A week had passed since the accident.
The city moved on. News channels blamed the blackout on "electrical storms." The research facility denied all rumors.
And somehow, Cjay Maren was back in school.
Students stared as he walked through the hallway — his right arm unbandaged, his movements smooth. Just last week, the rumors said it had been crushed beyond repair.
"Yo, Cjay," a classmate said, half-joking, "did they replace your bones with steel or something?"
He grinned faintly. "Something like that."
Helen smacked his shoulder playfully. "You're supposed to say, 'I drank my milk.'"
The others laughed, and for a moment it felt like nothing had changed.
But Helen could still see it — the faint glow under his skin whenever sunlight hit just right.
Cjay didn't notice. He'd stopped thinking about it. The doctors called it "a spontaneous full recovery," a miracle of biology. They even took photos of the X-rays — bones shattered one day, perfectly realigned the next.
"Never seen anything like it," the doctor had said. "It's like your body decided it was done being broken."
Cjay just smiled and nodded.
But at night, his arm sometimes hummed.
Lunch break came. The courtyard was full of chatter, laughter, the smell of cheap noodles.
Helen leaned closer. "Still no word from Kelvin?"
Cjay shook his head. "Nothing. Not a text. Not a ping."
"He wouldn't ghost us like that," Helen murmured. "He was supposed to finish school with us."
"I heard he's with the Vex now," another student said from a nearby bench. "Rich kid trying to play gangster."
Cjay's eyes narrowed. "Kelvin's not like that."
But deep down, he wasn't sure. Grief could change anyone — especially someone who'd lost everything in one night.
The sky dimmed early that day, clouds thick with copper hues.
Cjay and Helen left school together, walking past the old tram lines. The city felt tense — sirens in the distance, power flickering again.
They turned a corner.
And there he was.
Kelvin.
Leaning against a rusted streetlight, black jacket with the same crimson insignia on the sleeve — The Vex.
A cigarette burned between his fingers, eyes hollow.
Helen gasped. "Kelvin!"
He looked up slowly. "…Hey."
Cjay stepped forward. "Where have you been, man? You just disappeared."
Kelvin exhaled smoke, avoiding their eyes. "Does it matter? School doesn't fix dead parents."
Helen's eyes softened. "You don't have to do this. This gang—"
"They're not a gang," he snapped. "They're family. They gave me something to fight for."
Cjay frowned. "Kelvin, this isn't you."
Kelvin looked at him — really looked. "And what am I, then? Some rich kid who had everything handed to him? You wouldn't understand, Cjay. You never lost anyone."
The silence that followed was sharp.
Helen tried to speak, but a sound cut her off — footsteps echoing behind them.
From the alley emerged four men — older, harder, wearing chains and dark jackets marked with green lightning bolts.
Rival gang.
The leader smirked. "Well, well. Look what we found — the Vex's little rich boy, hiding behind his school friends."
Kelvin's face went cold. "Run."
"What?" Helen gasped.
"I said RUN!"
He pushed them back and pulled a small knife from his belt, stepping between his friends and the rivals.
Cjay's instinct screamed to help, but before he could react, one of the men swung a bat — metal cracking against Kelvin's arm.
"Kelvin!"
Cjay grabbed Helen and ducked as another swing whooshed past his head.
"Go!" Kelvin shouted. "I'll handle this!"
He charged the gang members, but he was outnumbered. The rivals laughed, circling him like wolves.
Helen pulled on Cjay's sleeve. "We can't leave him!"
Cjay clenched his fists. His arm pulsed. That hum again — deep, like his blood was remembering something.
One of the gang members turned toward Helen. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't hang with street trash."
He reached for her arm. Cjay shoved him back. "Touch her again and you'll regret it."
The man sneered. "Big talk, schoolboy."
The fight erupted.
Cjay swung first — his punch landing hard, but not hard enough. The thug recovered and slammed a fist into Cjay's stomach. Another caught him from behind.
They beat him down fast — fists, boots, pain. The world blurred red and gray.
Helen screamed, trying to pull them away, but one of them shoved her down.
"Stop!" she cried. "Please—!"
Cjay heard her voice through the ringing in his ears.
Then something inside him snapped.
He tasted blood. He saw Helen cornered.
And his arm — the one that had once been broken — burned with light.
A heartbeat thundered through his body, louder than the world.
> Pain is data.
Pain is memory.
Pain… is power.
The gang member raised the bat again — but before it came down, Cjay caught it.
Metal groaned under his grip.
The man's eyes widened. "What the—"
Cjay stood, golden veins pulsing beneath his skin. His breathing was deep, controlled.
He swung once. The bat snapped clean in half.
Then he moved — faster than thought, faster than fear.
A single punch sent the thug flying into a wall. Another grabbed him, and Cjay turned, deflecting, striking, every movement fluid, precise, unnatural.
When it was over, the rivals were on the ground, groaning or unconscious.
The glow faded. His arm smoked slightly.
Helen stared, trembling. "Cjay… your eyes…"
He blinked — they glowed faint gold for a moment, then dimmed.
He looked around. Kelvin was gone.
Cjay panted, clutching his arm. His body hurt — but also… didn't. The wounds closed before his eyes.
"Helen," he gasped. "He ran that way."
"Cjay, you're hurt—"
"I'll find him."
Before she could stop him, he sprinted into the rain, past the flickering streetlights.
Each step felt lighter, faster, powered by something he couldn't explain.
Somewhere ahead, Kelvin was bleeding, running, maybe dying — and Cjay's only thought was save him.
The storm above rumbled, the clouds flashing blue for a heartbeat — the first sign of the second mutation forming high in the atmosphere.
But for now, only one thing mattered:
Cjay Maren had awakened.
And nothing in Elaris would ever be the same again.