After a full day of acing AP classes, correcting teachers, and watching Joey fully become The Falcon, I came home to face the real test: my parents' nightly training protocol.
From the outside, our house looked like a slice of suburbia. But underneath? A technological fortress. NovaTech didn't do "normal"—not even at home.
The moment I stepped inside, the system greeted me with its usual biometric scan and a soft chime of automation.
"Welcome home, Aiden. Training protocol initializing."
Mom met me in the hallway, lab coat on, tablet already glowing.
"Vitals look good," she said, scanning my stats as I walked. "No signs of fatigue or cellular destabilization."
"Heat vision?" Dad asked, appearing beside her with a fresh data slate.
I nodded. "Activated briefly. No burnout. Still controlled."
"Excellent," Mom said. "Let's keep logging."
The lab beneath our house was gymnasium-sized, outfitted with reinforced titanium panels, adaptive AI sensors, and enough tech to make Stark and Richards jealous. It wasn't a gym. It was a proving ground.
Strength test came first. Weighted blocks dropped from the ceiling. I hit one with a casual right hook—it shattered on contact.
"Still registering at Class-100," Mom confirmed.
Next: speed. The floor shifted into a frictionless track beneath my feet. I ran. Fast. Faster than sound. My breathing stayed steady. My hair didn't move.
"Mach 9 sustained," Dad noted. "No cardiac spikes."
Then precision. Drones zipped through the air, and I hit each with controlled bursts of heat vision. Just for fun, I wrote FALCON across the chamber wall.
When I stepped out—barely winded—Mom smiled.
"You're adapting faster than the models predicted."
Dad clapped a hand on my shoulder.
"Your body's rewriting itself around the serum. Controlled evolution."
"Guess I'm the family guinea pig," I said, grabbing a towel.
Mom's voice softened.
"You're more than that. You're our greatest success."
After the session, I needed a break.
So I stepped outside. Not for training—just something real.
I heard the bounce of a basketball and followed the sound to Maddie's driveway. She was mid-drill, locked in a one-on-one with Willow—her best friend, built like a linebacker and twice as intense.
They were deep in it, but I leaned against the fence with a grin.
"You two always play like it's the finals?"
Maddie glanced over. "You here to watch or get beat?"
"I figured I'd shoot a few. See how I measure up."
Willow tossed me the ball. "You even ball, Steele?"
I caught it, spun it on my finger. "Steele? We doing last names now?"
Willow shrugged. "It fits. Sounds like you belong in a spy movie."
Maddie laughed. "He does have secret agent energy."
I stepped onto the court, lined up at the three-point line. Smooth form. Soft release.
Swish.
"Lucky," Maddie said.
I sank another.
"Or consistent," I replied.
We played H-O-R-S-E for half an hour. I held back—just enough to keep it fun. Maddie had a serious game. Focused. Smooth. I respected that.
Between shots, I asked, "So… Liv's the singer, right?"
Maddie sighed. "Yeah. She's the performer."
I passed her the ball, grinning.
"But I bet you've got pipes too. Probably just hiding them."
She arched an eyebrow. "Was that you flirting?"
I smirked. "That was me warming up."
Willow, dramatic as always, made a loud "Oooooh!"
Maddie laughed and nudged my shoulder. "Careful, Steele. I might dunk on you."
"I hope you do," I said. "Gives me a reason to come back."
The sun dipped behind the rooftops, turning the sky into shades of gold and ash. The game faded into talk, then into silence—the good kind.
As I walked back toward the house, I looked up at the darkening sky.
I wasn't just running diagnostics anymore.
I was starting to feel human again.
And for a moment, that felt more powerful than anything in the lab.