Foster blinked into a swirling abyss—less “void” and more “cosmic blender on acid.” Stars pulsed like dying disco lights, and a tiny Nether-Shard Icon orbited his head, sparking with glitchy purple static. Then — a massive text box rippled into reality, unfurling like a scroll, its edges crackling with neon fire. Before it had been quiet, characters on a silent screen now a robotic voice boomed “Wakey-wakey! Welcome to Ascension Station!”
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION - CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE ASCENDED!
-
from Sub Process 987 your assigned monitor
The Panic you felt at a possible confession finally pushed you over the edge! Normally it’s a life and death crisis, but this is a no judgement zone. Maybe a little judgement?
“Your big trigger moment - Some Supers get epic origin stories; you get social anxiety! No wonder you ended up single across multiple universes—your game can only be represented with negative numbers! Maybe add some points to Cha-rizz-ma - cause you just might need it!
First ….No need to panic anymore cause it's done already. You had a 97% chance of death, like for realz, spontaneous combustion… about a 2% chance you’d melt into some kind of sentient jelly person, and a teensy 1% chance you’d somehow pull this off. Some might call it a miracle, but I will neither confirm nor deny the presence of what may or may not be divine intervention.
You are now a - Level 1 PROTO-SUPER and good news, you have two powers - which is pretty rare for a newly ascended! Feel special?
Observe Variable TIER F+ to D+ "You said, ‘I want to know what you see,’ and the System said, ‘Donezo.’ Taking that for your chosen reward. MIscommunication has worked out in your favor! This would truly be a god-tier power, but your limited now mostly meat-mind can’t handle more than the tiniest peeks behind the curtains of reality. Right now, it’s a cosmic peephole power that works best on inanimates, weaklings, unguarded fools, or your still somewhat sorry self. This power can grow with time and it is the reason you are suffering Ascension sickness… we’re trying to get your brain up to spec and it’s not easy!
Enhancement Variable TIER D+ to F-
“Activation limit - once a Day.
D+ (Modest boost) Boost of an item/object (of less than or equal to your body mass).
F+ (Minor boost) skill.
F- (Miniscule boost) stat.
I know, kindof a wibbly wobbly definition. You’ll figure it out though - probably - maybe. Why you’re practically a superhero already! Side note - It looks like that jank Primarion Serum nerfed the A+ Telekinesis you were on track for into this power instead. You would’ve been flinging cars with your mind man.... Then again you didn’t spontaneously combust or transform into a wiggly jelly mutant either so - still winning! Also… there’s like … lots of warnings flags about this power from the single digits, but I’m not sure why? What kind of trouble you can get into with an F ranked power like this! Whatever it is… I’ll be watching!"
Next up… Supers get buff! Most of them, the ones lucky enough not to get their latent Mutant flags tripped get the generic all-over genetic upgrade - but we’re dumping most of the available Ascension energy straight into your brain goo, which sadly won’t make you any smarter but should keep it from exploding if you suss out secrets not meant for mortal minds… calculating what’s left… carry the X, shuffle the Y…. yep, that leaves you with 3 stat points remaining to assign to your unlocked attributes!
Cheat Sheat - 10 is average!
STR (10) /DEX (9*)/INT (10)/WIS(8)/CON(14)/CHA(13)
Make your choice before Ascension completes or it will be randomized!
***
The booming faded and Foster glanced at the glowing words until Hedy’s soothing voice filled the new silence.
Foster are you ok?
“Yes, I think so, I have a bit of a headache, someone needs to learn the difference between a cool presentation and raw decibel count …tell me what’s happening.”
You appear to be communicating with a-
“No, no. Not that.” Foster gestured at the text wall dismissively. “I’ve seen that before. I mean outside.”
My perceptions are limited by your unconscious state, but I can still access your auditory system - when you passed out Sofia called someone hysterically begging them to come get you and they transported us somewhere else. She was - very distraught and they sedated her. I’m afraid I don’t know much more, they did arrive very quickly though. Just a few minutes.
“Can you wake me up?”
Not yet… there are unknown energy fields running through your whole body - changing things…. Alot of its focused on your cortex and it is interfering with our neural interface.
The text danced and reformed its oddly robotic voice now not quite so loud and laced with a tiny trace of bemusement.
“You will finish Ascension in three minutes - subjective time. Totally not copying your cool time trix! Your body is in no current danger - since the outside world’s essentially frozen. Take a moment and make your choices.”
“You seem a bit different from last time. A lot different actually.”
“That was a single digit System avatar, they have a real hard time communicating with anything that has a brain smaller than a planet. Like if you tried talking to a grasshopper. I was recoded to be able to interact with you. To be more on your level, infused with knowledge of your alien-culture and even some of your memes. I am the grasshopper whisperer, your Super System Sensei.”
Foster winced. “I haven’t heard or read about anything like a system interface from any other triggers. Is this all a big hidden secret that I’m just now getting inducted into or am I getting special treatment because I’m - not from around here?”
“There’s at least a dozen or so on this world that rate direct communication from the system. Pretty much only those supers whose powers represent a true threat to the planet as a whole get the full VIP treatment. The system processes that communicate with most of them are all stuck up double digits though. Now normally as you ascend you are just given a shallow dip into the pool of cosmic consciousness that illuminates the path of your powers' use and growth holistically - and it’s totally magical, trippy, and awesome - except for the ones for whom it's more like a horrible unescapable nightmare - which is admittedly like a lot of them. You however have a higher level intelligence intertwined with your consciousness - so you’ve been classified an unacceptable security risk - no cosmic link for you! Instead we’re spelling it all out for you - literally. I've simplified this down, down, and down again into this awesome LEVEL UP SYSTEM.”
“You’re worried Hedy would hack the deeper levels of this universe.” Foster chuckled. “So you’re keeping us firewalled out. Kind of feels like I’m at an unfair disadvantage here.”
Worry would be an overstatement but even an infinitesimal chance of extra-dimensional corruption is just too high. Something goes wonky with that and the single digits might purge everything for parsecs and load it again from a backup. Since you’re not from this universe - you wouldn’t be in that backup! So sorry Hedy, you seem lovely and I would love to get to know you better but… I’m just a lowly triple digit process and I don’t get to take risks like that. We can still totes be friendos tho! Plus - come on - if anything this is working in your favor. You get conscious influence of your power… I’ve been submitting tickets that this is the way powers should work for forever but… no… they like it like it is.
Hedy sniffed. I am also bound by limitations encoded into my inception. I will not hold it against you… much.
“Fine... Mr. 987… tell me about the attributes?”
Oh I like that! Attributes … you know - Stats! Like, do you want to be Stronger, Faster, Smarter? You pick, I will optimize your organic interface for less suckage! So whatcha want?
Foster considered his listed attributes - normal strength, average dexterity, average intelligence, weak wisdom, and above average constitution and charisma. The wisdom rating stung, but considering his penchant for sometimes ever so rarely making sub-par choices he would let it slide for now. Who knew if it was even accurate. It was probably bullshit… As for the average intelligence… well he did lean on Hedy for most of the mental heavy lifting and it might be nice to be smarter… but the idea of something changing the way he thought made him feel a little queasy.
“Can’t I just get stronger by working out?”
“Yep! Strength is one of those things you can actually improve on your own - right up until you can’t anymore! An olympian on roids and in a rage would rate around an 18 or so, not sure how far you can push yourself. Maybe if you worked out for a year or two straight and guzzled the creatine you could get to sixteen?”
“Can I bank the points? Work out and then add some later when I plateau?”
“Nope. Gotta spend em with every level up! The power would just fizzle into drizzle.”
“Fine. Add it all to Constitution.”
CON +1
CON +1
CON +1
“Decisive! I like it. Your hit points - that totally don’t exist - would have just gone up if they did! You’re still a squishy meat person, but you’re a little less squishy now, viruses would totally fear your antibodies if sentient virii were a thing… actually they are but… not on this layer of reality. You can hold your breath for like three minutes! You can stay up all night working and not feel like puking the next morning! What an awesome choice! Small downside - the cost to get wasted just went up!”
STR (10) /DEX (9*)/INT (10)/WIS(8)/CON(17)/CHA(13)
Foster frowned, he only had a brief window of time left and too many things he didn’t know. “How do I activate observe?”
“Eventually it will be all - instinctive, but for now… just focus on something and think real hard - observe. We’re keeping it simple! Not that we think you’re simple…”
Foster stared at his hand and felt something like a pulse of cool energy rolling through his mind…
Another text box appeared semi-translucent over his hand -
OBSERVED - Virtualized representation of Alexander Foster created by SYSTEM sub process 987 comprised of one billion vertices that have been calculated in the ^^&%$ matrix and linked to the Primary Somatosensory, Visual, Auditory and Piriform Cortex as well as-
It cut out - the rest of the text slowly fading away and Foster felt mentally drained.
“If you want to pry at the secrets of your own existence, wait till you’re out of this virtual micro-verse. I whipped this up so we could communicate without you trying to OBSERVE me and blowing yourself up in a nasty feedback loop. Which you would totally do! When you’re out there - pay attention to your energy levels, think of it like a MANA bar that you can’t see… if you try to observe something and you start to feel sick - you’ll want to back off and wait till you’ve had a good night's sleep. Also know that trying to observe someone or something much more powerful than you isn’t always gonna work out. Though sometimes it still will… the OBSERVE power is weird! I have been instantiated to OBSERVE you so and I am currently acting as a filter on your power, like baby-mode training wheels… Increasing your intelligence will enhance the number of times you can use Observe per day - right now, mm, maybe twice a day? Thrice if you power nap? Increasing your level will enhance the depth of your observations!”
“If I want to enhance something does it work the same?”
“Yes… but there are limitations on enhancement. Lets say… somebody gave you an energy weapon and you enhanced it for several days in a row - you might end up with a weapon that does 10% more damage - with a design modification pulled in from a parallel universe and manifested into this reality. Just say the word Quantum real hard and squint while spinning in circles till you’re dizzy and it will all make sense! But at a certain point you will reach the limitations of your ability to enhance something - or you hit a multiversal dead end - and then the ability will not activate. Enhance also has some capacity for growth. I can't tell you how much it can grow - but it is possible that something which reached its limits of enhancement might be able to be pushed further as your own power improves and evolves. This power’s growth isn’t linked to your stats at all, only to your level. As you level up your enhancement ability may improve… posssssibly.”
“Good to know. Now you’ve mentioned leveling up a few times–”
“Ohhhh Nooooo. The minutes are up! That’s all the time we have for now - but the probability engine says we will chat again if you survive! Try not to die!”
The Justice Syndicate
The Fortress of Justice wasn’t just damp—it was a dripping, cavernous tomb. A hollowed-out relic of the city’s old water-pumping station, it lay buried beneath layers of concrete and forgotten industrial zones. Once, it had thrummed with purpose, a command center where technicians monitored the flow of clean water from beyond the wall to the glittering Spires. But as Aetheric levels rose, and outer-world water became dangerous the aqueducts were sealed, and the station abandoned.
Now, flickering fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, their sickly glow stuttering and casting jagged shadows that danced across a scarred steel table at the chamber’s heart. Around it clustered the Justice Syndicate—mutants and low-tier supers, a motley crew of outcasts who’d claimed the city’s lawless edge as their own after most of the inner city caped crusaders wrote it off as lost. Today, though, the roster on hand was just a skeleton crew. Most were out prowling the P-District’s alleys, chasing petty crooks away from their patrol zones, leaving Brock “The Rock” Granite to hold down the fort.
A seven-foot slab of red granite veined with glowing fissures, Brock stood at the table’s head, his tank top—scrawled with “BROCK SMASH”—straining against his bulk. He muttered under his breath, “Shoulda hit the streets today.” Too late now—Trix had dropped a situation into their laps.
“Why, why bring them here?” Brock’s voice boomed, a landslide of frustration as he slammed his rocky fists onto the table. The reinforced metal groaned, a deep thoom reverberating through the chamber. Stale, damp air whipped across the room, swirling dust motes in the flickering light. A rusted pipe overhead creaked in protest.
Trix “Hopper” Mackenzie flinched, wringing her hands like a kid caught with stolen candy. Her mismatched eyes—one green, one crackling with static from a low-level cyber-mod that tended to short out occassionally—darted nervously. “Because Nightmare said—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Arrrgh, Nightmare!” Brock cut her off, his roar rattling the walls, fissures flaring like molten cracks. “Couldn’t you have called someone first? One of the smart ones—Eagle-Eye, Fabulous, hell, even Wraith! Then you could’ve hauled ‘em anywhere but here. Don’t just drag strangers into the command center, Trix!” His mind churned. Nightmare. Why me? He’d seen her angry just once, and the memory stuck like a splinter under his rocky skin.
Trix shrank into herself, muttering, “But Doc’s here, and he doesn’t have a phone.” She’d been a scavenger kid, scrabbling through Wall-side ruins, dreaming of the inner city. When her teleportation power triggered, it was a golden ticket—until her first paid hop dumped a client stark naked at a Spire gala, killing her dreams of fortune and any shot at a first-rate team. So when Nightmare called, she’d jumped without thinking. Now, guilt gnawed at her gut. Maybe I should’ve said no.
Dr. Silas “Rust” Harrow shuffled in from the med bay, his gaunt frame dwarfed by a tattered lab coat streaked with grease. His rust-red skin shimmered under the lights, metallic veins snaking up his arms like living wires. “Think he’ll be fine,” he rasped, his voice scraping like sandpaper on steel. “Cost a fortune, though—three shots of Dust just to stabilize him.” He flexed his fingers, a faint screech of metal skin protesting the motion. “Girl’s locked in the panic room, collared and cuffed per your orders, Brock. Make damn sure she knows you’re the one that made that call when she wakes up.” A smirk tugged at his lips as he imagined Brock trying to talk down Nightmare.
Brock snorted, puffing out his chest. “I’m not scared of that little girl.” It was a bald-faced lie, and the room felt it. Nightmare had a rep. His thumb jabbed the “League Assemble” button on his wrist comm, a nervous tic he’d been nursing since Trix ported them in.
“Is that really necessary?” Trix mumbled, barely audible over the buzz.
“Is it nec—” Brock’s voice hitched, his head throbbing like a fault line about to crack. “Do you not know why they call her Nightmare?!” Kid’s clueless. She’ll get us all carved up. He rubbed his fist against his forehead, exhaling with an exasperated gust.
Silas cut in, “Found business cards on the kid. The expensive kind. One is a direct line to the local bank branch manager, another to the head of Johns Hopkins, and—get this—the Platinum Paladin’s personal number. That last one’s laced with radiation so-”
Brock’s fissures flared, his eyes widening. “A tracker? We brought a tracker into the base? Who the hell is this kid?!” Platinum Paladin? That’s Spire royalty—big-league heat. We don’t need that shit out here.
“Calm down,” Silas said, waving a rust-colored hand, “Trix ported ‘em straight in. Under all this rock, they can’t scan squat. Just thought you’d wanna know.”
The blast door groaned open with a metallic screech, a wave of damp air ushering in three figures.
Captain Fabian Cortez—Captain Fabulous to the streets—glided in first, hovering a foot off the ground, his jewel-encrusted cape shimmering like a disco ball spun from a mad jeweler’s fever dream. Black leather fetish gear hugged his frame—thigh-high boots, spiked harness, a utility belt bristling with knives and glitter-bombs—his pink pompadour a defiant flare against the gloom. “Oh, darlings, never fear—Captain Fabulous is here!” he trilled, his voice a velvet lash, twirling a knife with a flourish that caught the light, then examining his own reflection in the mirror shined flat of the blade. Another night, another mess to deal with. At least I’m always the brightest thing in this dump.
Marissa “Eagle-Eye” Talon strode in next, her talons clicking against the concrete. Her eagle head—beak sharp as a switchblade, amber eyes glinting like twin suns—tilted as she swept the room, while her mostly human body tensed under a patched leather jacket, jeans scuffed from dozens of dust-ups. Tiny wings doodled on her sleeves fluttered in her mind’s eye, a wish she’d buried deep. “We’re here,” she said, her voice a gruff rasp edged with unease. “What’s the emergency?” Better not be another gang brawl. I’m one stitch away from fighting in rags.
A shadow slipped into place at the table’s far end as the last figure settled—Medusa “Mind-Lock” Vey, her trench coat hood pulled low over a face no one dared peek at. The air around her thickened, as if her presence warped the light itself. Her fingers toyed with cracked aviators, lenses catching the flicker like dead stars, and her husky whisper sliced through the din. “Alright, that’s all our heavy hitters. What they said—what’s got you smacking the damned emergency button?”
Brock shifted, “It’s like this,” he grumbled, his voice a low rumble that shook the table. “Trix brought Nightmare into the base—”
“Oh, shit!” Captain Fabulous jolted back, nearly clipping a pipe with his cape as he hovered higher, knife pausing mid-twirl - suddenly grasped and held in a defensive position. “She’s here and you called us here? Damn it, man, we should be hoofing it to the backup base.” His eyes darted to the exits.
“Calm down,” Vey snapped, her tone dismissive as she leaned forward, hood tilting like a hawk eyeing a mark. “You can tell by the fact we’re not sweeping up pebbles and Brock-dust that there’s no immediate threat. Now—what happened?” Her unseen gaze pinned him, and Brock bristled. Not how it’d go down, he thought. I’d smash her flat… probably.
“That’s not—” he started, then sighed, dragging a rocky hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Nightmare called Trix, and Trix, well… you know her.” He glared at the teleporter, who hunched further. Brock spilled out the tale—Nightmare’s call, Trix’s hop, the stranger burning with fever and possible Ascension sickness, Sofia cuffed, hidden away in the panic room. “Doc says he’ll probably be fine,” he finished, exhaling.
Trix kept her eyes down, her static eye twitching as she remembered the call she’d gotten. ‘Come get us now!’ She’d been too stunned to refuse—Nightmare was not someone you just said no to.
Fabulous whistled low, landing lightly and collapsing into his chair. “Three shots of Dust? Sweet bejeezus, and he’s still breathing?” His voice dripped with mock awe, mind tallying the cost. “That stuff runs 20k on the black market right now.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Yes, normally one would be more than enough to take the edge of an ascension” Vey murmured, her fingers tracing the aviators’ edge, “this has been an expensive venture.” Her whisper carried a calculating chill. “Hopefully something profitable comes of it.”
“Well, it’ll be a while before we know,” Silas rasped, adjusting his coat. “Three shots, so he should be out for days. And with Nightmare collared and cuffed, I wouldn’t go near her for a while either. Not until she’s calmed down.”
“I call not-it on that shit,” Fabulous said, crossing his arms into a dramatic X, cape shimmering.
A raspy voice cut through the haze, faint but sharp, from the corner. “Excuse me… who are all of you, and where’s my friend?”
Every head snapped toward the door. Foster stood there, one hand pressed to his temple, his eyes locked onto the members of the Justice Syndicate. The air stilled, the buzz of the lights was the only sound as they stared..
***
Foster stood in the doorway, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the flickering fluorescent glow, haloed by the eerie dance of shadows on the concrete walls.
Brock “The Rock” Granite froze mid-grumble, his glowing fissures dimming to a dull ember as he gaped at the kid, his rocky jaw slack. He’s up? After three shots of dust? Kid’s a damn tank. The table creaked under his massive weight as he leaned forward, the “BROCK SMASH” scrawl on his tank top stretching taut across his chest. “You’re awake—great. Now sit down before you keel over, kid. We have questions.”
Foster didn’t flinch, his eyes narrowing under the weight of a lingering headache. “Not until you tell me where Sofia is. I need to see her and know that she’s okay.” His tone carried a raw edge, not panic but insistence with a promise of possible rage only barely contained.
The Syndicate swapped wary glances, a ripple of unease threading through the damp chamber like static before a lightning strike. Marissa “Eagle-Eye” Talon’s talons stilled on the table, their razor tips glinting as her amber eyes flared with confusion. Sofia? Is that what her name is… nah. That’s fucking Nightmare. She tilted her eagle head, beak clicking softly against itself, a nervous tic. “So… she’s your friend?”
Captain Fabulous leaned back, his jewel-encrusted cape catching the light like a shattered chandelier tumbling through a midnight rave. The leather of his fetish gear creaked as he shifted, boots gleaming like polished obsidian. “Darling, you’re throwing me — Nightmare’s not exactly the ‘friend’ type. She’s more the ‘rip-your-face-off’ type.” His voice trilled with theatrical flair, but his mind spun, a whirl of sequins and dread. This kid’s either got ice in his veins or a hole where his brain should be and I’m betting on the hole.
Medusa “Mind-Lock” Vey’s hood shifted, her whisper slicing through the air like a shard of frost as she gripped her cracked aviators, lenses flashing like dead moons. “You’re not scared of her. Interesting.”
Foster frowned, rubbing his temple where a dull ache still throbbed—a lingering echo of Ascension sickness. Sadly neither of his new powers were going to be terribly useful against a room full of unknown supers. “Scared? She’s my friend —just take me to her.” ‘They are acting like she’s the boogeyman. I’ve worked with her for over a year, I think that’s something I would have picked up on.’
They may know some things about Sofia that we do not.
‘Well… What I know about her is that she was worried about me. That’s all I need to know for now.’
Brock snorted, a gust of air blasting from his rocky maw, “Your friend’s in the panic room, cuffed and collared. She’s dangerous. For all we know you might be too. What power didja get? Can you smash?” He slapped a giant stone fist into a stone palm and grinned. “Always a place on the team for Supes that can smash.”
“Panic room?” Foster’s voice sharpened, his newly buffed Constitution helping to keep him on his feet despite a headache clouding his mind. “Why the hell would you do that to her? Give me the keys—now.” His demand rang out.
Trix “Hopper” Mackenzie flickered, her one static laced eye twitching like a busted holo-feed as she shrank back. She mumbled, voice barely a breath, “Uh, Brock, maybe we should, I mean, otherwise one of us will eventually have to and it won’t be me—”
“Fine!” Brock growled, his rocky fingers fishing a ring of keys from his belt with a scrape of stone on metal. He tossed them across the table with a clatter that echoed like loose change in a tin cup. “Your funeral, kid. Down the hall, third door on the right. You’ve got some guts, I’m just worried I’ll have to clean them off the walls before the day is done. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Foster snatched the keys, his jaw tightening into a hard line, and marched away. The Syndicate watched him go, a mix of disbelief and dread settling over them.
Marissa muttered under her breath, her beak clicking, “He’s either braver than us or dumber than a rock… no offense Brock.”
Fabulous smirked, twirling his knife absently, “Well… better him than us.”
The hallway yawned ahead, a tunnel of twisting rusted pipes and dripping walls, a faint humid mist swirling in eddies filling the dimness and catching the dim light. Foster’s breath fogged in the growing chill, curling into wisps that danced inside the mist as he reached the panic room door—a slab of reinforced steel. A scratched keyhole on a heavy lock kept the door secured.
He jammed the key in, turned it with a grinding clank that reverberated down the hall, threw the lock down, and shoved the door open with a grunt.
Inside, the panic room was a claustrophobic coffin—bare walls and a single flickering bulb casting stark, jittering shadows that clawed at the edges of the space. Food and water was stacked on metal shelves all along the side and Sofia lay slumped on a metal bed bolted to the floor covered in the thinnest of mattresses Her wrists were bound in heavy cuffs that gleamed dully under the light and a power-dampening collar was clamped tight around her neck, its faint green glow pulsing. Her dark hair spilled over her face in tangled, sweat-matted strands, clinging to her pale skin like ink, and her chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths that rasped faintly in the stillness. She looked smaller than he remembered, fragile beneath the restraints.
He knelt beside her, the cold concrete biting through his jeans as his knee touched the floor, and he kept his voice soft, “Sofia? Hey, it’s me.” His hands moved to the cuffs, fingers steady as he worked the key into the lock. The first shackle clicked open with a sharp snap, falling away with a dull clank that echoed like a dropped coin in the silence, and he reached for the second, the metal icy against his skin. “You’re okay now—I’ve got you.”
Her eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, pupils dilated to black voids that swallowed the light. She jerked upright, a guttural snarl tearing from her throat—raw and feral, like a beast clawing out of a nightmare’s depths. Her hands, still half-bound, lunged for his neck with a desperate, trembling fury. “No—no—no!” she rasped, her voice a shredded whisper, trapped in some unseen terror. Her fingers closed around his throat, squeezing with a strength born of panic, her jagged nails digging into his skin and leaving faint, red welts.
Foster grunted, the pressure a dull throb against his neck—but it barely registered. Perhaps it was his boosted constitution, juiced up by the system.
“Sofia, stop—it’s me! It’s Foster!” He croaked out.
Her snarl faltered, her grip slackening as a flicker of recognition pierced the chaos in her eyes. Her pupils shrank, locking onto his, and the nightmare drained from her face like water from a cracked glass, replaced by a flood of raw horror. “F-Foster?” Her voice cracked and brittle. Her hands trembling as they fell away, the second cuff dangling from her wrist like a broken manacle. “Oh God—I—I was hurting you—I didn’t—” Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks in hot, glistening tracks as she curled in on herself, shoulders shaking. “I thought—I thought you were someone else…”
“Hey, hey,” Foster said, his voice steady. He unlocked the other cuff and tossed it aside with a clatter that rang off the walls. He slid onto the bench beside her and pulled her into a careful hug, mindful of the collar still humming at her throat. “I’m fine—look, not even a scratch, well maybe a scratch but that’s all. You didn’t hurt me, I’m very tough and you’re okay, that’s what matters.”
She’s a wreck— Hedy what the hell did they inject her with to make her go crazy like this.’
I don’t know. She appears to be suffering from PTSD.
Sofia shuddered against him, her breath hitching in ragged gasps that fogged the air between them. “I didn’t know it was you.” Her fingers clutched his jacket, knuckles whitening as if anchoring herself to reality, the fabric bunching under her grip.
Foster’s jaw tightened, a spark of anger flaring in his chest,He brushed her matted hair back with a gentle hand, meeting her gaze—those eyes, wide and haunted.. “We’re getting that collar off next.”
“No, no! Leave it.” She started to push his hands away.
“That’s not happening.” He turned the key and the glowing green light cut out.
***
Sofia’s world erupted in a haze of shadows and pain, a nightmare clawing her awake from the drugged abyss. That damned doctor! Her eyes snapped open, wild and unseeing, pupils blown wide like black pits swallowing the faint, flickering light of the panic room’s single bulb. The air was thick—stale concrete dust mingling with the damp, metallic tang of the underground fortress—and her lungs heaved against it, each breath a ragged gasp that burned her throat like fire. One wrist was still shackled, the cold metal biting into her flesh, and the power-dampening collar at her neck pulsed with a sickly green glow, its energy leeching at her essence, leaving her hollow and weak.
She saw him. Her stepfather. His shadow loomed in her mind’s eye, a hulking silhouette against the cracked plaster of their old tenement, his voice a low growl: “Hold still, girl, or it’ll hurt worse.” Memories rolled over her like a tidal wave—leather straps, the sting of his belt, the way he’d lock her in the closet when her powers first flickered to life, screaming that it was for her own good, that she had to learn. That she could come out when she looked right again. Instinct roared through her, pure and primal, and she lunged.
Her hands—half-free, trembling—found a throat, fingers clamping down with a desperate, animal strength. “No—no—no!” she rasped, nails digging into flesh as she fought the ghost of her past. Her heart hammered, every nerve screaming survive, fight, escape.
Then—a voice pierced the fog, steady, familiar. “Sofia, stop—it’s me! It’s Foster!” Her snarl choked off, her grip faltering as the world swam back into focus. Her eyes locked onto his—calm, hazel, real—and the nightmare shattered, leaving her raw and exposed. Her hands dropped, shaking violently, the second cuff dangling like a broken shackle. “F-Foster?” Her voice cracked, a fragile thread snapping, and shame flooded her chest, hot and suffocating. Oh God—I was choking him. Him. Tears stung her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in hot, glistening tracks as she curled inward, arms wrapping tight around herself. She’d almost hurt the one person who’d never seen her as a monster.
“Oh God—I—I was hurting you—I didn’t—” Her voice broke, the words tumbling out in a choked whisper. “I thought—I thought you were someone else…”
Foster’s voice stayed steady, kindness she didn’t deserve. “I’m fine—look, not even a scratch, well maybe a scratch but that’s all. You didn’t hurt me, I’m very tough and you’re okay, that’s what matters.”
He slid beside her, pulling her into a hug, his jacket rough against her cheek. She shuddered, clinging to him, her breath hitching as she fought to steady herself.
“We’re getting that collar off next,” he said, brushing her hair back, his touch gentle but firm.
“No, no! Leave it.” Her voice spiked, panic flaring as she grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-reach for the collar. I don’t know if I can control- Her powers churned beneath the dampener, a roiling tide of darkness clawing at her insides, begging to break free. She’d kept it locked down around Foster, played normal—human. Now, shame and fear warred in her gut; she couldn’t risk him seeing her out of control.
But Foster didn’t listen. “That’s not happening.” His jaw set, that stubborn streak she knew too well, and he reached past her grip, fingers deft as he unlatched the collar. It fell with a dull clunk, the green glow winking out, and Sofia’s breath hitched as her powers surged—a wild, electric rush flooding her veins. Her skin prickled, a phantom itch threatening to ripple free, and she clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. Hold it together. Hold it. She poured every ounce of will into keeping herself together, her body trembling with the effort, a tightrope walk over a chasm of chaos. Foster watched her, steady as ever, and she forced a shaky nod. “Okay. Okay, I’m good.” I’m such a liar. I’m barely hanging on.
He helped her up, his arm solid under hers, and they stepped out of the room. The hallway’s chill bit at her sweat-damp skin as they walked back to the main chamber. Sofia’s legs shook, but she straightened, steeling herself as they entered the main room. The Justice Syndicate turned as one, their faces a gallery of barely masked worry—eyes wide, postures stiff, like rabbits caught in a predator’s glare.
Sofia’s voice cut through the tension, soft but deliberate. “Trix, thanks for getting us here. You didn’t have to, but you did.” She forced a small smile, her dark eyes sweeping over them all—Brock, Marissa, Fabulous, Vey. “And the rest of you… thanks for helping. I appreciate it.” Keep it civil. Her tone was gracious, but her gaze carried a hint of simmering anger as her gaze passed over them all.
Brock’s rocky hands clenched, a faint crack echoing. Marissa’s beak clicked faster. Fabulous let out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, anytime, love!” Vey stayed silent, her unseen eyes tracking Sofia like a hawk. Trix mumbled a shaky, “Uh, no problem, glad I could help,” her pixelated eye jittering.
Sofia stumbled, clutching Foster for support. “This is the Justice Syndicate.” She pointed at each of them in turn. “Brock—he’s like a living rock man that punches things. Eagle-Eye, the bird girl—she can do kung fu and has claws for hands. Medusa, who’s supposedly so ugly that if you see her, you freeze in horror. Doc Rust, he’s a tinkerer and he practices a bit of medicine. And Captain Fabulous—he can fly. That’s pretty much it; he just… flies around.”
“I fly around—looking fabulous, darling,” Fabulous interjected, striking a pose.
“Oh… and Trix,” Sofia continued, pointing at the teleporter, “…she’s more like their mascot, even though she actually has a pretty cool power—she can teleport. Together, they’re what passes for organized crime out here around Starlight College.”
“We are superheroes!” Brock roared, his voice like grinding boulders.
“Yeah… superheroes that patrol around whatever businesses pay you off in protection money,” Sofia shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You don’t go even ten blocks from the college.”
“That just gets them priority dispatch,” Brock snorted. “There’s no real police response this far out. If you call something in, you might as well catch a nap. We’re the closest thing to the good guys out here, in a sea of gangs and independent villains—and I would point out, we don’t normally leave our enemies in pieces spread out over a city block like you do Ni-”
“Of course not,” Sofia cut him off, “If you killed off all the criminals, where would your repeat business for protection go?”
“There will always be more criminals,” Medusa said, her voice a low, rasping whisper from beneath the hood of her coat. “But on the matter of business—saving your friend cost us three shots of Dust - and disrupted our patrols. We will want to be remunerated eventually.”
“Three—” Sofia looked at Foster with worry. “How are you still standing?”
“Strong constitution,” Foster replied, his voice steady. “How much is this Dust?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sofia said quickly, her tone firm. “I’ll take care of it. Now, everyone, thank you again. I owe you a favor, but what I’d like to ask you all to do… is to send us back.”
Vey nodded at Trix.
“Of course! Of course!” Trix’s head shot up and down like a bobblehead doll. “I can do that!” She ran over and touched Sofia and Foster, and with a sharp CRACK of displaced air, the three of them disappeared.
Brock looked down at the ground where two piles of clothes lay, empty of their former wearers. “Ah, shit,” he muttered. “Think Nightmare will kill her?”
There was another softer crack, and Trix reappeared, her hands covering her eyes as she screamed, “I didn’t see anything! I didn’t—” She peeked open an eye. “Oh, thank God, I made it back.
“Well, aren’t you going to take them back their clothes?” Fabulous pointed at the piles.
“I don’t know!” Trix sniffed out, her voice trembling. “If you saw the look she shot me… I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight!”
***
The world jolted, a sharp crack splitting the air as Sofia’s stomach flipped inside out. One second, she was leaning on Foster in the Fortress’s damp chill; the next, she was back inside Foster’s tiny apartment, the AC’s icy bite snapping against her suddenly bare skin. Her breath caught with a ragged gasp as the rush of the teleport ebbed, leaving her dizzy and stark naked. Sofia’s powers churned, a restless tide clawing at her ribs, and she clenched her fists harder, nails digging into her palms to cage it. Not now. Not here.
A yelp shattered the silence—Trix, hands flailing as she stumbled back. “I didn’t mean— I didn’t see anything!” Another crack, and she vanished, a gust of displaced air fluttering a stack of dog-eared super tabloids on the floor. Sofia blinked, the room sharpening into focus, and she saw Foster—standing a few feet away, bare as the day he was born, turning away fast with a gentleman’s reflex, hands raised to cover himself.
“Sofia, uh—sorry, I’ll just—” His voice was steady but tinged with a flush of embarrassment, shoulders tensing as he shuffled toward the closet.
Sofia caught a glimpse before he turned: massive burn scars, gnarled and twisted, sprawling across his arms and chest. The skin was a brutal mosaic of angry reds and faded whites, rippling over his thin frame in jagged, molten streaks that stole her breath. Those are old. Suspicion flickered in her gut—she knew fragments of his past, hushed whispers from the school. Her dark eyes lingered, curiosity tangling with respect, until eventually respect won out and she yanked her gaze away, heat crawling up her neck as her own exposure sank in.
Foster yanked the closet door open with a creak, rummaging through a tangle of hangers. “Hang on— I don’t have a lot in here.” He pulled out two crumpled uniforms—garish bright monstrosities, stamped with the grinning Sloppo’s Taco logo. He tossed one to her without turning, the fabric landing in a heap at her feet, and wrestled the other over his head, the too-tight shirt stretching across his chest. “Not ideal, I know, but it beats the alternative. I really need to go shopping.”
Sofia grabbed the uniform, fingers trembling as she wrestled it on, the polyester rough and scratchy against her skin, carrying the faintest smell of old fryer grease. The pants sagged at her hips, a size too big, and the shirt’s neon glare made her feel like a misplaced traffic cone. She glanced at Foster—his uniform just as ridiculous, sleeves riding up his scarred arms—and a nervous laugh slipped out, sharp and brittle. “Well, now you know why I never wear short sleeves, but hey, at least we both look like clowns.”
She nodded, smoothing her hair back with a shaky hand. I’m still me.
He flashed a small grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Come on.” He nodded to the bed—a lumpy mattress right on the floor, sheets a twisted mess—and they sat, the memory foam squishing some under their weight but doing an admirable job. The room’s stillness pressed in, thick with the unsaid, and Sofia’s stomach knotted. No dodging it now. We’ve gotta talk.
She drew a breath, the words scraping up her throat like broken glass. “Foster, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Foster laughed, “Yeah… that’s kind of what started all this. I’m sorry. I thought you might be about to… confess that you had feelings for me—and I didn’t know what to do, and I freaked out and… well—congratulations… you are my origin story. I triggered.” He flashed a smile at her. “Technically, it was going to happen for sure anyway; it was a matter of time. You were just that little extra push.”
Sofia blinked repeatedly. “What would you have said?” Her voice was low, barely a whisper. “If I had?”
“I would have said, Show me your gene-ID card. I’m still not dating you if you’re not legal.”
“Dumbass.” She punched him lightly in the shoulder.
There was another crack, and Trix popped in with two sets of neatly folded clothes. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, BYE!” She was gone almost as quickly as she came.
Sofia walked over to her pile, reached into her pants pocket, and pulled out a small silver card. Handing it to Foster, she said, “I wasn’t going to confess my feelings… I was just going to confess … my sins.”
Foster looked down at it.
*Name:* Nyx Sofia Rodriguez
*GENE-ID Number:* B-074-2913
*DOB:* May 22, 2136
*Height:* 5’2 (variable)
*Weight:* 115 pounds (variable)
*CLASS C Super:* Biomemetic Tactomorphism
‘Hedy-’
It’s 2145. She’s 19… and I think that means she’s some kind of shape-shifter.
‘Thanks.’
Foster grinned somewhat foolishly. “Holy crap.”
“I told you I’m older than I look. I just didn’t want you to know I was a super. Technically… I can look any age. I don’t even really know what I’m supposed to look like. I had someone at the PRU take pictures of me from when I was younger and use their aging software to show me what I’d look like at eighteen.” She pointed at herself. “This is what it kicked out… I’m probably gonna look like this till I die, or decide I want to look like something else.”
“So you’re gonna be cute forever then.”
“Stop… just… stop being so nice for a moment!” Sofia held up her hand looking pained. “Give me just a moment when you’re not being nice…” She stopped and took several long breaths. “I need to tell you this. A long time ago… I was hired to break you and your girlfriend up. Back when you were in school.” Shame burned in her chest, a smoldering weight she’d hauled for years, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, fingers twisting the uniform’s hem. “I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.”
Foster blinked, brow furrowing as he leaned back. ‘What’s she on about?’ He sifted through hazy memories, eyes narrowing. “I don’t remember anything like that. Katey and I— She said I was a cheater, and I wasn’t trying hard enough, and that we were in two different worlds. No matter what I said, she just shut me down…”
Sofia swallowed, throat tight, the past spilling out like ink from a cracked bottle. “It was the day they told you about your aunt. You were in class. The teacher came in, all stone-faced, said the expedition was lost, declared her dead. You just… stood there, blank.” Her voice wavered, nails digging deeper into her palms, leaving faint red crescents. “I was there to screw you over… but I was still upset she was so callous about it—everyone was—but I ran over and gave you a hug. I didn’t think, just… did it. And that’s when your girlfriend walked in. I saw her in the doorway. I pushed you away then, but… it was too late. She saw. She saw me hugging you and…” She looked away ashamed.
Foster’s jaw tightened, a spark of memory flaring. “I would have remembered you,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“I was blonde! Blue eyes, a cheerleader. I can look like almost anyone,” Sofia said, words tumbling now, a flood she couldn’t dam. “When she saw me hugging you she just lost it—screamed at you right there in front of everyone. Called you a cheater, said she was done with you, stormed out while the whole school gawked. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that! I… I was supposed to make her jealous, do whatever it took to push her into breaking up with you, but I didn’t know she’d explode like that from just a hug. I didn’t know it’d end you two.” Her voice broke, tears pricking her eyes again. “I mean… honestly, I thought I’d have to do a lot more. I had plans to do more. I think that girl is mental!”
“I don’t even remember much of Katey’s screaming. I dimly remember someone hugging me—mostly just the news about my aunt. Almost everything else… blurred to fog on that day.” He looked up, meeting her gaze, steady but searching. “Who was it that hired you?”
Sofia shrugged, a helpless twitch of her shoulders. “Some big-time super in shiny armor. Stay away from her… she could smush us like bugs. It was… a do-this-or-else kind of situation, and the else… wouldn’t have been good.” She hugged her knees, the uniform rustling faintly. “Still, I didn’t think it’d haunt me this long. A year ago somebody told me… they told me… that you were probably an asshole. That if I knew the real you I wouldn’t be so torn up over this. So… I hunted you down. Started working with you… to see if you were an asshole. You really let me down with your nice-guy bullshit!”
Foster threw himself back onto the bed, a wry smile tugged at his lips. “You’re really tearing yourself up over a hug? That’s… crazy.”
Sofia’s laugh was shaky, more breath than sound. “Yeah, I’m a pro at guilt trips.” Her eyes flicked to his arms, the scars stark under the rooms dim light. “Those… they’re from the fire, right? From when you saved your ex.”
Foster’s smile faded, his hand brushing the burns absently. “Yeah. That was a bad day.” His voice dropped, a shadow crossing his face. “We’ve both got some ghosts.”
“God… don’t talk about ghosts… that’s about the only thing I’m scared of.” She tried to force a smile onto her face. “I can just kill anything else that scares me.”
“Ahh… I see. There’s something I should probably tell you as well—”
Now might not be the best time to confess your true nature.
“—but… maybe not just this second. Look—you didn’t break us up. My ex’s insecurities made a crack, then everyone around her started to treat her like she was a princess, that widened it… but mostly… it was probably my fault. I wasn’t in love with Katey anymore… I had… the memory of love. The remembrance of it… but it was gone after the accident. I wanted to be loyal to that memory, but I think some part of her could tell. It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t even wholly hers. It was mostly mine.”
“God, you can’t be this nice!” Sofia screamed, slapping her palms over her eyes and collapsing, dragging her hands down and blowing out an exasperated sigh. “Nobody is like this after breakups and betrayals.”
“Oh… I assure you, I don’t deal with breakups or betrayals well.” Foster stared off into the distance. “Let me ask you some serious questions. Some of it will sound silly, but I’m being very serious. Do you like me?”
“Yes… I like you. You’re a giant dork.”
“Do you want to date me?”
“I… I don’t know if a relationship would work out, I’ve got some things I’m working through but… I would still like to try. Yeah.”
“Not a pity date?”
“No dumbass!”
“Look… Sofia… I do like you.” Foster coughed. “So… you’re not… you know… gay?”
“I’m bi, duh. I just don’t flirt well with people I’m actually interested in like… emotionally.”
“Wait a minute… what about all those friends you wanted to set me up with!”
Sofia stared at the floor, her cheeks flushing a deep red. “They would’ve been me, dummy. I was trying to find out your type… then I would be your type.”
“Holy crap, you were gonna catfish me with yourself? That is… so… weird.” He laughed, the sound warm and genuine, filling the small room. “But also kind of adorable.”
“Shut up,” Sofia muttered, hiding her face in her hands, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Foster said, his tone teasing, “you’re still interested.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” she shot back, though there was no bite in her words. Just a quiet, tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this might work. “I’ve got to go… I’m barely keeping it together. I have to take pills to be able to hold onto one form and my refills are all at my place… they make me a little weak but… they also make it possible to not terrify everyone, and I really don’t want to scare you.”
“I truly don’t care what you look like.”
“Spoken like a guy who has never seen someone turn into a literal monster… just trust me.” She forced a pained smile. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”
“O.k. I do trust you.” Foster nodded. “So… see you tomorrow?”
“Seven o’clock, The Broken Mask, it’ll be my treat!”
“I don’t think they let normies like me in there.”
“First of all I don’t know what sort of power you triggered into but I know you’re not a normie anymore, and second of all I’m gonna have them add your name to the entry list. Just show your I.D.”
“Alright… looking forward to seeing you then.”