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Please, please, please—
Someone’s crying through the wall again. New voice. Has to be.
They haven’t learned yet.
My skin itches. I wish I could save her.
Someone should’ve told her.
I curl tighter in the corner.
The screaming drills into my skull like it’s trying to overwrite my own thoughts.
Any minute now. They’ll let us out for “instruction.”
Pray it comes soon — if only for the stranger’s sake.
I look around my cell — because that’s what it is.
No matter how they dress it up.
This place pretends it’s something else — rehab, education, training.
It’s not.
It’s a cage with good lighting.
The door slides open with that same sterile hiss. I don’t flinch. I just stand.
Finally.
We file out in silence. No one speaks unless they want bruises.
I keep my head down. Keep breathing. Keep my hands still.
Even with suppression gear, people shift away from me like I might explode.
Maybe I will.
The “lesson” is already waiting. Same white room. Same polished smiles.
The instructor’s standing up front — another golden boy in a perfect uniform.
Chest puffed out like he’s proud to be part of this.
I stare a little longer.
There’s nothing behind his eyes.
No hope. No shine. No rage. Just… a shell.
He looks like someone who’s stopped hoping to be saved.
He looks like I should look.
His eyes catch mine. I glare — challenge, question, dare.
He looks away.
His name’s Calder. My age.
Quirk: Momentum Shift. He absorbs impact and redirects it. Stores it, even.
No wonder he’s cracked.
They built him to take hits. All day. Every day.
I wonder how much he could take before something gives.
Not in a cruel way.
Just...
Would he survive someone like me?
My fingers twitch.
A soldier notices. Tightens his grip on his gun.
I exhale. Look down.
Then —
The lights go out.
I smile.
Not because I’m dangerous.
Because for one second — they can’t see me.
Relief.
Just for a second.
Then the panic hits.
One of the guards grabs me — and I react before I think.
A pulse fires.
He doesn’t even touch me. Just flies backward like he never existed.
The gear’s not working.
Oh.
Oh.
I dare to hope.
All around me, chaos erupts. Some punch through walls, others just punch.
A girl nearby screams her lungs into sonic waves.
And me?
I send out a focused shock — tight, surgical. Right into the weak spot in my gear.
Click. Gone.
I move fast. Duck low.
Find the ones like me — the ones they kept in the darkest holes.
And I free them.
One pulse at a time.
I nod once. No speeches. Just quiet understanding.
I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart.
I tell myself they’re just a distraction.
Emergency lights flicker red and low. Not enough.
I send out a broader pulse to catch more gear, but it’s already fading.
Damn. I wanted longer.
I dash to the security room.
The guards aren’t paying attention — I’m not killing anyone. So they focus elsewhere.
I ghost through the corridors. I know these halls by heart —
Every blind spot. Every bad wire. Every camera that stutters.
Security drones: down.
Doors: unlocked.
Suppression system: fried.
My heart pounds in my ribs louder than the alarms.
No way in hell this actually worked.
But the doors are swinging.
The air tastes new.
People are running.
I’m almost out.
And then I see him.
Calder.
Not restrained.
Not beaten.
Just... sitting.
Perfect posture.
Hero uniform tight across his chest like a second set of cuffs.
He sees me. Doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t raise the alarm.
Doesn’t smile.
His voice is low. Hollow.
“You’re lucky. You get to leave.”
No accusation. No plea.
Just a fact.
I look away. Keep walking.
I only have so much time before someone fixes what I’ve done.
The night air hits my face.
For the first time in years, I breathe.
And yet.
Every step feels heavier.
His voice echoes in my ribs.
That thread of resignation — that thing that used to be pride, all cracked and dried out.
He’s not the enemy.
He’s just another prisoner.
Just another ghost in a hero’s skin.
Halfway down the alley, I stop.
Fine.
I curse — loud, stupid, full of fury.
I run.
Going back is suicide.
But I’ve already died in that place.
Pulse. The door crumples.
Pulse. The cameras short out.
Pulse. The alarm screams — then chokes silent.
Pulse. The glass explodes.
I groan.
“This is going to call more attention than I need...”
I see him.
Still there. Still watching me like I’m a hallucination.
“Come with me,” I say, breathless, shaking. “Or stay here and rot. Your choice.”
Maybe the first choice he’s had in years.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
Years of conditioning holding his muscles hostage.
So I make the choice for him.
I blow out the rest of the room.
Grab his wrist.
And run.
We twist through the halls like smoke. My body moves on memory.
My mind is twenty seconds ahead, counting turns.
Guards shout behind us.
I run faster.
Corner 15 — choke point.
Too many coming.
I curse — and let out a bigger pulse. It slams Calder, too.
He doesn’t even flinch.
The guards crumple.
I step over them. No time.
Calder stumbles beside me, half-dragged by my fury, half-moving on his own.
We break into the cold again.
And I laugh.
A wild, half-hysterical sound bursts out of me.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “That worked.”
Calder doesn’t laugh.
He just stands there, the uniform stiff and sharp around his frame.
I strip it off — fast, rough, hands shaking.
Trackers. Tags. Surveillance. The military loves its toys boxed and barcoded.
He doesn’t stop me.
When I’m done, he’s in a white tank and shorts. Exposed to the world.
I check him — expecting damage from the pulses.
Bruises everywhere.
But nothing broken.
Physically.
His body’s fine.
But his belief?
That’s shattered.
The quiet, awful belief that there was no way out.
The words human shield flicker through my brain.
I grab his arm again — softer, this time.
“Come on.”
We vanish into the city — into cracks no one bothers to clean.
Through rusted doors and concrete tunnels.
Neon flickers. Oil stings the air.
I’ll find my crew.
They’ll help.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
We’re free.
But bleeding inside.
Both of us.