In a city that thrummed with life, towering skyscrapers rose like giants, their peaks swallowed in a misty veil. Neon lights reflected off cracked glass and scorched steel, casting fractured rainbows across the sidewalks below—a subtle reminder that chaos had walked these streets recently.
The streets pulsed with energy, each corner alive with movement, a constant hum of ambition and unrest. Dreams were built here… and broken.
Car horns blared, conversations collided, and music poured from every open window, forming a chaotic symphony. Yet beneath the noise, signs of recent conflict lingered: scorch marks on the pavement, shattered shop windows, and the faint odor of ozone from powers unleashed. The city wore its scars like a badge of survival—a subtle echo of fights between the Gifted.
The scent of sizzling street food mingled with smoke and singed concrete. From the polished floors of boutiques to the flashing signs of landmarks, the city offered everything at once: pleasure, danger, and possibility.
People flowed through the streets like currents in a river, each with their own story, their own ambitions. Yet beneath the glitter and glamour, grit prevailed. Survival demanded strength, cunning, and a willingness to endure both pain and the lingering consequences of the impossible.
As night fell, the city became a dazzling spectacle of neon and shadow. Lights flickered unpredictably, music echoed with faint distortions, and the pulse of the streets felt sharper, as though reality itself had been tested and bent by recent power clashes.
A deep, low sigh cut through the noise.
"Have you ever wished to have superpowers?" the voice murmured, gravelly and weary, as if carrying the weight of countless disappointments.
"The power to lift mountains with one hand…"
"To vanish and reappear anywhere, instantly…"
"To move faster than anything else alive…"
"To live forever, untouched by age or disease…"
"To burn, to scorch, with nothing but your gaze…"
"To soar above it all, unbound, untouchable…"
The city's rhythm seemed to pause. Car horns stuttered, people faltered in their steps, music hesitated, as though the night itself were listening.
"Hell," the voice muttered, with a bitter chuckle. "Why am I even asking? Of course anyone would want that. Power… everyone wants it. But the real question is—what would you do with it?"
He let the thought hang, dark and dangerous. "Would you be a hero? Or something far darker? Could you wield that kind of strength without breaking yourself—or others?"
"Some say, 'With great power comes great responsibility.'" A laugh broke the tension, hollow and self-aware. "I used to think that too… once."
A pause, then: "If you had the choice, would you be a superhero, a supervillain… or neither?"
He laughed again, low and bitter. "Ha! Like I'd ever have that choice again. But if I did… hmm. That's complicated. I don't get choices anymore."
The sounds of the city swirled around him—laughter, shouting, music—but the voice remained, detached and reflective.
"Being a superhero… it sounds tempting. Saving lives. Stopping villains. Earning praise. Recognition. Maybe even respect. Maybe even… making a difference."
A pause, laced with sarcasm. "If you can."
"And then there's being a supervillain. Revenge. Freedom from society's chains. Power. Fear. Control… domination. But only if you succeed."
He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Absurd, isn't it?"
"And then there's neither. Just using power for yourself. Luxury, ease, indulgence…"
He shook his head. "Nah. That's not me. I'd want to do some good… but have a little fun while I'm at it. If it were possible, that is."
The voice softened, reflective. "But what if you lost control? Hurt someone you cared about? Could you bear the cost of that? Of power unrestrained?"
A sigh escaped him. "Tempting, though… but not my choice anymore. Not for me."
Silence fell. Even the city seemed to hold its breath—the cars, the people, the music—all frozen in a fleeting stillness.
"Yes, the city," he finally said, voice quiet, almost reverent. "A place where dreams are built… and broken."
He recalled the first day he arrived, bursting with hope, ambition blazing like fire. "I was determined to make a name for myself… to become someone. But…"
He trailed off, a shadow of memory clouding his words. "Ah… right. I should introduce myself."
"My name is…"
Before he could finish, a black-haired man slammed into a wall with a loud thud, denting the surface. The shockwave rattled the air, cutting the introduction short.
The man grunted, clutching his chest as blood trickled from his mouth. He slid to the ground, eyes sharp, unblinking, as though waiting for something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows. Pain etched his face, but so did defiance.