"Mia what are you doing?"
Jessica saw the website open from behind.
"Why are you looking up Prometheus Academy?"
"Jessica, my parents, they died. In the fire that happened last night."
"I'm so sorry to hear that Mia. How are you holding up.?"
"Honestly, I am feeling guilty. I had five missed calls from them, while I was losing my mind over some stupid equations that I was trying to solve. And my phone was on DND mode."
"It's not your fault Mia. You could've never known that this would happen. So stop beating yourself up."
"And I also found out that they were probably killed. The fire was not an accident. Someone burned the house to make sure that they died."
Hearing this Jessica was shocked. She couldn't believe that someone would try to murder my parents.
"That's outrageous. What motive would anyone have to murder your parents? Your folks are lovely people."
"That is what I thought. And then I heard the voicemails, my parents had left me. And my mom was talking with the killer. Scorcher."
Jessica froze. It felt like she was not even there for a little while. She was trying to process what she just heard.
"Jessica are you okay?"
"I'm sorry, I was shocked for a moment there. Scorcher killed your parents, I don't even know what to say. Mia….."
"You don't need to say anything. And I know even the cops are powerless against a person like Scorcher."
"You must be devastated to know that a person like him has killed your parents. And we already know that there's no stopping that guy. People like us are powerless against him."
In my mind. I was playing scenarios how it would go if I ever come face to face against Scorcher. I really felt bad that Jessica does not know the reality that I can go toe to toe with this Scorcher guy.
"So, Mia, what does this Prometheus Academy have to do with any of this?"
"Jessica, you should sit down for what I am about to tell you."
"uh - okay." She sat on the bed.
"There is something that I have kept hidden from everyone. But today you are going to be the first that I am going to tell my secret, which I kept well hidden for the last 14 years."
"You are starting to scare me now, Mia."
"One day when I was playing in the kitchen, 5 years old me, I discovered that I have super strength. Nothing sharper can pierce my skin. I can't get hurt in anyway possible. No bullet, no knife, no stone, no baton - nothing at all hurts."
"I have no words. First your parents are killed and now this."
"I know it's a lot for you. Ever since that day, my parents taught me how to use this skill of mine, but never to take advantage of this. And they also told me not to disclose this to anyone."
"I can understand, the way this world has responded to people with these super human skills. You hiding this secret is completely a sane decision. And I want you to know that this does not change anything between us. I am not mad, you are still my friend."
"Thank you so much Jess. I am really grateful that you understood this."
"Wait a minute, I get it now. So, because you're having this skill, you want to bring Scorcher to justice. That explains, Prometheus Academy."
"Well, yes you are right about that. I am applying there so that I can learn the limitations of my super strength."
"I won't stop you Mia, just please don't forget me."
"What are you talking about, you are the first person in my life that I have told that I have super human abilities. I will never forget you."
"Alright, I would leave you to it. I'll see you after class."
Jessica left, and then I resumed back to filling my application.
The academy's website was a sleek homepage with photos of super human students training in stat-of-the-art-facilities. The main banner reads: "Prometheus Academy: Forging Tomorrow's Heroes."
I click through the pages methodically, absorbing every detail. The facilities are impressive-combat training rooms with reinforced walls, technology labs look like something out of a sci-fi movie, classrooms designed specifically for enhanced learning.
But it's the "Our Mission" page that stops me cold.
"At Prometheus Academy, we believe that enhanced abilities are not a burden to bear, but a gift to share. Our graduates don't just learn to control their powers–they learn to use them in service of justice, protection, and to make this world a safer place for those who are not blessed with these gifts. Whether they choose careers in law enforcement, emergency responders, or private security, our alumni make the world safer for everyone."
I click on the alumni section and start reading testimonials.
"Before Prometheus, I was terrified of my pyrokinetic abilities. I'd accidentally burned down my family's garage and nearly hurt my little sister. The academy taught me that fire doesn't have to destroy–it can also protect, rescue, and heal. Now I work with the fire department, saving lives instead of endangering them" - Marcus Rivera, Class of 2051.
"My telekinesis was completely out of control when I arrived at Prometheus. I couldn't pick up a pencil without launching it across the room. Now I use my abilities to assist in disaster relief, moving debris to help trapped survivors. The academy didn't just teach me control–it gave me purpose." - Sarah Hudson, Class of 2049.
"Prometheus Academy saved my life. I was heading down a dark path, using my enhanced strength to intimidate people and take what I wanted. The faculty showed me that real strength comes from protecting those who can't protect themselves. Today I work as a security specialist, and every day I get to be the hero I never thought I could become." - Hal Martinez, Class of 2050.
I keep reading, story after story of students who'd found direction, purpose, redemption. But none of them mentioned hunting down killers. None of them talk about justice for murdered parents.
I click on the faculty page and scroll through the profiles. Dr. Elena Vasquez, Enhanced Psychology. Professor James Morgan, Combat Applications. Dr. Sam Kim, Power Development and Control.
But then I find what I'm looking for.
"Professor Michael Stone - Criminal Justice and Enhanced Law Enforcement. Professor Stone brings fifteen years of experience as an Enhanced Crimes investigator with the FBI. He specialized in tracking and apprehending dangerous enhanced criminals, with a 98% capture rate. His courses include Enhanced Criminal Psychology, Investigative Techniques, and Advanced Combat Applications for Law Enforcement."
This is it. That is exactly what I need.
I scroll down to read more about Professor Stone's background. The list of criminals he's helped capture is extensive–bank robbers, kidnappers, murderers. Enhanced individuals who used their abilities to hurt innocent people.
People like Scorcher.
I open a new tab and search for recent news about Prometheus Academy graduates in law enforcement. Article after article highlights success stories–enhanced individuals working with police departments, FBI, even international task forces dedicated to enhanced crime.
"Local Police Department Partners with Prometheus Graduate to Solve String of Enhanced Robberies."
"Academy-Trained Hero Helps FBI Capture Dangerous Pyrokinetic"
"Enhanced Task Force, Led by Prometheus Alumni, Dismantles Criminal Organization"
These people are doing exactly what I want to do. They're using their training, their resources to stop enhanced criminals. They're making sure killers face justice.
I click back to the admissions page and begin filling out the application form, my hands steadier now than they've been since Jessice first burst into my room.
Name: Mia Santos Age: 19 Current Institution: MIT (Mechanical Engineering) Enhanced Abilities: Super strength, invulnerability Level: High - no public incidents, abilities manifested age 5.
I pause at the "Reason for Application" section. The cursor blinks at me from the empty text box, waiting.
How do I explain this? How do I put into words that rage and guilt and desperate need for justice that's consuming me?
My adoptive parents, Marcus and Emma Santos, were murdered three last night in an arson attack. The police suspect it was an enhanced criminal using fire-based abilities–most likely the individual known as Scorche. I was at college when it happened, too focused on homework to answer their calls for help. They died in the fire, and I failed them completely.
My parents raised me to believe that I was special. And the gift that has been bestowed upon is for a reason. I was supposed to use this gift of mine to protect the weak. My parents taught me to use this gift responsibly, and that responsibility would include hunting down the person who murdered them. But they taught me to be strong, to stand up for what's right, and to use my abilities to help others.
I want to join Prometheus Academy not just to learn better control of my abilities, but to gain access to the training, resources, and connections I'll need to track down my parents' killer. I've read about Professor Stone's work in enhanced criminal justice, and I believe his courses are exactly what I need to prepare for this mission.
Enhanced abilities should be used to protect innocent people, not destroy them. I couldn't protect my parents when they needed me most, but I can make sure their killer faces justice. I can make sure no other family suffers what mine has.
I reread the statement twice, then add one more paragraph.
I understand that this is an unconventional motivation for applying to your academy. Most students probably come seeking control, belonging, or career opportunities. I'm coming seeking justice. But I believe that's exactly what Prometheus Academy trains students to pursue—using our gifts in service of what's right. My parents believed in justice, and they died because someone decided that enhanced individuals like me are too dangerous to exist. I want to prove him wrong.
I take a deep breath and hit submit.
The confirmation page loads immediately: Thank you for your application to Prometheus Academy. Your application has been received and will be reviewed by our admissions committee. Due to the urgent nature of your circumstances, we have flagged your application for expedited review. Please expect a response within 24 hours.
Our deepest condolences for your loss. We look forward to the opportunity to help you channel your grief into purpose.
For the first time since Officer Grey told me my parents were dead, I feel like I have a plan. A real, concrete plan that goes beyond just rage and revenge.
I'm going to learn everything Professor Stong can teach me about tracking enhanced criminals. I'm going to use every resource, every connection, every tool the academy has to offer.
And then I'm going to find Scorcher.
---
"Mia, be careful with those! You could hurt yourself."
I look up from where I'm arranging Mom's measuring cups in a neat little row, pretending they're houses in a tiny village. She's stirring something that smells amazing in a big pot on the stove–her famous beef stew that makes the whole house smell like home.
"I'm being very careful, Mommy. See? I'm making a town for my dollies."
"I know, sweetie, but those are made of thick glass. If they break, the pieces could cut you."
I pick up the largest measuring cup–the two-cup one that's almost too big for my small hands. "I'll be extra gentle, like when we hold baby birds."
"That's right. Just like baby birds."
But as I'm setting the cup down to complete my little village, my fingers grip the handle tighter than I mean to. There's a sound like gunshot, and suddenly the industrial strength glass explodes in my hand.
"Oh no!" I start to cry immediately, staring at the broken pieces scattered across the kitchen floor.
"I broke it! I'm sorry. Mommy! I didn't mean to!"
The measuring cup hadn't just cracked or chipped–it had completely shattered, as if someone had hit it with a hammer. Glass fragments glitter across the linoleum like dangerous confetti.
Mom drops her wooden spoon and rushes over, her face pale with worry. She's expecting to find me cut and bleeding, I can tell. But when she kneels down beside me, her expression changes to confusion.
"Mia," she says slowly, taking my hands in hers and turning them palm-up. "Honey, are you hurt?"
I sniffle and shake my head. "No, but I broke your special measuring cup. The one Grandma gave you. Are you mad at me?"
She's staring at my palms like they're the most fascinating things she's ever seen. There's not a single scratch on them, even though I'd been holding razor-sharp glass fragments just moments before.
"Marcus!" She calls Dad, who's in the living room. "Marcus, come here. Right now."
Dad appears within seconds, takes one look at the scene—the shattered glass, my uninjured hands, Mom's bewildered face—and his expression goes very serious.
"What happened here?" he asks, kneeling down to my level.
"I broke Mommy's cup," I whisper, fresh tears starting to fall. "I was trying to be careful, but I squeezed too hard."
Dad picks up one of the remaining measuring cups—identical to the one I'd destroyed. It's thick, heavy glass, the kind they use in professional kitchens because it's supposed to be nearly unbreakable.
He grips it with both hands and squeezes as hard as he can. His knuckles turn white with effort, but the glass doesn't even crack.
"Emma," he whispers to Mom, his voice tight with something I don't recognize. "This is industrial-grade borosilicate glass. It's designed to withstand thermal shock and impact. It shouldn't be possible for a five-year-old to break it by accident."
Mom sits down heavily on one of our kitchen chairs, like her legs won't hold her up anymore. "She's only five years old, Marcus. Enhanced individuals don't develop abilities until they're ten. Everyone knows that."
"Maybe the timeline isn't as fixed as the experts thought."
I look back and forth between my parents, confused by their hushed voices and the way they keep staring at me like I've grown a second head.
"Did I do something bad?" I ask in a small voice.
"No, sweetheart," Mom says quickly, reaching out to pull me into a hug. "You didn't do anything bad at all. You could never do anything bad."
"We're not scared," Dad says, though his voice sounds funny. "We're just... surprised."
"Surprised how?"
Mom and Dad exchange one of those looks that adults share when they're trying to figure out how to explain something complicated to a kid.
Finally, Dad speaks. "Mia, you know how some people are born with special abilities? Like the people we see on the news sometimes, who can do things that other people can't?"
I nod. I've seen the news reports about enhanced individuals, though Mom usually changes the channel quickly when they come on.
"Well," Dad continues carefully, "we think you might be one of those special people."
My eyes go wide. "Really? Like the flying people? And the ones who can make fire?"
"Maybe," Mom says. "But Mia, this has to be our secret, okay? Just between the three of us."
"Why?"
"Because some people might not understand," Dad explains. "They might think you're dangerous, even though we know you're not."
"But I would never hurt anybody!" I protest. "I'm not dangerous!"
"We know that," Mom says, smoothing my hair the way she does when I have nightmares. "And we love you exactly as you are. But other people... they might be scared of what they don't understand."
I think about this for a moment, then ask the question that's been bothering me: "Will you still love me if I break more things by accident?"
"Oh, sweetheart." Mom hugs me so tight it almost hurts. "We'll love you no matter what. Forever and always, no matter what you do or don't do, no matter what you can or can't control. You're our daughter, and nothing will ever change that."
"But I broke your special cup."
"Measuring cups can be replaced," Dad says, kneeling down to join our hug.
"Little girls cannot. You're worth more than all the measuring cups in the world."