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Chapter Text

   Year October 1962

‘Elastic Girl has won the hearts of many after saving civilians at a bank heist!’

‘Thunderhead has cleared the safety of the city against missiles!’

‘Gamma Jack scored another victory against the void villain!’ 

‘Metaman has saved the lives of 8 people stuck inside a collapsing building!’

‘Mr. Incredible has reached an altitude of praise for saving many in a submarine!’ 

‘Supers once again caused an uproar over the Environmental Catastrophe!’

   “Heya Y/n.”

   You looked up from the paper to see a blonde girl approaching you with a soft grin. A name was tagged on her left breast pocket. ‘Cassie’.

   “What are you looking at?” She leaned over, catching sight of the papers in your hands. Her nose scrunched.

   “Are you seriously reading an old newspaper? What are you, a grandma?” she teased, sliding into the seat in front of you.

   You only sighed, setting the paper down on the growing stack.

   “Why are you even reading that thing?” she pressed, tilting her head.

   “Nothin’… just letting my mind wander,” you muttered, propping your chin on your hand.

   “Things have gone really quiet ever since the ban on supers, huh?”

   You gave a silent nod, lifting your mug for a sip.

   “Well, considering all those past incidents—toppled buildings, blocked roads, the damage supers left behind—it’s no wonder people figured out they could sue them. Easy money.”

   You rolled your eyes.

   The blonde giggled. “You surely do hate politicians, don’t you?”

   “Well, hate is a strong word, Cassie.” You rebuttal, placing the cup down and straightening your coat. “I’d say I dislike them at a mediocre level.” You say and stand up. 

   The café buzzed with life—people chatting animatedly, laughter spilling from groups of girls and women alike. And then there was Cassie, your friend and café employee, currently on break just to pester you with gossip. It was oddly peaceful.

   “STOP THAT MACHINE!”

   Or not.

   That same peacefulness was cut off by a screaming super who shouldn’t even be doing heroics — swung her elastic body past the cafe. You blinked at the woman, then at the large drilling machine just moving in the cityscapes of Metroville. The surface rumbling by the force of the machine’s weight, its edges scrape off debris and glass from the buildings.

   Cassie paled. “Maybe I shouldn’t jinx that.”

   You shot her a look. “You think?” 

   Screams broke out as people rushed toward the café’s main exit in panic. With a weary sigh, you stuffed the newspapers into your backpack, zipped it shut, and slung it over your shoulder. Turning to the side, you made your way to the opposite exit. Cassie scrambled after you.

   “You’re awfully calm for someone in the middle of a villain attack,” she muttered, face scrunching as you pushed open the back door, steering clear of the crossfire.

   You tiredly shrugged your shoulders and inclined your head to glance at her from behind. “Well, I’m sure supers could handle it. Couldn’t they?” You dismissed her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those heroes saved the day yet again.” You added “And cause massive casualties in the city. Again.” You paused by the sidewalk, looking around to make sure nothing could suddenly fly off and hit somebody, like some loose debris falling from a crumbling building. 

   Or a barrage of icicles that whizzed past you, one sharp edge nearly grazing your cheek on the process.

   “Y/n!” she shrieked, worry flashing in her eyes as you casually lifted a hand and waved at her, unfazed.

   She groaned in relief. “Oh, thank goodness you’re fine.” Without hesitation, she jogged over, grabbed your arm, and pulled you to a much safer distance from the fight.

   “You seriously need to be careful! You don’t even have powers—and those supers you mentioned are way too busy dealing with—with that thing!” she scolded. 

   You only hummed in response and popped a candy into your mouth, savoring the cool, minty taste. “So.. You don’t have work then?” you asked out of nowhere. She blinked at you, brows knitting together before realization hit. With a louder groan, she dragged a hand down her face.

   “Obviously! The café’s in total disaster!!” she burst out, frustration clear in her voice.

   You just patted her back. “And I even have bills to pay this month…” she sighed, dropping onto an empty bench and leaning her head back.

  You yawned, arms crossing lazily. 

   “Do you need help?” you offered.

   She gave you a long, silent look before shaking her head. “If it’s money, no—I can handle that.” She waved you off, then narrowed her eyes. “But you could answer why you’ve been reading old articles.”

   The fight had finally died down. The rumbling, the shouting, the chaos—it all faded, leaving only the faint hum of the city settling back into itself. The supers had won this round.

   “I was curious.” You popped another candy into your mouth, letting the mint cool your tongue.

   Cassie tilted her head, still catching her breath. “Curious? About what?” 

   “Curious about the old days.”

   Cassie leaned in, her gaze locking with yours. “Why would you be curious about that?” 

   You stepped closer, pulling a small, half-burnt scrap of paper from your pocket. It held only a fragment of a word: ‘Kron–’. 

   She reads it quietly, then looks up at you with a furrowed brow. “What about Kron?” Slipping the paper back into your pocket, you shrugged. “Can’t really say much, the rest is unreadable. Just found this on an old article about Mr. Incredible being sued for harming a civilian in an attempt to save said civilian.” 

   “What I also find hard to believe is that every supers back in the days died because of a ‘suit malfunction.’ That’s just nothin’ but a BS excuse.” You crossed your arms, gaze drifting to the side where you saw four red-clad figures getting out of the broken machine and being detained by the Police.

   Cassie mulled over your words before speaking softly. “Do you think—”

   “No.” You cut her off with a firm shake of your head. Her somber expression hung in the air, weighing the moment heavier than it should have, but it didn’t faze you. “But it might as well look like it.”

   Brushing past her you started walking.

   “Hey.”

   You stopped mid-step, not turning around.

   “You don’t have to deal with— whatever it is you're dealing with Y/n. You're not alone.” She said gently. The Sympathy in her voice sent a shiver down your spine. 

   It took a while before you finally glanced back at her, tired eyes meeting her hazel ones. A faint smile tugged at your lips. “It’s okay, I know. Don’t worry about it.” 

   With that, you turned and left the premises. 

   You arrived back at your apartment silently, switching on the lights, you walked to your kitchen counter and placed your backpack in it. Your thoughts are going back to events that occurred today. 

   Slumping back on the couch, you let out a breath. You're too worn out; every day feels like you're draining energy just by being outside. 

   Eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, the thought of being a super really is a heavy burden. With accidents, destruction, and on top of that, prioritizing the safety of a person really is a tough job.

   You took the remote from the small table and turned on the TV, showing the incident that transpired earlier. Branding supers as once again evil in society's eyes for destroying the city hall along with the buildings. 

   It’s hilarious how these people now scorn the very ones who vouch to protect them. You scoffed, rubbing your face. 

    You’ve always been the one who observes everything, a bystander from the sidelines as people get saved, people get recognized, and events unfold consistently. 

   Taking out the burnt scrap of paper that you found, you eyed it intensely, mind whirling with thoughts as to why you can’t seem to ditch this piece of paper.

   Was it because the newspaper, along with this burnt scrap, was with you when you woke up from your coma? 

   Until today, some things just won’t come back to you. No matter how hard you try, it’s like your mind refuses to open the door. But when you woke up in that hospital bed, everything was a blur—the blinding lights above, the rush of doctors crowding around, the sound of machines beeping. The only thing that truly registered was Cassie’s tear-streaked face hovering close, her voice breaking as she cried your name. Even you don't recall knowing her.

   But when you tried to think back on it—before this moment, before the hospital—it was like staring into an empty void. You can’t seem to recall the events that happened that led to you waking up from a coma; it was wiped clean from your mind. No memories to hold onto, no familiar images to cling to. Just gaps. Blank spaces. And the more you reached out for some answers, the further they slipped away.

   It was frustrating to know from somebody else that you were the only remaining survivor who got out of that devastating incident a few months ago.   

   You grabbed your backpack from the counter and headed towards your room, where there's an available desk, taking out the newspapers from the bag and placing them on your desk. You took the recent newspaper; the one that published about the incident that you were involved in.

PRESS BUILDING ATTACK Villain’s Ransom Gone Wrong, only one survivor remained.

   “Metroville—A tragedy unfolded yesterday on May 29, 1962, when the Metroville Press Headquarters was assaulted by a villain during a ransom scheme gone horribly wrong. The building, home to hundreds of journalists and staff, was left in ruins from a large explosion caused by the villains, with dozens confirmed dead in the aftermath.

   Amid the devastation, rescue teams uncovered a lone survivor. Pulled from the wreckage in critical condition, the individual was rushed to the hospital, where doctors reported they had fallen into a coma due to severe injuries. Their survival rate remains undisclosed to the public eye.

   The incident has ignited heated debates across the city. Critics of the government’s ban on supers question whether such destruction could have been prevented if heroes had been allowed to intervene. “Was it right to silence those who protected us, especially now, when we need them the most?” one official asked during a press briefing.

   Others argue that this was an isolated case, insisting that police and rescue workers responded quickly and effectively. “This is not proof that supers are necessary. The authorities did their jobs,” countered a political spokesperson, sparking further controversy among the public.

   As Metroville mourns the journalists lost, the tragedy has reopened deep political divides: whether the city should continue to rely solely on its institutions, or reconsider the role of supers in protecting its people.”

   Funny. You checked the time of the incident. May 29th 1962. You’ve been in a coma for almost 4 months. 

   After that happened, everything went quiet. Just like what Cassie mentioned. No major crimes, just petty minor ones. People who argued about the supers being banned were the pro-supers. While the majority of officials who manage to cease the accident have been taken care of are definitely the ones who don’t want supers to be legalized again.

   No, fuck that—they didn’t stop anything. They scrubbed the whole incident, burying it under bullshit because nobody cared about the people who died in that explosion. Life just went back to normal, as if nearly dying meant nothing.

   You wanted answers. You needed to know more. ‘Retrograde Amnesia’, the doctor concluded. At first, they suspected dissociative amnesia, but after further examinations, the verdict was clear—yours was a severe case of retrograde amnesia. You couldn’t recall your past, not even the day you were born. A curse, disguised as a miracle.

   Because there’s that nagging feeling in the back of your mind, whispering that something is wrong. Everything still feels foreign, even after being discharged from the hospital and pushing forward with therapy. It’s like a phantom itch you can never quite scratch.

   All those thoughts swirling in your head elicit a sharp pain in your temple. Wincing, you rose slowly and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water before pressing a hand to your forehead, trying to ease the ache.

   “Shit…” you muttered under your breath, leaning heavily against the counter with your head hanging low. “Why does nothing make sense?” you whispered, the words sharp and bitter.

   You tightened your grip on the glass before letting it go with a heavy sigh. Maybe some rest will help. Pushing yourself upright, you trudged back to your room and collapsed onto the bed with a low groan.

   Taking a break from reality would do me some good, is your last thought before drifting off to sleep. 

   “Didn’t you hear? The super program’s been shut down.”

   You kept to yourself, nursing the comfort of hot coffee while your coworkers chatted nearby. The warmth of the cup grounded you, until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You glanced up—it was Jason, flashing that easy smile of his.

   “Have you heard the news?” he asked, leaning just enough to catch your attention.

   Before you could respond, Clarice and Monika cut their conversation short, scooting closer to your desk like moths to a flame. “Oh, I’m sure Y/n already knew,” Clarice chirped. “I mean, with her friend in politics? She’s bound to get a sneak peek before the rest of us. Right, Y/n?”

   You wouldn’t exactly call him a friend—more like an acquaintance, if that. “Maybe. He only messaged me about the pending attempts, never said anything about it being finalized.”

   Clarice turned to the two with an I told you so look. Jason chuckled lightly. “She didn’t actually say it was shut down, Clarice.”

   He shook his head, Clarice ignored the jab. “The last incident with that Underminer gave politicians all the excuse they needed to shut supers down once and for all.” Your tone was blunt, your arms crossing as you leaned back. “And for the record, I never even messaged him first. That’s all him—venting at me.”

   You rolled your eyes, crossing one leg over the other.

   “Be that as it may, supers are gone for good now—but what happens next?” Monika asked, twirling her pen between her fingers. “Crime rates are bound to spike without them around.”

   You pressed your lips together, but before you could respond, Jason cut in. “Well, that’s not really our problem,” he said casually, dragging a chair over and dropping into it. He angled it toward the three of you, forming a loose circle. “The government made the call, so they can deal with the fallout.”

   “Jason’s right—whatever they choose to do, that’s on them.” You swiveled in your seat and powered on your computer. “They should take responsibility for their actions, just like the supers had to for theirs.”

   “Also, I’d get back to my place if I were you three.” You advised.

   “Clarice! Monika! Jason! What are you three doing?!” The sharp voice from the office entryway made all three flinch.

   “Break ended five minutes ago! Back to work—now!” Lorence, your boss, barked, arms crossed as he glared. The trio scrambled back to their desks, nearly tripping over each other in their rush. You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the scene.

   Evening came by as you packed your belongings and began heading towards the exit. Just as you stepped into the hallway, your boss appeared from the opposite side. He raised a hand, stopping you in your tracks.

   “Y/n. A word?”

   You halted, meeting his gaze in silence.

   Following your boss into his office, you sat down in front of his desk as he moved around to settle into his chair. He handed you a folder, fingers lacing together as he leaned forward.

   “I need you to take charge of a new recruit starting tomorrow,” he said. “She’s got potential — confident, sharp, and knows how to carry herself. I think she’ll benefit from working under your guidance."

   You opened the file, revealing the image of a striking woman with warm tan skin and mid-length platinum-blonde hair, her bangs swept neatly to the left. Her green eyes seemed to pierce through the photograph, even as she wore a polite, composed smile. Beside the picture were her details: Miranda Fortress, 25 years old — former secretary to a private CEO.

   “Are you sure you want me to take care of her?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. After all, the woman was 4 years older than you.

   Lorence nodded. “You’re my best employee when it comes to handling interns and newcomers,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re thorough with your work, and it’s better to place her in capable hands than anyone else’s.”

   With that, he stood and reached for his coat on the rack, leaving no room for argument.

   You exhaled through your nose and gave a firm nod. “Alright then, sir. I’ll handle the new hire.” Lorence hummed in approval before heading toward the door, with you following close behind.

   “Wise choice. I expect better performance from the both of you.” And with that discussion came to an end.

   “Y/n! Wait up!” 

   You turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Jason jogging up, waving.

   “Hey, I think you forgot something,” he called, holding out a USB drive. He placed it in your hand with a small smile. “You said you needed this, right?”

   You fell silent for a moment, remembering how you’d specifically asked Jason for this kind of USB drive. A small smile tugged at your lips. “Ah, right… Thank you, Jason,” you said softly, offering your gratitude.

   Just as you were about to get into your car, his voice stopped you.

   “I want to know why you need this kind of USB,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. One hand pressed against the roof of your car, holding your attention. “It’s strange—you asked for a device that could be dangerous, you know.” His green eyes, once playful, now carried a flicker of worry.

  You pocketed the USB. “The Editorial asked me to drop off the declassified packet from the agency for the feature fact-check.” 

   “There’s a cover letter from our managing editor and a signed chain-of-custody form — they required a physical handoff.” you casually added. 

   Jason blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Seriously, that’s it? No top-secret mojo I should be bracing for?” His grin hinted at the old newspapers you’d recently requested from your boss a few weeks back.

   You gave a small smile. “None of those unfortunately.” 

   He shook his head, stepping back to give you space, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, you win,” he joked. “Just make sure no one notices you using that drive, or the government will be after you.” His teasing grin made you scoff.

   “Yeah, right.” You shot him a two-finger salute before sliding into your car, turning the ignition.

   “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, flashing him a quick smile. “And thanks again for letting me borrow this.”

   Jason’s gaze softened, though a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “No problem at all—always happy to be of service,” He teased, his green eyes glinting with mirth. “See you tomorrow Y/n.” With a playful little wave, he stepped back, watching you drive off.

Chapter Text

Я̵̶̶̧̛ͧ́̂͆̋̌̎́́͜͜Λ̵̺̥̃̓͒͆̑͊͒̊͠͏̶̶͟Ξ̷̶̨̢̹͖̭͊͗ͫ̅͟͜͢͡͠͝ͅЏ̷͇̳͎͖͕͂ͮͤ͟͡҉̴̨́͜?̭͓̰̳̪̤͔͖̱ͫ̐̀͢?̶̶̵̴̷̸͔̼̖̼͖̫̥̜͔̙ͦ̿͑̉̈́ͦͯ̈̿͝?̵̵̣̤̞̝͎͓̳͈͂̀̀̚͘͠?̧͐̂ͣ͌̇̌͝͏̶̨̛̀

   “Report. Stat.” 

   A gruff voice broke through the silence, low and steady, accompanied by the faint shuffle of papers across a desk. The room was soundproof; nothing from the chaos outside seeped in—only the clipped voices within the office carried weight.

   “Sir, we have confirmation of multiple fatalities,” The agent reported, his tone firm but grim. “Several others are in critical condition, badly wounded from the explosion. The building itself sustained heavy structural damage from the inside out.”

   The figure behind the desk leaned forward, voice gravelly with eerily calm carry on their tone. “Status on the explosives. Were they all triggered?” 

   The agent glanced down at his notes, listening closely to the faint voice on the other end of his earpiece before answering. “According to field reports, most devices detonated between the thirty-sixth and forty-first floors. However—” He hesitated slightly, brow furrowed—“One source confirmed there are still dormant charges buried beneath the structure. Unaccounted. Hidden.” 

   He paused, listening again, then continued. “And Sir… the building wasn’t the only target. Reports indicate coordinated placements. The café across the street, another commercial block nearby, and a restaurant several miles out—they’ve all been flagged as compromised with additional devices. Each site could already be primed for detonation.” 

   A silence hung in the office for a moment, heavy and sharp. Papers stilled.

“Who suspects it?” The gruff voice demanded.

   “Everseer,” the agent replied without flinching. “Four supers have already been dispatched to the area. One is engaged with a device laced with radioactive chemicals—extremely volatile. The others are sweeping the building and combing through the secondary locations for any remaining live charges. Every site is still considered high-risk.”

   The agent’s words lingered in the sterile silence of the office, the implications grave. For every bomb defused, there might be another lying in wait, hidden in the shadows of the city.

   “Were there any villains captured?”

   The agent hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “We managed to detain several individuals tied to the attacks…” His voice dropped, uncertain. “But the one responsible—the true orchestrator—had managed to escape.” 

   A heavy silence followed. The figure behind the desk gave a slow nod, though the weight in their tone was unreadable. “You did what you could.” The agent frowned at that, the words sitting uneasily with him. “Perhaps. But… there’s something unusual you should be aware of sir.”

   That caught the figure’s attention. Their brow furrowed, gaze narrowing. “Go on.”

   “When we detained those men at the café,” The agent began, his tone measured, “Something wasn’t right. Most of them seemed… Disoriented. Confused.” He glanced briefly at his partner, who stood with arms folded. “They looked lost—like they couldn’t recall what they were doing there, or why.” 

   The figure’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. For a moment, only the low hum of the line filled the pause before the agent finally spoke again, his tone uneasy.

   “It’s best if you see it yourself, sir. Everything at the café… it’s off. Strange. The men we detained—they’re not behaving like ordinary suspects. Something happened to them.”

   The steady scratching of a pen across paper came to an abrupt stop. The figure leaned back in their chair, eyes narrowing as they processed the words. A beat passed before they responded, their voice carrying the weight of decision.

    “…I’ll be there. Fifteen minutes top, no more.”

   “Yes sir!”

   “Make sure those supers don’t do anything reckless.” The figure added firmly. “Hold the line. At ease, agent.”

   Without waiting for acknowledgement, the call was cut. The room returned to silence, heavy and absolute.

   The figure let out a sharp breath, rising from the chair. Papers scattered slightly as they pushed them aside, their expression hard to read—somewhere between irritation and curiosity, with an edge of unease threading through.

   “Somethin’ weird, huh?” they muttered under their breath, as though testing the words in the air. The phrase lingered as they reached for their coat, the uneasiness gnawing at the back of their mind.

   With a final glance at the empty office, they straightened their posture and strode out, the muted click of the door closing behind them the only sound to mark their departure.

–2 hours before the call…–

   “Need some assistance here at the cafe across, asap.” The call crackled through the radio as agents and authorities worked in unison, ushering civilians out. One group after another was escorted away, each name checked, every person accounted for.

   “Hey Anthony.” 

   He turned to see his partner, James Mendez, jogging toward him with his weapon drawn and eyes sharp. “The supers are prioritizing the larger buildings. Supervisor Kenneth wants us on the café.”

   Anthony groaned under his breath. “Seriously? They couldn’t have at least split up to cover all locations? Keep everything in their perimeter?”

   James gave a small shrug, patting his partner on the shoulder as they pushed forward. “I get it, man. But the buildings had way more civilians trapped inside. Priorities. The café and restaurant probably cleared out on their own. With luck, most people there managed to escape.”

   Anthony muttered something inaudible but followed as James picked up his pace, moving swiftly toward the café. Following suit, Anthony tapped his comms. “Status report at the restaurant?”

   The comm crackled before a voice came through, calm but edged with urgency.

   “Reporting: no civilian injuries. Evacuation successful, premises are clear. Beginning sweep for any remaining explosive devices.”

   James gave a side glance unto Anthony while the latter nod as he listened, eyes scanning the street while he moved. 

   “Roger that, be vigilant, agent P.” 

   “Will do.” The line went quiet again, leaving only the distant wail of sirens and the pounding of boots against pavement as the two agents closed in on the café.

   Arriving at the front entrance, the street was eerily still. No civilians remained—other units must have cleared them out earlier. The only figures left behind were five cuffed suspects, kneeling on the ground under watch, their presence unsettling in the empty, hollow quiet of the scene.

   A female agent approached Anthony, her expression tight, a frown creasing her face. The look alone was enough to signal bad news.

   “Agent R and M.” she said flatly. “The suspects aren’t responding well.”

   James looked at her, skeptical tone on his voice. “What do you mean by that?”

   She tilted her head toward the five detainees. “See for yourself.”

   The three of them moved closer, and immediately Anthony and James froze at the sight. The suspects—five men in cuffs—sat slumped on the ground. Their eyes were wide, pupils blown out, lips twitching as they mumbled incomprehensible strings of words, broken sounds spilling into the air like gibberish. From a distance, it sounded like nonsense; up close, it was even worse.

   Anthony crouched down beside one of them, lowering his voice. “Hey. Do you know where the other bombs are?” His tone was firm, almost pleading for coherence.

   The man didn’t react, just kept muttering under his breath.

   “Look at me,” Anthony pressed, his patience thinning. “Tell me where the rest of those explosives are—”

   “Mama.” 

   Anthony blinked. Processing what the hell he just heard, making sure he’d heard right. James, standing over him, stared incredulously. “I beg your fucking pardon?” 

   “Pwease don’t weave me.” The man’s voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes. He began to sob uncontrollably, thrashing weakly against the cuffs as if calling for someone who wasn’t there. “Mama…”

   Anthony’s face twisted in disbelief. He looked up at the female agent. “Did this guy take a blow to the head or something?”

   The agent exhaled, shaking her head with a weary sigh. “If only it were that simple. It’s like his whole mind got… Rewired. Reversed. He’s acting like a child again.” She gestured toward the rest of the detainees. “And it’s not just him. They’re all the same.”

   The two male followed her gaze, unsettled. Four of the suspects slumped, whimpering, muttering to themselves like lost children. But in the far corner, one man sat upright, body trembling, eyes wide and bloodshot as he rocked back and forth.

   “Except him,” The female agent added. “That one’s different. He just keeps repeating the same thing. Says he saw everything. Says it’s the end.” She folded her arms and leaned her weight to one side, shaking her head. “Can’t get anything out of him, either. Poor bastard looks like he’s staring straight into hell.”

   James frowned, his mind working through the details, before his eyes widened in sudden realization. He turned sharply toward the female agent. “Wait—did you talk to the civilians? They were in here with these men before the evacuation…” His voice trailed off, wary of the answer.

   She nodded, firm but troubled. “Yeah, we did. They responded normally. Shaken, but nothing unusual. They even said these men were acting fine before the blast.”

   James blinked, confused. “Before the blast?”

   The woman’s brow furrowed as she continued. “One of the explosives went off—looked more like a warning shot for anyone trying to flee the café. No casualties. But right after that… That’s when these five started acting strange. Civilians swore they changed in an instant. Said they bolted while the terrorists were too distracted.”

   “That…” James dragged a hand through his hair, frustration written across his face. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He exhaled sharply. “Could it be some kind of power? Like Psychwave’s mind tricks?”

   Anthony stayed quiet, his gaze locked on the five detainees, still muttering and trembling in their restraints. A dozen thoughts raced in his head, none of them fitting neatly together. Something was wrong—wrong beyond explosives and evacuation protocols.

He tapped his comms, lifting his wrist closer. “Come in, Agent P.” 

   “Agent P to R, over.” 

   Static hissed over the comms before a voice finally broke through, sharp but calm. “This is Agent R. I need a status update on the terrorists you’ve detained. Over.”

   There was a pause on the line, the sound of faint chatter in the background before the voice returned, confused.

   “.... The terrorist status? why?” 

   Anthony kept his tone firm, eyes locked on the glassy stare of the man at his feet. “Something isn’t adding up here. I just need to confirm a few things before proceeding. Report.”

   “... They’re stable. No strange behavior. Cooperative enough, considering. Over.” 

   James folded his arms, his gaze flicking back to the five detainees before them. “So it’s just here…” He exhaled, brow furrowing. “Another team already confirmed their suspects were fine in the other building. And before we even got to this café? Those guys were normal, too.”

   The unease in the air deepened.

   “Could it be…?” Anthony started, then stopped himself, unwilling to voice the thought.

   James turned to him, sharp. “You think a super did this?” 

   Anthony didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as his eyes swept across the detainees—men reduced to trembling shells of themselves. Their mutters, garbled and broken, slipped out between sobs and gnashing teeth, filling the space with a low, unnerving chorus.

   Finally, Anthony spoke, his voice heavy. “It’s not far-fetched, James. Look at them. This… this isn’t trauma. It’s something else. Someone definitely did this to them.”

   Around them, the other agents kept silent, their faces grim as they monitored the five restrained men. The room felt colder somehow, the weight of the unknown pressing in as the mutters grew louder, more erratic, like echoes from minds unraveling.

   “Hey you two.” 

   The female agent’s voice carried an edge, sharper than before. “‘Think you guys need to see this too.” She motioned them over, standing near a large makeshift cover draped across part of the café’s interior. Her posture alone said it wasn’t good.

   As James and Anthony approached, she lowered her voice. “We haven’t relayed this to the higher-ups yet. Only Beta teams know about it. And now…” She looked at both men, the seriousness in her eyes saying more than her words ever could.

   Anthony and James exchanged a quick glance before pulling the cover aside.

   What greeted them inside made both men stop cold.

   The café, already ravaged by destruction, was trapped in an impossible moment. The wreckage hung motionless in midair—debris and glass shards suspended as though the laws of gravity had simply given up. Food, plates, and silverware hovered above overturned tables. Even the chairs stood frozen in the midst of falling, caught halfway between collapse and impact.

   And at the center of it all… Was the bomb. 

   It sat suspended in the very instant of detonation, its casing blown apart, fragments peeling outward. Red and orange fire bled through the cracks, curling and stretching outward like living tendrils of light, yet frozen, held in stasis as though time itself had stopped to watch.

   It was the kind of sight you’d expect in a paused film—your favorite movie frozen mid-frame, the chaos halted until you pressed play again. Except this wasn’t a screen. This was real.

   “Oh my fucking-” James staggered back a step, wide-eyed, his voice caught between awe and terror.

   The female agent only nodded grimly in agreement, her silence carrying the weight of everything she couldn’t explain.

   Anthony, unable to stop himself, stepped forward. His eyes locked on a glass shard hanging inches from his face, reflecting the still-orange glow of the suspended blast. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and gave the shard the slightest push. 

   It shifted, drifting aside like something set adrift in water… Only to snap back into its original place, as if the world itself demanded it remain there.

   Anthony’s breath caught. “What the hell…”

   “So you can’t change anything here. It’s like it’s stuck in one moment in time,” James muttered, eyes never leaving the suspended chaos.

   The female agent gave a slow, cautious nod. “It appears to be… protected by time itself. Nothing can be moved or altered unless the wielder allows it.” Her tone was wary, as if speaking the thought aloud made it all the more real. “Our conclusion is definite that someone did this. An individual—likely a super, one not recorded by the government—has made an appearance.”

   Anthony drew in a sharp breath. “Then sir needs to know about this.” He leaned closer to the female agent, his urgency clear.

   She returned the look, her jaw tightening, then gave a firm nod. “Agreed. Make the call.”

   Anthony reached for his comms, the static buzz already filling the air as he prepared to connect with command.

   Things are taking quite a turn here.

   “So, this is what you want me to see.”

   It wasn’t even a question—it was rhetorical. The three agents only exchanged a quiet, solemn “yes.”

   After showing him the victims affected by the phenomenon, the group led their superior to the restricted side of the café. Few personnel had been allowed inside.

   “Sir Dickers,” James began, keeping his tone professional, “We aren’t able to make any changes. We tried—it just reverts back to where it was.”

   Rick studied the scene, eyes scanning the frozen blast, the suspended shards, the impossible stillness. He hummed, almost to himself. “I know. It’s bound in the force of time.” He said it matter-of-factly, as though it were the only explanation.

   Turning to the female agent, his voice sharpened. “Kate. Did you manage to confirm how many civilians were present? And how many actually witnessed this event?”

   Kate nodded immediately. “Yes, sir. I’ve got them all prepared.” She produced her device, quickly pulling up her report before forwarding it. “Counts from every location are logged—I just need the café’s contents finalized.”

   Rick extended his hand, and she passed the device over. “There were over sixty-eight civilians accounted for,” She continued. “But when we did the headcount earlier… there were only sixty-seven.” 

   The old man held a passive gaze, calm and collected. He slipped the device into the inside pocket of his coat deliberately. “I’ll hold onto this. I’ll review the CCTV footage around the vicinity.”

   His gaze swept across the suspended explosion one last time before he turned back to them. “In the meantime, make sure every civilian in this café goes through the process. No exceptions.”

   The three agents grimaced, fully aware of what Rick meant by the process. Memory wipes. A necessary evil to keep sensitive intel from spreading, but unsettling all the same.

   “Good work keeping civilians to a minimum here,” Rick said, his tone final. “Get back to your stations.” Without another word, he turned and started toward the ruined café’s exit.

   “Sir,” Anthony called after him, “where will you be heading now?”

  Rick stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. His voice carried a weight that demanded silence. “I’ll be gathering every super for a meeting. We cannot ignore the presence of an unregistered super human.” His expression hardened, eyes shadowed by the dim light. “Make sure no one else sets eyes on this anomaly. From the looks of it, the effect won’t dissipate for a while.”

   The three agents straightened, replying in unison, “Yes, sir!” before peeling off to resume their posts.

   Pulling out his phone, he dialed quickly, pressing it to his ear. “Notify every registered super immediately,” Rick ordered, his voice a low command. “Emergency meeting. I want them ready as soon as possible.”

   His gaze flicked back toward the frozen blast, his eyes narrowing to a sharp, cold focus.

   This wasn’t just another incident.

   This was the beginning of something larger.

   “Hey, did you also got a message from Dickers?” 

   “....”

   “Seriously? Ignoring me? Okay fine.”

   “Yeah- Ow! I was about to speak up while you damn ass kept pestering me!” 

   “Then just spit it out already, are you even—”

   ….

   Click!

   ….

   The room goes still.

   …..

   “Shit, that's a fail safe—!”

   ……

   “Goddammit Jack!” 

   BOOM!