However, there is no response. The ensuing silence intensifies my frustration, leaving me in the dark regarding Nexus' motivations.

"Alright, so you don't want to disclose it. Fine," I concede, a tinge of frustration evident in my tone.

Hastily changing my clothes, I make my way to the bathroom, hoping that a splash of cold water on my face might alleviate some of the mounting anger.

Standing before the mirror, with water cascading over my hands, I feel the anger simmering within me. It's not just about Nexus and his answers—or lack thereof; it's also about the entire predicament I've been thrust into.

The events of the past 24 hours have upended my life, and the one thing I can't stand the most is being kept in the dark when things directly impact me.

What did he mean by "merged," anyway?

Why can't he provide straightforward answers? This is my life, my body, we're talking about.

I am sorry, Nexus' voice echoes apologetically as I dry my face with a towel.

I slowly lower the towel, meeting my own gaze in the mirror. The reflection looks like me, except for one unsettling detail—the eyes. They are glowing red. Yesterday, I was unnerved by this scene, but now I can hazard a guess as to the true identity of this reflection.

"Sorry for what, Nexus?" I question my 'reflection.'

That I cannot divulge the answers to those questions, Nexus responds cryptically.

"I..." I struggle to find the right words. "I don't... look, I don't understand."

When the time is right, I shall give you the answers, Nexus reassures, though his words offer little solace.

"Great. Just... great," I mutter, attempting to keep my emotions in check amidst the mounting uncertainty.

It is for your own good, Nexus asserts.

"For my own good? Who are you to decide that?" I retort, my frustration boiling over like a pot left unattended.

I wait a few minutes for Nexus's response, but he remains silent as a ghost. "You know what? Screw it. I don't have time for this—not when I still have to go to school and deal with all the crap over there."

Retreating to my room, I swiftly gather my belongings, feeling the weight of unresolved thoughts pressing down on me like a heavy blanket.

I need to find a place, somewhere I can vent out my frustration, but where? I feel like screaming and throwing a tantrum, but I can't do it here in my room. I don't want to cause Dad to worry.

I shake my head, deciding it's better to head out first and get some fresh air. Hopefully, that would clear my mind.

Heading downstairs, I pause the second I lock eyes with Dad.

"Hey, Taylor," Dad greets me, his voice tinged with concern. "Where are you off to in such a rush?"

Where indeed? All I want is to find a place where I can untangle the mess of thoughts swirling in my mind without anyone interrupting.

They say home is your sanctuary, but for me, it's far from conducive to peace of mind. Too many painful memories linger here, making it impossible to think clearly.

"Just some things I need to take care of," I reply, hoping to deflect his probing questions.

"Things to do, huh?" Dad presses, his skepticism evident. "Care to fill your old man in? It's been a while since you mentioned having plans of your own."

"Dad, I just need some time to figure things out, okay? It's nothing to worry about," I assure him, mustering a facade of composure despite the turmoil within.

"I got a call from the school yesterday," Dad continues, his worry deepening. "You left your classes in the morning and didn't return. What's going on?"

So, that's what this is about.

"I... I needed a break, Dad. Just some time to clear my head," I lie, avoiding the truth to spare him unnecessary concern.

"Is everything alright, kiddo? You've been through so much, and I just want to make sure you're okay," Dad expresses, his concern touching.

"I appreciate it, Dad. Really. But I can handle it. I just need some space right now," I reassure him, though guilt gnaws at me for hiding the truth.

"Alright, Taylor. Just remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. You don't have to face everything alone," Dad offers, his words brimming with paternal warmth.

I nod, inwardly sighing. I dislike being interrogated by Dad, but divulging the truth about Nexus and the chaos of the past 24 hours is out of the question. I can't burden him with more worries, especially after he finally started to recover from Mom's death.

As I grasp the doorknob, Nexus interjects.

Are you not going to bid him farewell? Nexus questions.

"Oh, now you decide to speak up. Why should I say anything anyway? We'll see each other again soon," I quietly retort, my frustration with Nexus simmering beneath the surface.

Are you certain of that? Nexus's cryptic response only adds to my unease.

"What are you implying?" I demand, feeling a pang of frustration.

It is unwise to take everything for granted, Nexus warns, his words tinged with a hint of foreboding.

As Nexus speaks, fleeting memories of Mom briefly flit through my mind.

"Nexus, you—" I begin before sighing in resignation. "You're a real busybody, you know that?"

Glancing back at Dad, I realize it's been too long since I've bid him farewell like this with him.

"I'm heading out, Dad. Catch you later," I announce, my tone softer now, tinged with affection.

"Sure thing, Little Owl," Dad responds, his voice gentle but laced with concern. "Take care of yourself, alright? And remember, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

I nod, allowing a small smile to grace my lips before leaving the house.

o-0-o​

Stepping off the bus, a blast of frigid December air greets me, sending a shiver down my spine. I gaze at the looming facade of Winslow High, inhaling deeply to steel myself for what lies ahead.

With no clear destination in mind, my feet instinctively guide me here. I resign myself to the reality that Winslow is the only place I have left to go, aside from my own home.

I thought about heading to the Docks, but I quickly dismissed it. I don't have any connections there, save for a few acquaintances in the Union, and I don't want to intrude on their work. Plus, after the altercation with the ABB, the last thing I need is to attract unwanted attention in that area.

I pray those thugs don't remember my face...

I had entertained the idea that I could venture south towards Arcadia. It's a relatively safe area, especially with the Wards attending Arcadia High. But the thought of the long journey to Arcadia and back to Winslow dissuades me. I can't risk the school contacting Dad again.

With a heavy sigh, I make my way inside. The echoes of my footsteps reverberate through the empty halls. In moments like these, when the school is devoid of students, it's almost possible to imagine that this place isn't as bad as it seems. But as I reach my locker, reality comes crashing down, reminding me of just how much of a dump Winslow High truly is.

Drop dead, loser.

The words, scrawled in spray paint, glare back at me from my locker door. I can feel a spark of anger simmering beneath the surface as I take in the malicious message, but it quickly disappears. Though I can't be certain who's responsible, I have a pretty good idea.

There are a few individuals at Winslow who wouldn't hesitate to pull a stunt like this, even in broad daylight.

By now, I've grown accustomed to this kind of treatment, sadly enough. In the grand scheme of things, this graffiti on my locker is actually on the tamer side. It's become a routine occurrence, a sad reminder of my place in the pecking order at Winslow.

I quickly open my locker and retrieve the books inside. There's nothing else of note in there; while others might have adorned the interior of their lockers with personal touches, I couldn't care less about mine. Putting anything of value in there would only invite theft.

Heading to my classroom, it's eerie how peaceful the hallway feels. Without the usual chaos of students bustling about, it's almost as if the school itself is holding its breath, waiting for the storm of the day to arrive.

I open the door to the classroom and settle into my desk, finding solace in the familiar silence. As expected, no one else is here yet.

Sitting down, I gaze out of the window for a good few minutes, allowing my mind to wander. It's strange how, in these quiet moments, I can almost forget the chaos that typically engulfs my life at Winslow. But today is different; today, I'm left alone with my thoughts.

Seriously, now that I have time to ponder it, I realize I've stumbled into something truly outlandish and unbelievable. If Nexus hadn't spoken to me this morning, I might have convinced myself that everything was just a bizarre dream.

With a sigh, I reach into my bag and pull out my pencil case. The familiar weight of the tools inside provides a comforting anchor. Opening my notebook, I take a deep breath, preparing to put the image seared in my mind into sketches.

As my pencil touches the blank paper, I begin to draw. The image takes shape under my hand, and soon enough, I find myself rendering that horrifying creature that emerged from Rune. It's a disturbing sight, etched into my memory despite my desire to forget.

However, despite my best efforts, my drawing ends up resembling incomprehensible scribbles more than anything else—a far cry from the detailed depiction I had envisioned. Sadly, artistic talent has never been my forte, and it shows. Still, I hold onto a glimmer of hope that if I post it online, someone will recognize the creature and offer insight into the strange world I've stumbled into.

They will not, Nexus states ominously, his words dripping with a foreboding tone that sends a shiver down my spine.

Nexus's sudden interjection slices through the silence like a sharp knife, snapping me out of my reverie. Startled by his unexpected interruption, I turn my attention back to the voice within me, trying to decipher his cryptic message.

"What do you mean?" I inquire, my voice tinged with a mix of confusion and apprehension.

Nexus's reply is cryptic yet chillingly informative. Those entities are parasitic beings that have evolved to conceal their true nature within their hosts, hiding as harmless extensions of their hosts as they slumber, he explains, his words painting a disturbing picture of the creatures we encountered.

A wave of dread washes over me as I struggle to grasp the gravity of his revelation. "Wait, hold on... they? Are you saying there's more of them out there? Rune and Victor weren't the only ones?" I question, my voice trembling with disbelief.

The urgency in my tone is palpable as I press Nexus for further clarification. "And hosts? You mean they attach themselves to... humans?" I continue, the implications of his words sinking in with each passing moment.

Nexus's response is chillingly matter-of-fact, confirming my worst fears. Yes, he confirms simply, his words hanging heavy in the air.

"Alright, stop. Stop. Give me a moment here to process all of this," I plead, feeling overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation.

Take all the time you need, Nexus says gently; his voice was strangely a comforting presence in my mind.

"Right, first things first, you really need to stop intruding on my thoughts," I assert firmly, drawing a boundary between us. "Give me some privacy, if you would."

I will do my best, Nexus says.

"You—screw it," I mutter, my frustration bubbling to the surface once again.

Taking a deep breath, I muster the courage to ask the obvious question. "Alright, let's get this one out first. Nexus, where in the world did these monsters come from? You called them 'Space Beasts,' but you didn't mean that literally... right? Like, it was an exaggeration, right? They aren't actually, you know, 'those,' right?" I inquire, hoping for a straightforward answer amidst the chaos.

I was merely informing you of the fact, Nexus replies.

"What?" I sputter, struggling to comprehend his revelation.

They came from outer space. As such, 'Space' Beasts, Nexus explains matter-of-factly, his words sending a chill down my spine.

"Oh. Right. Of course," I mumble, my mind reeling from the revelation.

"And while we're at it, can I assume that you're an alien, too? Just to dispel any other assumptions on my part?" I blurt out, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

From your perspective, I am, Nexus confirms, his admission sending shockwaves through my already rattled mind.

"God... I have an alien inside me," I mumble, the reality of my situation sinking in.

"But that's strange. If you're an alien from space, and these monsters are also aliens from space, then why call them 'Space Beasts'? That sounds like something a human would come up with," I point out, struggling to make sense of the terminology.

I was not the one who came up with that terminology, Nexus clarifies, his explanation only adding to my confusion.

"Right... right. You said it was something humans from an alternate Earth came up with," I recall, trying to piece together the puzzle.

No, Nexus corrects me. It was invented by humans, but not humans from an alternate Earth originating from this universe's Earth, but humans on an Earth from a different universe entirely.

"Okay, stop. Stop. You're making my head spin," I interject, feeling overwhelmed by the complexity of his explanation.

Perhaps a topic for another day, then? Nexus suggests, his tone indicates he is sympathetic to my plight.

"Yeah... yeah... Just... let me digest this stuff first," I concede, feeling mentally drained from the onslaught of information.

A final word of advice for you, Taylor, Nexus interrupts, his voice serious.

"What is it?" I ask, bracing myself for whatever revelation he has in store.

You should try to avoid those empowered humans—or, as you may refer to them, parahumans, Nexus advises, his words sending a chill down my spine.

"What? Why?" I question, feeling a sense of unease creeping over me.

The fact of the matter is their powers come from Space Beasts that have awakened from their slumbers, Nexus explains, his words casting a shadow over my understanding of the world.

"Hold on. Are you saying that capes are direct products of alien parasites?" I ask, struggling to wrap my mind around the implications of his revelation.

Yes, Nexus confirms simply, his admission leaving me reeling with disbelief.

"Alright, I have to know: just how do you know all of this?" I press, desperate for answers.

I encountered one of their kins before I arrived here, Nexus reveals, his admission sending a chill down my spine.

"You did?" I exclaim, stunned by the revelation.

You should have seen it—the memory of my fight with it, Nexus adds, his words triggering a flicker of recognition in my mind.

"...I think I did, but, sorry, I couldn't remember clearly. It all happened too fast and... you know..." I trail off, my thoughts swirling with fragments of memories that refuse to merge into a coherent whole.

I understand, Nexus replies, his voice tinged with understanding.

I'm perplexed. How hasn't anyone discovered this before? If Nexus' words hold true, then... this is too much for me to process right now. I need a moment to collect my thoughts.

"Hmm? Wait a second," I ponder out loud, trying to make sense of the overwhelming information.

"Nexus, you mentioned they could mask themselves to avoid scrutiny and all those things, but how was I able to see those... Space Beasts coming out of Rune and Victor?" I question, seeking clarification.

Because you saw the world through my eyes, Nexus replies, leaving me more puzzled than before.

"What does that mean?" I press for an explanation, but Nexus remains silent, leaving my question hanging in the air.

Just as I'm about to insist on an answer, the classroom door swings open.

"Shitface really gets on my nerve this early in the morning," a familiar voice grumbles, breaking the tense silence.

Sophia Hess enters the room, her gaze landing on me. "Oh. Huh? What the heck? Why's Hebert here this early?" she mutters, more to herself than to me.

Suddenly, her eyes narrow, adopting a predatory gleam. It's as if she's found her morning prey.

Oh, no.

"Hebert," Hess menacingly advances toward me, sending a chill down my spine.

Oh my God.

"You know, I used to dislike waking up in the morning, can't deal with the headache and those shits... but today... I can't say I'm not grateful for it," Hess remarks as she stands before me.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

"Hey," she calls out, grabbing me by the collar, "you listening to me?" she demands.

No. Right now, I couldn't care less about what comes out of your mouth. Not when shadowy, wispy, marble-like eyes are staring at me from behind you.

Motherfucker.

My mind replays the haunting images of the monsters that emerged from Rune and Victor — a Space Beast.

You have got to be kidding me! I inwardly exclaim as the realization hits me.

Hess... is a fucking cape?!

Taylor, move your head, Nexus' voice snaps me out of my shock just in time for me to evade Hess' incoming fist. Reacting instinctively, I deliver a swift body blow in response.

Hess crumples to the ground, retching. "Bleerrghh!"

Wait, I didn't hit her that hard, did I?

I empowered your fist, Nexus admits, shedding light on the unexpected strength behind my punch.

That explains it.

"What the fuck?!" Hess exclaims, clearly taken aback. I can't blame her; I'd be equally shocked if our positions were reversed. After all, I've never managed to dodge her assaults before, let alone deliver a counterattack.

A chill courses down my spine as Hess struggles to rise; a chill that intensifies as the Space Beast behind her thrashes wildly, enveloping Hess with a shadowy substance. Panic creeps in as I grapple with the question: fight or flee? I defeated Rune's Space Beast, so handling this one shouldn't be an issue, right?

Taylor, run, Nexus urgently urges, his voice cutting through my internal debate.

"What?" I stammer, thrown off by the abrupt command.

Run, Nexus repeats, the urgency in his tone heightening. We have yet to recover enough to confront a Space Beast.

But what about Hess?

She will be fine. The Space Beast will not harm her, Nexus reassures me. Run. Now. Before it pulls us into its domain.

Uncertain of my options, I follow Nexus's advice. Casting a quick glance at the disoriented Hess on the ground, I sprint out of the classroom, out of Winslow.

I don't know where I am going, but right now, I just want to get as far away from Winslow, from Hess, as possible.

o-0-o​

A/N: End of Chapter.

I need a better name for this part. 'Questions' just sounds so…generic.

Also, just want to inform that this fic is available on SB, FF and Ao3 too.

 

[Arcreed]

- Questions 2.2 -

o-0-o​

I've lost track of how far I've run from Winslow; my surroundings blur into an unfamiliar landscape. I wasn't paying attention to where I was headed, my mind reeling from the shock of discovering Sophia—of all people—Hess is a cape.

Of all people, it had to be Hess!

Does she have a secret identity? Which organization does she belong to? I can rule out the Wards and Protectorate; they wouldn't tolerate someone like Hess among their ranks.

Empire Eighty-Eight is out of the question, too; their racist ideologies would never accept a black girl like Hess. All that purity nonsense.

As for the ABB, forget it. There's no way Hess could function under Lung's leadership.

In fact, it's hard to imagine Hess working with any organization, period.

Taylor, this is far enough, Nexus says, breaking through my thoughts.

I halt my footsteps and glance back. Sure enough, Winslow is no longer visible from where I stand.

"Alright, where am I now?" I inquire, surveying my surroundings. It's a bit hard to pinpoint my exact location; perhaps somewhere between Winslow and Downtown. Then again, there are no skyscrapers nearby to confirm my suspicion.

Spotting a cafe nearby, an idea strikes me – perhaps someone there could help me orient myself. I make my way towards the establishment.

As I step into the cozy cafe, a wave of warmth greets me, wrapping around me like a comforting hug. With her friendly demeanor, the waitress welcomes me with a bright smile and a cheerful voice.

"Welcome! Would you like a table for one?" she asks, her tone exuding warmth and hospitality.

I nod in appreciation, taking in the inviting ambiance of the cafe. Despite its unassuming exterior, the interior boasts tasteful decorations and cozy furnishings. My eyes catch sight of a picture featuring Brockton Bay's College football team and signed uniforms from Arcadia High's renowned alumni, adding to the cafe's charm.

Suddenly, I feel a bit out of place. Could this cafe be a favorite spot among local celebrities?

Taking a seat, I nervously glance around the room, noticing only one other customer—a young girl seated at the farthest table. She appears to be around 11 or 12 years old, her wavy blond hair cascading elegantly over her shoulders.

"Would you like to see the menu, or do you already know what you'd like to order?" the waitress inquires, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Umm, I'll take a menu, please," I reply, feeling a bit flustered.

"Alright, I'll be right back with that," the waitress assures me before heading off to fetch the menu.

As I wait for her return, I can't help but steal a quick glance at the young girl who waved her over. She seems to have caught my attention as well, her presence radiating an aura of curiosity.

"Hey, Beth?" the young girl calls out, waving her hand to grab the waitress's attention.

Beth, the waitress, turns towards her with a warm smile. "Yes, Missy?" she responds, making her way over to the girl's table with gentle grace.

Missy, her eyes bright with curiosity, leans forward eagerly, her excitement palpable. "What's the deal with this new drink? The 'wake-up series' or something?"

Beth chuckles warmly, her smile infectious. "Oh, Missy, that one's strictly for the grown-ups. It's packed with caffeine; you're a bit too young for that. Besides, with your energy, you don't need any help staying awake."

Missy pouts, crossing her arms defiantly. "Stop treating me like a kid. I can handle it!"

Beth's laughter rings out, filling the air with a joyful melody. "You're growing up fast, Missy, but not quite that fast."

Their playful banter catches my attention, and I find myself captivated by their easy rapport. It's clear they share a deep connection as if they've been friends for years.

Sensing my gaze, Missy shoots me an apologetic glance. "Sorry for the noise," she says sheepishly.

I offer a smile. "No–no problem at all. It's nice to see you two having fun."

Returning with the menu, Beth places it in front of me. "Here you go. Take your time deciding."

"Thank you," I reply gratefully, glad for the distraction from the chaos of Winslow.

As I begin to peruse the menu, I remember my original intention for coming to this cafe.

"Excuse me," I call out to Beth. "I'm actually a bit lost. Could you tell me where I am? I'm not familiar with this area."

"Darling, you're about a quarter of a mile away from Arcadia High," Beth replies with a warm smile.

Wait, Arcadia High? But that means...

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realize it's a minute past eight in the morning. I arrived at Winslow around 7:25 am and spent like 15 to 20 minutes there before leaving.

So, I made it from Winslow to Arcadia High in less than half an hour, on foot?

And I'm not even tired.

Okay, Nexus, I think I said it yesterday, but I'm going to say it again – this is incredible. I mean, I could start going to school on foot from now on or even travel to other places since, you know, I can also fly?

Do you truly need them? Nexus interrupts, his question cutting through my thoughts like a knife.

I furrow my brow, puzzled by Nexus's question. Before I can seek clarification, Missy suddenly joins me at the table. Her unexpected presence catches me off guard as she settles across from me, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

"Where are you from?" Missy inquires, her voice laced with genuine interest. "If you're a local, you should know your way around."

"Well, I am from around here," I begin, nodding in agreement. "But I don't often find myself in this area," I explain, sweeping my hand to gesture around the cafe. "You know how it is. When you're stuck in Winslow, it's hard not to feel envious of places like Arcadia."

Missy's eyes light up with recognition. "You're from Winslow?" she exclaims, a smile spreading across her face. "I have a friend who attends Winslow!"

"Really?" I respond, my interest sparked by the unexpected connection.

Missy nods eagerly. "Yeah. She's a bit on the nasty side, though, so I guess Winslow suits her," she remarks casually before catching herself. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," I assure her, interrupting her apology. "Whatever you think about Winslow, I'm pretty sure you're not far off."

Missy winces, my words evidently hitting a nerve. "Ouch, it must suck, then. Your life's got to be quite a mess," she says, her expression sympathetic.

I couldn't agree more.

Sensing the discomfort settling between us, Missy appears to shrink, and an awkward silence fills the air. We exchange uncertain glances, neither of us sure how to break the tension.

"Well...this is awkward," Missy finally says, her tone uncertain. "You know what? How about we start with an introduction?" she suggests, her fingers fidgeting nervously. "I mean, I kinda intruded on you, and I know some of the things I just said were impolite, so I understand if you don't want anything to do with me."

Missy avoids meeting my eyes, looking like a guilty child caught in the act. I can sense her discomfort, and I feel a pang of sympathy for her.

"No, no, it's...fine," I reassure her, trying to ease the tension. "I'm Taylor."

Missy's face brightens, and she offers a warm smile. "Missy Biron, but you can call me Missy," she introduces herself. "I attend a middle school near Arcadia High. It's not as fancy as Arcadia High, but it's not too shabby either."

"Why aren't you at school, Missy?" I ask, curious about her absence.

Missy shrugs casually. "Just waiting for a friend. We agreed to meet up here because it's usually quiet here in the morning, and she left something behind."

"That's true," Beth chimes in, her voice carrying across the cafe as she overhears our conversation. "This place may not have the flashiest exterior, but we take pride in our service and the quality of our food."

Missy shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, maybe if the owner spruced up the exterior a bit, more people would notice it."

Beth's eyes narrow slightly, a hint of mock indignation lacing her voice. "It's not just about appearances, Missy. What really matters is what's on the inside."

Missy smirks. "Doesn't matter how great the inside is if no one's coming through the door. Just saying."

As their banter continues, a small smile plays on my lips, entertained by their lively exchange.

Suddenly, the creak of the door opening grabs my attention. Before I can even turn my head, Missy jumps up from her seat and calls out, "Big V! Over here!"

Big V? The nickname intrigues me.

"Did I make you wait, little V?" a spirited female voice responds from behind me.

Turning around, I'm momentarily stunned. There, at the entrance, stands a tall, stunning young woman with platinum-blonde hair cascading down her back like a river of molten gold. She's dressed in a white one-piece dress, the hem ending gracefully at her mid-thigh, and a vibrant red denim jacket completes her ensemble. Her flawless, porcelain skin radiates natural beauty that leaves me in awe.

I recognize her instantly. Who in Brockton Bay wouldn't? She's none other than Glory Girl, a revered hero affiliated with the New Wave.

No—without her iconic costume, she's simply Victoria Dallon.

But, regardless of whether she's Victoria Dallon or Glory Girl, it doesn't change the fact that she's a hero, a local celebrity here in Brockton Bay.

Meeting one of the golden children of the New Wave face to face is surreal. I never imagined I would have the opportunity to see her up close like this.


As Victoria approaches our table, my initial excitement swiftly transforms into dread, creeping up my spine like a chill wind on a winter's night.

Long, sinewy tendrils, almost translucent and hair-like, wrap around her from head to toe, forming a skin-tight cocoon. They're so faint and barely visible, yet unmistakably present, gently probing the air around Victoria.

Then, it emerges—the 'eye' protruding from Victoria's chest, fixating entirely on me.

A Space Beast.

Damn it. Panic begins to well up within me. Nexus's words about capes being connected to these monsters suddenly hit home, and the implications become terrifyingly clear.

Whether hero or villain, it doesn't matter. All capes are tethered to these Space Beasts.

The tendrils inch closer to me, slow but relentless. I want to flee the store, but I can't possibly push past Glory Girl herself. After all, who doesn't know what she's capable of? She's Brockton Bay's version of Alexandria—a powerhouse with flight and invulnerability. If I were to attempt it, I'd likely end up with broken bones.

The last thing I need is to be mistaken for a criminal or a villain. That would be a nightmare.

Nexus, what should I do?

Breathe slowly and calm down. It shows no sign of aggression; there is no need to provoke it, Nexus advises, his tone calm and soothing.

Right. So, standing still is the best course of action, then? It's easier said than done.

As the tendrils reach me, it begins to gently caress my skin. I try to steady my breathing, following Nexus's advice. The sensation is unnerving, like a cold breath against my flesh, but I force myself to remain composed.

Closing my eyes feels like the natural response, a way to shield myself from the unknown, but the fear of what might happen next keeps them firmly open.

As the tendrils continue to caress my skin, Victoria takes a seat next to Missy, positioning herself directly in front of me. This puts me in an unfortunate predicament where I am now face to 'eye' with the Space Beast, its unwavering gaze fixated on me. Despite my fear, I try to remain composed, reminding myself not to provoke it.

Despite the discomfort, this shift in Victoria's position also presents an opportunity for me to leave. With her no longer blocking my path, I could hopefully make a swift exit without drawing too much attention to myself. But before I can act on this impulse, Missy's voice breaks the tension.

"Taylor, let me introduce you to Victoria! You know, Victoria Dallon? Glory Girl?" Missy exclaims excitedly, gesturing towards Victoria as if I need an introduction to one of Brockton Bay's most famous heroes.

For a moment, I freeze, unsure of how to respond. On one hand, I want to escape this surreal situation as quickly as possible. On the other hand, I can't risk offending Missy or arousing suspicion by declining the introduction.

Suppressing my rising panic, I force a smile and nod. "Yes, of course. It's nice to meet you, Victoria," I say, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to appear composed.

Victoria's expression softens as she regards me with a measured curiosity, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Likewise," she replies, her tone composed and inviting.

The 'eye' of the Space Beast comes closer to me, fixing its gaze on me in what appears to be a curious expression.

Huh. That's…strange. Unlike Rune and Victor's Space Beasts that were glaring at me with intense hostility, this one's stare is more akin to... I don't know, a child's inquisitive gaze, maybe? It's a peculiar contrast as if the creature harbors a different intent or, perhaps, a lack of malicious intent displayed by the others.

Victoria's gaze remains fixed on me, a blend of curiosity and scrutiny evident in her expression. "She's your friend?" she inquires, gesturing toward me with a subtle tilt of her head and a thumb pointed in my direction.

"No, we just met," Missy responds, attempting to gently lower Victoria's hand. "You should really stop that. Pointing is impolite."

Victoria's scrutiny intensifies, her sharp eyes thoroughly assessing me. I attempt to maintain my composure, but the unwavering focus of a renowned hero is undeniably daunting.

"What makes you so special?" Victoria probes further, her tone laced with curiosity. "Missy doesn't usually warm up to strangers so quickly, yet here you are."

"I-I," I stammer, struggling to find my words as Victoria leans in closer. The proximity is nerve-wracking, but what truly unsettles me is the 'eye' now hovering at the tip of my nose.

"Speak up," Victoria insists, her impatience evident in her tone.

Panic starts to well up within me. What should I do!? Nexus, what's the plan here? Slapping her away is definitely not an option.

Thankfully, Missy interjects, coming to my defense. "Hey, stop that! You're making her uncomfortable!"

Victoria appears taken aback by Missy's assertiveness, but her scrutiny doesn't wane. "What!? I'm just worried about you, okay?"

Missy stands her ground. "You don't have to press her like that. She's not going to hurt me."

"You don't know that," Victoria retorts.

As their argument ensues, my attention remains divided, especially as the tendrils now encircle my right arm with a gentle grip. The sensation is peculiar, akin to a soft breeze, yet the absence of aggression from the Space Beast leaves me perplexed.

Then, an even more confounding event unfolds before me.

The wispy tendrils that once ensnared my arm begin to retreat back into Victoria, but then... then...

Dear God. Can my luck possibly plummet any further?

In a startling turn of events, the tendrils abruptly shift their attention towards Missy.

As Victoria's tendrils edge closer to Missy, reality itself seems to ripple, and a cluster of marble-like 'eyes' materialize in the space surrounding her. These unearthly spheres emit a soft glow, causing a subtle distortion in the air around Missy. They weave an invisible shield, thwarting the tendrils' advances.

Then, thin, thread-like extensions emerge from the 'eyes' and begin intertwining with Victoria's tendrils. I hold my breath as the appendages and tendrils momentarily aglow with otherworldly light.

Could they be communicating with one another?

I'm dumbfounded. The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. Three capes—three Space Beasts—encountered in a single day.

But a more profound realization strikes me like a lightning bolt.

Missy... she's a cape too.

What the hell is this? Is everyone around me a cape or what?

Then it hits me like a bolt from the blue.

Missy seems awfully chummy with Victoria Dallon—aka Glory Girl.

Glory Girl is a well-known hero; a publicly known hero. As such, she is unlikely to associate with villains and ne'er-do-wells.

So, it stands to reason that Missy might be either neutral or, dare I say it, a hero.

Missy mentions attending a middle school near Arcadia High, where many Wards members go.

The Wards—a branch of the Protectorate for young heroes. Missy, being a young cape, could be a prime candidate for recruitment.

Or perhaps…she has already been recruited.

And when Victoria called Missy 'Little V'... it all clicks into place.

I should've pieced it together sooner. The signs were all there.

Missy... is Vista.

No, no, no... this can't be right.

It feels like I've stumbled upon something best left undisturbed.

The unwritten rules.

I've heard rumors and read stories about it, but the unwritten rules are for capes, right? And I'm not... I'm not a cape, am I? I mean, I have powers, but those are from Nexus, so technically, I'm not bound by the unwritten rules, right?

Missy gazes at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Taylor, what's the matter? Are you alright?"

No, I'm far from alright.

I've just uncovered your identity as Vista, Missy.

I... I never wanted this knowledge.

What if someone with the power to manipulate minds targets me? What if they compel me to divulge everything I've discovered? I'd be endangering her. I can't bear that burden.

Damn it, I... I really don't need this.

I admire heroes, but I don't need to unravel the identities concealed beneath their costumes. I understand the purpose of secret identities, I do.

I shut my eyes tightly, wrapping my arms around my knees.

I feel the urge to weep.

I can't handle this weight pressing down on me.

Missy—or Vista, rather—seems to shout something, and I catch snippets of her argument with Glory Girl, but my mind fails to process their words.

By now, all I want is to retreat home. I yearn for sleep, praying that by the time I wake up tomorrow, I will have forgotten all about today's events.

But instead... something far, far worse unfolds.

TAYLOR!

My head jolts in surprise at the resounding shout from Nexus.

Instead of harboring anger towards him for raising his voice, my entire world seems to freeze in response to the surreal scene before my eyes.

Feathers.

There are countless of them.

White plumes scattered amidst shattered windows.

The collective horror is etched on everyone's faces as they gaze outwards.

With a slow motion, I pivot my head to witness the spectacle that has captured their attention.

And the air is sucked out of my lungs.

There it hovers—a monstrous feminine figure.

Manifesting as a fifteen-foot-tall woman, she possesses a waifish and unclothed form, her skin an ethereal pale white. Her facial features exude delicate beauty, adorned with classic allure such as high cheekbones and luscious hair. Yet, her eyes betray an eerie silver hue—dull, cold, and vacant. Her hair, nearly as lengthy as her height, cascades like gossamer strands in a pristine shade of platinum-white.

In addition to her towering stature and stark whiteness, her most distinctive attributes are an abundance of asymmetrically arranged feathered wings, some appearing disproportionately large compared to her slender frame.

With an almost protective gesture, she envelops herself within her three largest wings.

I recognize this entity. It's a sight I've witnessed multiple times on both television and the internet.

"The Simurgh."

The utterance of that name echoes, though I'm uncertain if it came from me, Vista, Glory Girl, or perhaps someone else in proximity.

All that registers in my awareness is the undeniable presence of The Simurgh right before my eyes, merely thirty feet away.

In an equally startling development, The Simurgh fixates her gaze solely on me. Her mouth moves ever so slightly, conveying a silent message.

T

H

E

R

E

Y

O

U

A

R

E

Suddenly, she swiftly soars in my direction, closing the distance without hesitation.

Simultaneously, a radiant crimson light emanates from my chest, casting a luminous glow that bathes the immediate surroundings.

o-0-o​

"There's no doubt about it! Our satellites and surveillance systems have confirmed the presence of The Simurgh!"

"Activate the sirens! Alert everyone to prepare for immediate action!"

Director Piggot's day couldn't have been worse. To be fair, she had never experienced a good day since her assignment to Brockton Bay, but today proved to be exceptionally dire.

About an hour ago, a report reached her desk, revealing that The Simurgh had dramatically altered its course toward Brockton Bay.

Then, the worst-case scenario unfolded. Just moments ago, The Simurgh swiftly descended and touched down somewhere in Brockton Bay.

Piggot wasted no time, promptly issuing orders for the PRT to mobilize their units and resources to locate The Simurgh's location.

In the PRT command center, Director Piggot stood before a screen projecting The Simurgh's live satellite feed. Armsmaster, Assault, Miss Militia, and Dauntless gathered around her, their expressions grim as they analyzed the escalating situation.

Fixated on the screen, Miss Militia commented, "Her current location appears to be near Arcadia High. This is bad. At this moment, most of the Wards are likely heading there for school."

Director Piggot nodded briskly. "Contact the Wards and brief them on the situation immediately."

As Armsmaster readied himself for departure, Director Piggot turned to him, a furrow appearing between her brows. "Where do you think you're going, Armsmaster?"

Armsmaster locked eyes with Director Piggot, his determination unwavering. "I'm going to confront The Simurgh."

Director Piggot's eyes widened in alarm. "Armsmaster, are you out of your mind? Confronting The Simurgh alone is reckless and potentially suicidal!"

Armsmaster, however, stood firm. "Director, I've extensively studied The Simurgh. I have a contingency plan in place. This may be our best chance to contain the situation before it escalates further."

Before Director Piggot could voice further objections, Armsmaster strode purposefully towards the exit, leaving his colleagues exchanging uneasy glances.

Miss Militia stepped forward, her voice tinged with concern. "Armsmaster, please reconsider. The Simurgh's influence is insidious. We need a comprehensive plan before engaging."

Armsmaster paused, casting a brief glance over his shoulder. "I appreciate your concern, Miss Militia, but time is of the essence. I won't allow Brockton Bay to suffer any more devastation."

However, just as Armsmaster neared the command center's exit, the screen suddenly illuminated—a vivid crimson light flashed for less than ten seconds.

Armsmaster halted in his tracks, his gaze snapping back to the screen as a brilliant crimson light engulfed it for a fleeting moment. The intensity of the glow left the room momentarily awestruck.

As the light dissipated, a heavy silence settled over the command center, each member grappling with the inexplicable phenomenon.

Director Piggot was the first to break the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Simurgh... she's vanished?"

Armsmaster's expression shifted from determination to bewilderment as he turned to face the screen once more, scanning for any trace of the enigmatic entity.

A sense of unease permeated the room as the PRT personnel exchanged uncertain glances, grappling with the inexplicable turn of events.

Miss Militia spoke up, her tone cautious. "What... what was that light?"

O-0-o​

End of Chapter

A/N: Bet you didn't expect that development, huh?

 

[Arcreed]

A/n: Sorry for the long delay. I had to complete the current arc of my other fanfic first before I could focus on this story.

I decided to rewrite the whole story from scratch in 3rd person narrative, because I simply couldn't get the sense of scale right using 1st person—especially with the fight with Simurgh. While this was an experiment for me to see if I could write a whole story in 1st person, once I hit the road block, I realized that it simply couldn't convey what I wanted to convey. Not to mention, trying to emulate Taylor's mindset every time I was writing a chapter made me feel a bit depressed and stressed out.

However, I realized that it would be jarring if everything suddenly changed to 3rd person from the fight with Simurgh onwards—as such I decided to rewrite the whole thing. Whether it will turn out better than the old version, I really can't tell at this moment.

The plot remains the same, I just changed the style of the writing, changed some small details and added additional scenes to better convey the story.

The old version of the story had been moved to apocrypha if anyone wants to read it.

Also, I crossposted this story from SB and AO3.

Without further ado, here's the revised prologue. Hope you enjoy it.

o-0-o​

Chapter 0.

o-0-o​

She gazed up at the night sky, her eyes tracing the few stars still visible, though dimmed by the golden light slowly consuming the heavens. Each step felt heavier as she forced herself to walk toward the edge of the docks, her heart weighed down by the ominous glow that stretched across the firmament.

That golden light—enticing and yet terrifying—was the avatar of death itself. Its tendrils, shimmering and serpentine, reached out to every corner of the sky, spreading relentlessly toward the farthest reaches of the earth. The sight of it stirred a sinking dread deep in her stomach. From the heart of the glow, beams of searing energy shot out like arrows, igniting everything in their path and casting the world further into flames.

She knew where she had to go. She had been defeated, yes, but she had not yet been beaten. Gripping the cold, petrified Evoltruster in her hand, she pressed forward, each step a battle of will as she endured overwhelming pain and fatigue that assaulted her. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, mingling with the blistering heat of the fires. All around her, the desperate cries of people echoed, their voices pleading for help, while the heroes—those with capes and those without—fought valiantly, striving to save every life they could.

She saw it all—the chaos, the destruction—and felt the weight of it pressing down on her, yet still, she walked on, toward that place where he fell.

With each step, her heartbeat quickened, thudding loudly in her chest. Her skin tightened with tension, muscles aching under the strain of fear and responsibility. She felt like crying; she wasn't sure how many lives had already been lost because of her failure.

But she couldn't allow herself to break. She couldn't give up.

As long as she kept going, she knew he would answer. He had to. Even though his presence had vanished, something deeper than reason told her he was still there. It wasn't logic that guided her; it was a bond—one that transcended words or explanation.

Reaching the edge of the docks, she stood for a moment, breathing in the salty air, listening to the waves lapping against the shore. The ocean's scent was sharp and bracing, cutting through the stench of smoke and ash. She closed her eyes for a brief second, knowing that this moment, this place, was where it would all end.

This would be the final battle.

Opening her eyes, she looked out into the distance, beyond the golden light, where the true threat lay waiting. The weight of the responsibilities thrust upon her felt insurmountable—too much for any one person to carry, especially someone like her.

She wanted to run.

The enormity of the task before her made her breathing ragged. Fear curled in her chest, insistent and suffocating.

She wanted to run.

But she wouldn't.

If she had been the same person she was just a few months ago, she would have fled without hesitation, trembling in fear. But that girl no longer existed. She had been forged into something stronger, something resolute.

Her gaze fixed on the distant figure. It, too, had noticed her presence, gathering its energy, focusing its destructive power toward her.

But then she saw them—a legion of armored heroes, their shining armor reflecting the golden glow as they flew toward the source of the light. They charged in without hesitation, buying her the precious time she needed to reach him.

A small smile tugged at her lips. The sight of those heroes, clad in armor so familiar, stirred a faint flicker of hope within her. That woman—the one who looked up to him—had outdone herself.

And then, more arrived. The reinforcements came, one after another. Whether they were capes or ordinary humans, they were all fighting back. None had given up.

They were all prepared to fight to the bitter end, each with their own reasons for standing against this overwhelming force. Some fought to protect the ones they loved. Others sought to push themselves, to see how far they could go against an unimaginable foe. Some fought simply to survive, desperate to live another day. And some—some fought so they could still greet tomorrow with hope in their hearts.

Her breath began to steady, her heart rate slowing as she closed her eyes for a moment. Now, it was her turn to answer them. Their will, their hopes, and their prayers—unspoken yet powerful—had reached her.

She turned her gaze to the dark, roiling sea, where he fell after they were defeated. Her eyes softened as she whispered, "Can you hear their voices?"

The sound of her voice was lost in the roar of the waves. She closed her eyes for a moment, before shouting into the night, "Hey!! You can hear them too, can't you!?"

There was no reply.

"They're still fighting!" she cried, louder this time. "They're putting their lives on the line for this! They're—!" She hesitated, her voice breaking. "They're waiting. For you. For us. So don't you dare tell me you can't hear them!"

Again. There was no reply. The silence weighed heavily on her heart.

But she refused to give up. Gritting her teeth, she quickly climbed over the railing, her pulse quickening as the cold spray of the sea hit her face. Without hesitation, she jumped into the ocean below, the water crashing around her like a living force.

If he couldn't answer her, then she would go to him. She would find him, and she would wake him. She would pull him back into the light, even if she had to slap him awake herself.

The sea was relentless. As she swam towards that distant spot, the waves battered her from all sides. More than once, they dragged her under, the cold depths swallowing her whole.

"Hah! Hah!!" Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her lungs burning as she fought to stay afloat. The water was unforgiving, but she kept pushing, each stroke more desperate than the last.

A powerful wave surged over her, pulling her beneath the surface. Her arms and legs flailed, and for a moment, she was lost in the churning blackness. But even as her body was tossed around like a rag doll, her grip on the petrified Evoltruster never faltered. She held onto it with everything she had, her only lifeline in the overwhelming sea.

Her strength was fading fast. No matter how hard she tried, her body was reaching its limit. She kicked and clawed towards the surface, but her limbs were heavy, her movements sluggish. Her chest ached with the effort of holding her breath, and she could feel the air slipping away.

Finally, she could hold on no longer. Water flooded her lungs, and as her vision darkened, a single thought echoed in her mind. "Wake up already! They—I need you!"

And then... nothing.

The darkness took her, and she sank, her body falling deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean.

…

…

…

THUMP.

It was strange.

In the midst of the darkness, she could hear a heartbeat—strong, steady. It reverberated through the water, and the cold, the weight of the ocean, didn't seem so unbearable anymore. Slowly, warmth began to creep back into her limbs.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself no longer lost in the suffocating depths. Instead, she floated gently within an orb of light, a soft glow surrounding her like a protective cocoon. The ocean's murky shadows had faded away, replaced by a serene brightness that filled her with hope.

And there, right in front of her, the Evoltruster was no longer a lifeless object. It was glowing, alive with power, pulsating with the same steady heartbeat she had heard before.

Taylor.

A name—her name was spoken. His voice echoed her name and she blinked, her heart swelling. She couldn't help but smile.

Let us go forth together, a voice called out from within the Evoltruster. Once again, I need your power.

Without hesitation, Taylor nodded, her spirit renewed. She reached out and took hold of the Evoltruster, feeling its warmth spread through her like a fire kindling within her soul. It felt right—complete.

Raising the Evoltruster high above her head, she let its light burst forth. Feeling the power surge through her, the light exploded outward, brilliant and blinding, and the ocean around her parted.

And with all the strength in her voice, she spoke his name.

"Nexus!"

o-0-o​

Everyone saw it.

The air around them was thick with tension, the weight of the golden light pressing down like a suffocating shroud. But then, in the midst of the chaos, something miraculous happened. The ocean, once dark and tumultuous, split apart as if yielding to a greater force. From its depths, a towering pillar of multicolored light shot up toward the heavens, piercing the golden sky. It was a sight so powerful, so breathtaking, that time seemed to stand still for a moment.

This was no ordinary light. Unlike the cold, merciless golden light that had been suffocating the world, this light was warm—inviting. It radiated something familiar, like the embrace of an old friend. And though words couldn't describe it, everyone knew that this light carried hope. It wasn't the first time they had seen it. Every time it appeared, it stirred something deep within them, filling their hearts with an unshakable courage.

On the horizon, the entity lurking beyond the golden light stirred, emitting a deep, guttural sound—a noise that sent a shiver down the spines of all who heard it. It reacted in fury, gathering its golden energy for an attack. In a blinding flash, the being unleashed a massive beam of pure destruction, its blinding golden light streaking toward the pillar with lethal precision.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The golden beam roared through the sky, its sheer power bending the air itself as it raced toward its target. Those nearby watched in terror, their hearts pounding as the two forces seemed destined to collide. The golden light, so relentless and unstoppable, was on the verge of overwhelming everything.

But before the attack could reach, the pillar of light exploded. A shockwave rippled outward, so bright and intense that many were forced to shield their eyes. Some stumbled back, overwhelmed by the brilliance, their faces turned away in awe.

For those who could bear witness to the spectacle, what they saw next was nothing short of a miracle. The golden beam, so powerful, so horrifying just moments before, was engulfed and overpowered by the multicolored light. In an instant, it was as if the golden energy unraveled, breaking apart as the multicolored radiance consumed it whole.

A scream echoed across the sky—a sound that reverberated through the earth itself. The entity beyond the golden light let out a shriek of pain, a sound filled with anguish and rage as the light struck it with unimaginable force. The world shook beneath the weight of that cry, and for the first time, the being faltered.

As the light subsided, the world stood in stunned silence.

And then, they saw it.

Through the remnants of the fading brilliance, a towering figure emerged, standing tall and resolute against the backdrop of destruction. A silver giant gleaming like the light of dawn, his presence unwavering even in the face of the overwhelming enemy.

They knew him. They knew that giant.

One name, passed between them in whispers and cries, was shared in that moment.

Ultraman.

o-0-o​

End of Chapter.

 

[Arcreed]

Managed to finish faster than I thought. Welp, hope you enjoy the new Chapter 1.

o-0-o​

- Beginning 1.1 -

o-0-o​

He could hear it—the faint, harrowing wails of countless souls. They echoed, distant yet deafening, reverberating from a universe far beyond his own. Even in the deepest recesses of his slumber, the cries pierced through the veils of time and space, tearing apart the silence that once enveloped him. It was a sound so haunting, so raw, that it shattered the peace of his dreams, rousing him to full consciousness.

With his senses now attuned to the disturbance, he turned his gaze toward the source of the anguish. His vision spanned across the stars, traversing dimensions as he searched for the origin of the cries. What he beheld was staggering in its magnitude—an endless sea of galaxies, each brimming with life, now flickering out like dying embers. One by one, entire galaxies dimmed—stars blinked out of existence, planets were erased in an instant, and civilizations that had thrived for millennia crumbled into nothingness, swallowed whole by monstrous, serpentine shadows that slithered across the boundless dark of space.

Among the endless chaos, his attention locked onto a single, small planet. It was blue, fragile, and familiar. Earth. Though it wasn't the Earth he knew, its essence was unmistakably the same, and a silent cry for help woven into the very fabric of its being.

And there, wrapped around the fragile world, was an entity of incomprehensible scale and terror—-one of the dark, incomprehensible beings born from the void. A creature so vast and ancient that its very presence shattered the delicate fabric of reality. The dimensions around it fractured like glass, splintering into a thousand shards as the beast tightened its hold. The people below, oblivious to the impending doom, carried on with their lives, unaware that the end was slithering closer with each passing moment.

There was no need for hesitation. No need for further contemplation.

The universe had called out, pleading for salvation.

And so, he would answer.

For their cries had reached him, and he would not ignore them.

He rose, his resolve as unyielding as the stars themselves.

His new journey would begin there—on that fragile, blue world. And he would not allow its light to be extinguished.

o-0-o​

She hovered silently in the vast expanse of the skies above the Pacific, her figure serene yet unnerving, beautiful yet wrong. The ocean below stretched endlessly, reflecting the pale glow of the moonlight as waves gently lapped against one another. Her wings, delicate yet powerful, fluttered softly, and with a graceful motion, she wrapped them around her body like a protective shroud. There was a calm to her, a stillness as she carefully plotted new paths, her mind working tirelessly to fulfill the direction that had been given to her.

Her gaze, however, was drawn downward, to the dark, deep abyss of the ocean below. There, far beneath the surface, lay her 'older brother,' unmoving, awaiting the moment when a new command would awaken him from his slumber. His form was hidden beneath the crushing weight of the ocean's depths, yet she could feel his presence, dormant but powerful, like a coiled storm waiting to be unleashed.

Their creator—ignorant of their true origins—was restless. He craved a challenge, a fight that would test his strength, something worthy of his power. And she could feel his growing frustration. He wanted something grand, something that would quench his thirst for battle. She, in turn, needed to devise a plan that would satisfy him—a plan that would be nothing short of spectacular.

She needed to make it dramatic.

She needed to make it extravagant.

She needed to make it unforgettable.

She needed to orchestrate a symphony of cries, a cacophony of voices begging for salvation, their desperate pleas echoing across the world.

Yes, that would do.

Her thoughts shifted to the countless souls who worshipped her—those who had placed their hope and faith in her hands. A smile crept onto her lips, a smile both haunting and devoid of any warmth, a cold, calculated expression. Perhaps… she could use them. Perhaps they would be the perfect instruments in this grand spectacle she envisioned.

The paths were clear to her now. She had decided. The future was laid out before her, as certain as the stars that dotted the night sky.

Yes… the future had been decided.

---

Or had it?​

---

The thought lingered, twisting and turning in her mind like a dark cloud blotting out the sun. Had the future truly been decided?

​

---

It had been decided.

​

---

The… future…

​

---

---

The… future…?

​

---

---

---

Had… it… been?

​

---

---

---

No.

​

---

---

---

The future had not been decided.

​

---

---

---

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

​

---

---

---

THE LIGHT!!

THE LIGHT!!

THE LIGHT!!

THE LIGHT!!

THE LIGHT!!

THE LIGHT!!​

---

WHAT IS THAT LIGHT?!?!?!
​

---

A sudden, blinding light pierced through her mind, shattering the calm and calculated facade she had so carefully maintained. It was brilliant—overpowering, incomprehensible. The light wasn't part of her plan, it wasn't something she had foreseen. Its very existence tore through her thoughts like a roaring flame, burning away every carefully laid-out strategy, every future she had so meticulously crafted.

​

---

What was it? Where had it come from?

​

---

The future…the future was no longer in her control!!

o-0-o​

- December 12th, 2010, 21:11 PM, Washington, D.C. -

In a dimly lit apartment nestled within the heart of Washington, D.C., a tall, impeccably dressed Hispanic woman sat at her desk, her sharp, calculating eyes scanning through the towering stacks of paperwork before her. Her appearance was striking—she seemed to be in her mid to late twenties, her flawless skin and sleek, raven-black hair giving her an air of youthful elegance. Yet there was something unsettling about the scar that ran diagonally across her left eye, a permanent reminder of a battle fought in her past. That scar, coupled with the quiet intensity in her gaze, spoke of experiences far beyond her apparent years.

If anyone had the audacity to inquire about her age, she might offer a wry smile and respond with a carefully calculated answer—something along the lines of being in her forties. The truth, however, was far more extraordinary. Rebecca Costa-Brown had indeed reached her forties, but her body had ceased aging long ago. To maintain the illusion of age, she applied a layer of thick makeup, artfully masking not only her scar but the truth of her longevity. The facade was necessary, not for vanity, but for survival—she did not need anyone being suspicious of her.

Of course, none of her subordinates dared to pry into her personal life. And those foolish enough to uncover the truth would never have the chance to reveal it. She was the Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Team—known simply as the PRT—and such secrets were best kept buried. Her position afforded her authority beyond question, a power that came with both immense responsibility and the loyalty of those under her command.

As the leader of the elite paramilitary force tasked with managing parahuman affairs across the United States and Canada, Rebecca's influence was vast. Her jurisdiction extended not only to individual parahumans but to entire groups, ensuring that any who operated outside the law would be dealt with swiftly and decisively.

In addition to overseeing the PRT's operations, Rebecca held the reins of the Protectorate, the formal organization of heroes sworn to protect the public. Her responsibilities included managing the actions of these heroes and ensuring they aligned with national interests. She reported directly to the President of the United States, a position that placed her at the pinnacle of authority in the world of parahuman affairs.

In fact that very evening, she had just concluded a high-level briefing with the Secretary of Homeland Security and the Secretary of Defense. The topic of discussion: expanding collaboration between Protectorate Thinkers and the government to bolster national security, both at home and abroad. The pressure was mounting, and Rebecca knew that the stakes had never been higher. Every decision she made rippled through the corridors of power, influencing not only the safety of the nation but the delicate balance of a world where humans and parahumans coexisted.

As she leaned back in her chair, a brief flicker of fatigue crossed her otherwise composed face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The responsibilities she bore were immense, but Rebecca Costa-Brown was no stranger to the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. She had gotten used to handling it—and for as long as she remained at the helm, no threat, parahuman or otherwise, would jeopardize the world she had fought so hard to protect.

Rebecca stood from her desk, the weight of the day's responsibilities still lingering in her mind. She moved with a quiet grace, her steps purposeful as she approached the large window that overlooked the city. With a swift motion, she pulled back the heavy curtain, revealing the vast expanse of the night sky beyond.

The world outside seemed calm and peaceful, a stark contrast to the constant pressures and unseen dangers that defined her life. Her gaze lifted toward the stars, their cold, distant light shimmering against the inky darkness. For a moment, she allowed herself the rare luxury of stillness, watching the stars with a quiet intensity. The universe seemed to stretch out endlessly before her, vast and unchanging.

Then, without warning, the stars above began to move—one by one, streaks of light danced across the sky. A meteor shower, brilliant and beautiful, unfolded before her eyes, each fragment blazing a fiery trail before disappearing into the ether.

It should have been a calming sight—-but something was wrong.

A faint noise began to stir in the air around her, subtle at first but growing louder with each passing second. It was as though the very fabric of reality had begun to unravel, a strange, distorted sound that echoed like a broken record stuck in an endless loop. Rebecca froze, her senses heightening as a creeping unease settled over her.

Her thinker powers, finely tuned and usually under her complete control, suddenly flared to life with a force that made her head spin. Information—disjointed and chaotic—flooded her mind in rapid bursts, fragments of thoughts and visions flashing before her eyes, too fast to make sense of. She tried to focus, to rein in the storm that had erupted within her, but it was futile. Her powers had gone haywire, spiraling beyond her ability to contain them.

And then, she saw it.

A light.

Blinding, immense, and radiating a power far beyond anything she had ever encountered. It came blazing from the sky, more brilliant than any star or meteor could ever hope to be. Its sheer intensity overwhelmed her senses, forcing her to shield her eyes instinctively. Yet, even with her thinker abilities out of control, something about the light felt… wrong.

As though it wasn't meant for her eyes.

No—it wasn't her who saw it.

It wasn't her.

Something deep within her mind screamed that this light wasn't hers to witness. It was meant for another, someone—or something—else entirely.

Rebecca screamed—no, she was made to scream.

She could not fathom the meaning of the light or the strange, ominous feeling that accompanied it—nor the strange emotions bursting from within her. A wave of dizziness then came crashing upon her mind, body swayed, her vision blurred, and the sound of the broken record grew louder, deafening, until it drowned out everything else.

And then—nothing.

The last thought slipped from her mind as the world tilted around her, and Rebecca Costa-Brown, Chief Director of the Parahuman Response Team, collapsed into unconsciousness.

o-0-o​

- December 12th, 2010, 21:11 PM, New York -

High above the bustling cityscape of New York, Legend soared through the sky, his keen eyes scanning the streets below for any sign of trouble. The cold evening air whipped against his face, tousling his short, wavy brown hair as he flew with effortless grace. Behind the gleaming silver-blue mask that obscured part of his face, his expression softened slightly—if only for a moment—as he observed the peaceful scene unfolding beneath him.

He was a striking figure, tall and lean, his athletic build emphasized by the skintight sky-blue costume that clung to him. The outfit was adorned with bold, white lightning and flame designs that danced along his chest and arms, a perfect contrast to the white boots and gloves that completed his signature look.

Despite the ever-present weight of responsibility on his shoulders, Legend allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. "No trouble so far," he noted silently. It was rare to experience such tranquility, especially in a city like New York, where the line between peace and chaos often blurred in the blink of an eye.

Today, however, had proven to be an unusually calm day. Well, aside from the minor altercation earlier between the Elite and the Adepts—a brief skirmish that had threatened to spiral into something far worse. Thankfully, the situation had been handled swiftly and with minimal force, the team managing to disperse both groups before any real damage could be done. It was a small victory, but in a world where conflict could erupt at any moment, small victories mattered.

Even so, Legend wasn't one to let his guard down. The city, despite its current quiet, was never truly still. There was always the potential for something unexpected to happen, for the balance to shift.

"One more round," he decided, banking slightly to the right as he soared past the shimmering skyscrapers, the lights of the city twinkling like stars beneath him. He had already made several sweeps through the major boroughs, ensuring the safety of the people below, but one final patrol before heading home couldn't hurt. Better to be thorough.

"Fingers crossed it ends on a peaceful note," he muttered to himself, the words carried away by the wind as he continued his flight. His voice was calm, though a trace of hopefulness lingered beneath it. A peaceful evening would be a rarity—a welcome one.

As he ascended higher into the sky, his gaze instinctively drifted upward. And that's when he saw it.

Above the city, far beyond the twinkling lights and towering buildings, a meteor shower began to unfold across the heavens. Streaks of fire blazed across the dark canvas of the night, each one burning brightly before disappearing into the distance. For a moment, Legend simply hovered there, watching the display in quiet awe.

But something about this meteor shower felt... different. The way the light pierced through the atmosphere wasn't natural—it was too vivid, too bright, as if the sky itself was straining beneath its intensity. Each streak of fire burned with a brilliance far beyond what Legend had ever seen in a meteor shower, as if the heavens themselves were unraveling before his very eyes.

Then, amidst the surreal spectacle, he heard a noise. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He struggled to place it, searching his mind for a comparison, but nothing fit. The closest approximation he could summon was the distorted sound of a broken radio transmission—fragmented, disjointed, and wrong. But even that felt like a gross simplification of what was now assaulting his senses.

His instincts screamed at him to focus, to understand the source of this disturbance. And then he saw it.

A light—so impossibly bright it seemed to tear through the fabric of the sky itself—erupted in an explosion of pure, blinding radiance. The night was obliterated in an instant, swallowed by the overwhelming brilliance that consumed everything in its path. For a moment, he couldn't tell if the sky had truly exploded or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

Or was it?

What exactly had he seen? The question echoed in his mind, reverberating through his thoughts. Was it real? Did he truly witness that light? What was it?

And then came a deeper, more unsettling thought: Was he the one who saw it?

No.

It wasn't him. It wasn't meant for him.

Legend—no, Keith—screamed. But it wasn't his own scream. It was as if the scream had been forced from him, as if something or someone had taken control of his body and was using his voice to release a cry of anguish. He clutched his head in a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos unfolding within him, but it was no use. The dizziness, the headache—it all crashed over him like a tidal wave, relentless and unforgiving. His thoughts spiraled out of control, slipping further into confusion.

The pain was unbearable, pounding in his skull with the force of a thousand hammer blows. His powers, usually so steady, spiraled out of control, unraveling around him like strands of pure energy. His flight faltered, and for the first time in years, he felt his body plummet helplessly toward the hard asphalt below.

Instinct took over in the chaos. Just before impact, his form flickered, transforming into pure light for the briefest of moments, sparing him from the brunt of the fall. The transformation left him lying on the ground, dazed and disoriented but unharmed, his breathing ragged as he struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Looking up, the stars above no longer twinkled, and the night sky had returned to normal. And yet, deep in the pit of his stomach, Legend knew—whatever had caused this was far from over. Something far greater than him, far beyond his understanding, had just been set in motion.

Keith lay still, his pulse pounding in his ears as he tried to calm the storm inside his mind. He had faced world-ending threats, fought beings beyond human comprehension, but this... this was something different.

Something terrifyingly different.

o-0-o​

- December 12th, 2010, 18:35 PM, Brockton Bay. -

Taylor Hebert stormed silently as she trudged up the worn path to her house. Fifteen years old, she was a tall, awkward girl, her figure stick-thin and ungainly. Her long, curly black hair clung to her head in tangled, wet strands, and her glasses sat crooked on her nose, smeared with grime. Her wide, thin-lipped mouth, inherited from her mother, was tightly pressed into a frown, her large, expressive eyes behind the glasses dark with frustration and hurt.

She looked like a mess. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to her skin, and reeked of the waste water that had been dumped on her. Her backpack—barely held together with strips of frayed tape—hung limply from her shoulder, the contents likely drenched and ruined. Today had been a disaster—just like every other day.

The moment she had stepped into Winslow High School that morning, it had begun. Without warning, Sophia Hess, one of her relentless tormentors, had slammed her into her locker with enough force to make her bones rattle. Her body screamed in protest, muscles aching from the harsh impact, but Taylor had learned long ago not to fight back. She had curled into herself, trying to make her frame as small as possible, silently praying that Hess would lose interest and move on.

But of course, Sophia never let up so easily. She shoved her elbow into Taylor's ribs before stalking off, leaving her gasping for breath and clutching her side. At least it wasn't as bad as some days—it was only one elbow this time. No kicks. No slamming her head into the metal.

And as usual, not a single person came to her aid. Not her fellow students, who turned a blind eye or snickered from the sidelines, nor the teachers, who pretended not to see.

It didn't get any better when she finally made it to class. There, waiting for her like vultures, were Emma Barnes and Madison Clements—her other tormentors. Unlike Sophia, they didn't bother with physical blows. Their weapons were words, sharp and cruel, cutting deeper than fists ever could.

Emma, especially.

Taylor's heart still twisted painfully every time she saw her. They used to be best friends. Best friends. Now, Emma was one of her worst enemies, leading the charge in making her life unbearable.

She didn't understand what had changed, when Emma had turned against her so viciously. She didn't have the strength to ask either. What would be the point? Even if she did ask, what answer would satisfy her? What could possibly make sense of the betrayal?

No, there was no point.

Taylor trudged up to her front door, her shoulders slumping under the weight of the day. The anger inside her simmered, barely contained, mingling with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She could feel the tears burning at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.

She was used to this—used to the cruelty, the loneliness, the feeling of being utterly invisible unless someone wanted to make her suffer. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself that she could handle it, that she could keep enduring it, the truth was, it was wearing her down, piece by piece.

One day, she feared, there would be nothing left of her but the broken fragments.

Taylor pushed open the front door, and the silence that greeted her felt all too familiar. As expected, nobody was home. Her father, Danny, was still working long hours at the Docks, struggling to keep his head above water after the downturn in the shipping industry. And her mother... Well, her mother passed away two years ago. The house had never felt the same since.

The quiet was heavy, suffocating. Taylor set her sodden backpack down by the door, careful not to let it fall apart completely, and made her way upstairs to her room. She slipped inside, dropping her things with a sigh, and for a moment, just stood there.

Her gaze wandered to the window. She hadn't noticed it before, but snow had begun to fall—light, delicate flakes drifting down from the gray sky. Taylor blinked, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of memories surged to the surface, unbidden and bittersweet.

It had been snowing the last winter she'd spent with her mother. She could still picture it so vividly—how they had gone camping just before the season fully set in, her mother insisting on one last adventure. They had bundled up in thick coats and scarves, laughing together as they huddled around the campfire, the air crisp and cold but filled with warmth from their shared joy.

It had been magical, in the way that only time with her mother could be. The kind of memory she clung to when the house felt too empty, when the weight of everything felt too much to bear.

Taylor shook her head, pulling herself out of the reverie. Now wasn't the time to get lost in the past. She could feel the familiar ache of grief threatening to rise, but she forced it back down, burying it deep where it couldn't reach her.

She peeled off her wet, grimy clothes, grimacing at the smell of the waste water that clung to her skin. Then, without thinking too much about it, she grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom to clean herself up.

The warm water was a relief, washing away the dirt and the filth from the day, but it did little to ease the knots of tension in her muscles or the heaviness in her chest. She could still feel the weight of everything pressing down on her—Sophia's mocking sneer, Emma's betrayal, the constant sense of being alone. It all clung to her, no matter how much she scrubbed.

After drying off and pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, Taylor found herself standing in front of her closet, her eyes drifting to an old, worn backpack tucked away in the corner. She didn't know why, but something inside her stirred, a sudden urge pulling at her. Without fully understanding why, she grabbed the backpack, dusting it off, and began filling it with a few essentials—some snacks, a water bottle, a flashlight.

Before long, the bag was packed. Taylor zipped it up, slinging it over her shoulder, her mind already made up. She wasn't sure where the idea had come from, but she knew what she had to do. She needed to get out of here, away from the silence and the memories that haunted this house.

Captain's Hill.

It wasn't far, just to the west, overlooking the Bay. She and her mother used to go there sometimes when they wanted to escape the city. It had always been peaceful, quiet, the perfect place to think.

Taylor's fingers tightened on the strap of her backpack. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—solace, maybe, or just a break from the relentless weight of her life. But something inside her told her she needed to go, and she didn't want to ignore that voice.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped on her coat, pulled up her hood, and stepped out into the falling snow. The cold air bit at her skin, but it felt refreshing, in a way. A reminder that she was still here, still moving forward, even if the world around her seemed determined to drag her down.

As she began her walk toward the nearest bus station, her thoughts drifted back to her mother once more. What would she have said if she were here now? Would she have told Taylor to stay strong, to keep going no matter how hard it got? Or would she have simply held her, letting her know that it was okay to feel lost sometimes?

Taylor wasn't sure. But as the snowflakes danced around her and the distant hills loomed ahead, she hoped—more than anything—that maybe, just maybe, she'd find the answers she was searching for on that quiet hill.

o-0-o​

- 21:11 PM, Brockton Bay. -

Taylor sat down on a fallen log, her breath fogging in the cool night air as she fumbled with the supplies in her backpack. She pulled out some snacks and a bottle of water, but what she really wanted was to light a fire—to feel some warmth against the biting chill of the evening. Digging through her things, she realized she had forgotten to bring a lighter.

"Of course," she thought with a sigh. A lighter would have been too convenient.

For a moment, she stared at the small pile of twigs she had gathered, hoping somehow they would ignite on their own. But the cold, damp reality settled in. With a defeated shake of her head, she gave up on the fire, rubbing her hands together and pulling her knees close to her chest to conserve what little warmth she had. The wind tugged at her hair, sending shivers down her spine, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the one thing that made this trip worth it.

Looking up, she found solace in the night sky above her. Unlike the smog-choked skyline of Brockton Bay, Captain's Hill offered an unfiltered view of the heavens. The stars were dazzling, like a million tiny diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas. Taylor had always found comfort in stargazing, as if the vastness of the universe made her own problems seem small, almost insignificant.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she tilted her head back, allowing the cool air to wash over her face. The chill still lingered in her bones, but the sight of the stars was enough to distract her. It was beautiful here—quiet, peaceful. For the first time in what felt like forever, her thoughts weren't consumed by bullies, betrayal, or loneliness.

For a brief, fleeting moment, she was just Taylor Hebert, sitting on a hill, watching the stars.

And then something caught her eye.

"Huh?" Taylor blinked, her brow furrowing as she focused on a distant flicker of light. At first, she thought it was a plane or maybe a satellite, but then she realized it was something else. The sky seemed to shimmer, and before she could process it, streaks of light began to race across the darkness.

A meteor shower.

Her heart skipped a beat as she watched the meteors streak through the atmosphere, their bright trails leaving a dazzling spectacle in their wake. Each one was a fleeting moment of brilliance, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Taylor's mouth hung open slightly in awe as more and more meteors lit up the sky, cascading across the heavens like fireworks from some distant galaxy.

For a few seconds, the cold, the loneliness, and even the weight of her grief faded into the background. She was mesmerized, lost in the beauty of the universe unfolding above her.

But then... something changed.

The meteors became more intense. Their lights burned brighter, sharper, and instead of fading out into the horizon, one of them seemed to grow larger, closer. Taylor's eyes widened as the meteor's light intensified, flooding the night sky with a radiant glow far too brilliant to be normal.

It was no ordinary meteor shower. The longer Taylor stared at the heavens, the more that unsettling feeling gnawed at her. Something was off, deeply so. The stars twinkled as they always had, but the meteors—their movements were too precise, too deliberate. Each streak of light seemed to carve through the darkness with an unnatural intensity, like arrows fired with purpose rather than random fragments falling from the sky. The air around her felt heavier, charged with an energy that made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

She couldn't shake the unease. What should have been awe-inspiring, the natural wonder of the cosmos unfolding before her eyes, now felt wrong—like she was witnessing something she wasn't meant to see.

Then it happened.

The night was torn apart by a sudden, deafening explosion of light, far brighter than anything before. The sky seemed to ignite in a blinding flash, as though someone had split the heavens wide open. Taylor instinctively threw her arms up to shield her eyes, but it was too late—her vision was seared by the brilliance, and for a terrifying moment, all she could see was white.

Heart pounding in her chest, she staggered backward, barely able to catch her breath. As her sight slowly returned, blurry and unfocused, she caught movement—something was headed toward her, something fast.

A red, flaming ball, hurtling through the sky.

It blazed like a falling star, but this was no shooting star, no harmless streak of light. This was different, more menacing, a fiery mass racing toward her at an alarming speed. The air around her crackled, the temperature spiking dramatically as the flaming object cut through the sky like a comet destined to collide with the earth.

For a split second, Taylor's brain screamed at her to move. To run. But her body refused to respond. She was frozen, paralyzed by the sheer terror of the moment, watching helplessly as the fiery ball drew closer and closer. It was as though time had slowed to a crawl, each heartbeat a deafening drum in her ears, each breath shallow and strained.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it was upon her.

The impact was instantaneous, overwhelming. Taylor barely had time to comprehend what was happening before the flaming ball collided with the ground, enveloping her completely. There was no pain, no sensation of heat burning her skin—just the sudden, suffocating weight of being consumed. The world around her vanished in an instant, swallowed by the fiery explosion that engulfed her.

Then, everything went dark.

o-0-o​

"Am I dead?"

That was the only thought echoing in Taylor's mind. Everything felt... distant, disconnected, like she was untethered from reality itself. She was weightless, adrift in some unfathomable void. There was no ground beneath her, no sky above—just a strange, floating sensation, as though the entire world had faded away.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes.

What greeted her was something beyond words—a scene so surreal, so otherworldly, it defied all logic. She was floating within what could only be described as a tunnel of lights. Brilliant, shimmering streams of light swirled and danced around her, passing through her body as if she were made of air. Yet, they didn't hurt. They didn't burn or sear her skin. Instead, they bathed her in warmth, in a strange kind of serenity that calmed the frantic beat of her heart.

"What is this?" she wondered, eyes wide as she took in the dazzling display. "Is this... the afterlife?"

For a fleeting moment, she considered it. Maybe she had died back there. Maybe that fiery ball had ended everything, and now she was floating in some realm beyond life and death.

But no—this wasn't the end. It couldn't be. Not yet.

As her mind raced, grappling with the impossibility of the situation, she noticed something. Off in the distance, cutting through the tunnel of light, was a familiar red glow. Her eyes widened. It was the flaming ball—the same one that had consumed her earlier.

It was heading straight for her. Again.

Panic surged through her, heart hammering in her chest. Instinctively, she tried to move, to flee, but her limbs felt like lead, frozen in place. The flaming mass sped toward her, faster and faster, its heat growing more intense with every passing second.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "No, I don't want to die. Not yet."

Tears welled up in her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't die now—not when she had so much unfinished. She thought of her father, working long hours at the docks, struggling to keep things together after her mother had passed. If she died, he'd be alone. Utterly alone. And the thought of him grieving for her, on top of everything else, broke her heart.

"I can't leave him," Taylor muttered, her voice cracking as the fiery ball bore down on her. "I still... I still want to live."

Her words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried every ounce of her will, every desperate plea she could muster. The flaming ball, now just moments away, flared brighter, its heat washing over her.

But then—something incredible happened.

Just as it seemed the ball would crash into her, it stopped. For a brief moment, it hovered in the air, suspended as if defying the laws of nature. And then, with a burst of light, it exploded.

Taylor flinched, shielding her face, bracing herself for the impact—but none came. Instead of being consumed by fire, she felt a strange warmth. The light from the explosion didn't destroy her—it enveloped her, swirling around her like a gentle embrace.

And from that light, something began to take shape.

A figure—massive, towering—rose from the remnants of the flaming ball. It was a giant, made entirely of light, glowing brighter than the stars themselves. Its form was fluid, shifting, like a living constellation, and as it stood before her, Taylor could only stare in awe.

The giant radiated an overwhelming sense of power, but also something else—something softer. It felt... protective, like a guardian watching over her. Its gaze—though it had no eyes—seemed to settle on her, filling her with a sense of peace she hadn't felt in years.

For a long, breathless moment, Taylor and the giant stood in silence, the tunnel of lights swirling around them. She didn't know what it was, or why it had appeared, but deep down, she felt a strange connection to it—like it had come to her for a reason.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the giant exploded once more. This time, the light wasn't violent or destructive. It was gentle, like a warm summer breeze, flowing over her in waves. Taylor felt her body relax, her eyelids growing heavy as the light surrounded her, cradling her like a lullaby.

"I still want to live..." she whispered one last time, her voice barely audible.

The light pulsed, as if in response to her plea, before enveloping her entirely.

And then—darkness.

Taylor lost consciousness once again, but this time, there was no fear. No pain. Just the warmth of the light, and the quiet, hopeful promise that perhaps—just perhaps—her story wasn't over yet.

o-0-o.​

A/N: I have to admit, it felt like a heavy restraint had been taken off of me by switching to writing in 3rd person.

I incorporated the Simurgh's, Alexandria's and Legend's viewpoints during Nexus' arrival on Earth. Originally, it would have been explored during the first sidestory chapter, but since I don't have to stick on writing from Taylor's 1st person viewpoint anymore, I decided to include them here.

Also, the reason why I wrote Alexandria and Legend in this chapter, but not Eidolon? Because I wanted to show that if they hadn't become capes, there was a chance Nexus would have chosen one of them as his deunamist instead.

Between being a cape and being a deunamist, if they had that option in front of them, which option would Legend and Alexandria pick?