✅ CHAPTER 4 — AWAKENING CONTROL (Part 1 — ~1,500 words)
The morning after the alley incident, I woke up feeling like my entire nervous system had been rewired.
Not painful.
Just… charged.
Emotions weren't quiet background noise anymore—they were pressure. Ambient pressure. Like humidity in the air, except heavier and capable of punching me in the lungs.
The calm of the room washed over me faintly. Neutral, soft. Safe.
But the moment I stepped outside my apartment building?
It hit.
A couple arguing across the street—sharp irritation like static electricity.
A woman stressed on her phone—tight, jittery energy buzzing like caffeine.
A kid excited about school—warm, bouncy sparks popping against my skin.
All faint.
Manageable.
But definitely there.
I absorbt their mental fluctuaties
And i felt stronger
I tugged my hoodie up, shoved my hands in my pockets, and walked fast.
I needed to figure out what the hell was happening to me.
And I definitely wasn't going back to talk to Tony Stark.
He'd tried to be nice in his own sarcastic, chaotic way, but being on his radar felt like playing hopscotch on a landmine. One minute you're chatting, the next you're in a press conference with SHIELD branding you as "The Emotion Bomber" or something equally cursed.
No, thanks.
If I was going to survive in this world—and maybe even use these powers for something good or evil —I needed to learn without anyone watching.
Which meant going off-grid.
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THE ABANDONED SUBWAY TUNNEL
New York had dozens of half-forgotten tunnels sealed off decades ago. Most were inaccessible.
Most.
I found one near the East River, pried open by rust and neglect. The entrance was hidden behind a slab of graffiti-covered fencing.
Inside, the stale smell of dust and old metal filled the air.
Perfect.
Quiet.
Empty.
Emotionally silent.
I stepped inside.
My footsteps echoed off concrete walls. Water dripped from overhead pipes. A faint hum of city electricity vibrated through the ground.
This would be my training ground.
Not glamorous.
Not shiny.
No holographic displays or fancy scanners.
Just me, my powers, and way too many rats.
I breathed in and sat on the concrete.
"Okay," I muttered. "Let's try to make sense of this."
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EXERCISE 1: FEELING THE ROOM
I closed my eyes and opened myself to the emotional background.
Nothing.
Which was good.
The emptiness felt like warm cotton muffling my senses. I could think clearly.
I exhaled slowly.
"Let's try expanding."
I pushed outward with that strange inner sense—like stretching invisible fingers into the world around me.
Almost immediately, I felt—
Wind?
No.
Air pressure shifting with emotion.
But there was no one here.
Except—
A rat skittered across a broken rail, nervous energy spiking like a tiny spark of static.
I froze.
"Animals have emotional fields?"
The rat paused and stared at me like it resented being discovered.
Huh.
Noted.
I grabt its tail and tryt to aborb his mental fluctions
And it wordt
But more importantly: my powers were sensitive. Too sensitive. I needed a filter.
---
EXERCISE 2: EMOTIONAL SHIELDING
I imagined a shell.
A bubble.
Something between me and the outside.
And the moment I pictured it—
A soft hum rose around me.
A faint pressure wrapped my skin, like warm air condensing.
The rat's nervousness got absorbt into my hands the background, no longer spiking against my senses.
My eyes snapped open.
"Holy crap… I actually did it."
The shield was real—not physical, but perceptible. A layer of emotional insulation.
This… this was huge.
If I could create this bubble at will, I could walk through Times Square without having a panic attack from a hundred human emotions swirling around.
I spent an hour practicing.
Expanding the bubble. Shrinking it. Dropping it. Rebuilding it.
By the end, sweat beaded along my forehead. My head throbbed.
But I could do it.
A controlled emotional shield.
Step one: check.
---
EXERCISE 3: RELEASING EMOTION
This part scared me.
Projection.
The thing I did in the alley.
The thing that blasted a guy in a metal suit into a wall.
I needed to learn it without accidentally knocking over a train tunnel. Or blowing my arms off.
I breathed deeply and thought about the panic attack woman. The warmth that radiated from me. That calming pulse.
I tried to summon that same warm presence again.
It flickered.
Then it grew.
The air rippled faintly around me.
A soft pulse erupted outward—gentle, like a wave passing through sand.
The rat relaxed.
Like… visibly relaxed.
It sat down and groomed itself, peaceful and content.
I blinked. "I am apparently a rodent therapist."
Fantastic.
Next I tried something else.
Fear.
I didn't want to. I really didn't. But I needed to understand the full range of my ability.
I thought of the alley. The explosion. The villain's rage. The panic in my chest.
A tremor ran through my fingers.
The air thickened.
A cold pulse spread outward like frost.
The rat squeaked and sprinted into the darkness.
"Okay," I whispered. "it works
But I'd done it.
Pushed fear outward.
Controlled, mostly.
Step two: projection… check.
Sort of.
---
EXERCISE 4: EMOTIONAL FORCE
The hardest part.
That shockwave.
I didn't even fully understand how I'd done it. It wasn't pure emotion—it felt like emotion condensed into force.
Like shaping panic into a fist.
I stood in the middle of the tunnel, breathing slowly, focusing.
"Think… impact," I whispered.
I gathered every emotion inside me.
Excitement.
Nervousness.
The lingering echoes of fear.
The calm of the empty tunnel.
I shaped it.
Condensed it.
Brought it to my palm.
The air vibrated.
A faint glow shimmered around my hand—not visible light, just heatless pressure.
I thrust my hand forward—
—and a blast of invisible force slammed into a pile of debris twenty feet away.
Metal clanged. Dust exploded into the air. A rusted sign ripped off the wall.
I stumbled back.
My heart pounded wildly, adrenaline surging like an electric shock.
"I… did it."
No teacher.
No team.
No lab equipment.
Just instinct.
And will.
---
THE COST
The tunnel spun.
My knees gave out.
A wave of exhaustion hit like a brick.
My entire emotional core felt wrung-out, hollowed, drained.
Not physically tired.
Emotionally tired.
Which was way worse.
I sat there trembling.
These powers were incredible.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
And they had limits.
Real limits.
If I pushed too hard, I wouldn't just collapse—I might overload. Lose control. Become a bomb made of feelings.
I needed discipline.
Practice.
Rules.
So I set them.
In that quiet, forgotten tunnel, I carved the first lines of my personal code into my notebook:
Rule 1: Do not absorb too much emotion.
Rule 2: Do not project fear unless absolutely necessary.
Rule 3: Never use emotional force without control.
Rule 4: Train every day.
Rule 5: Stay independent.
No teams.
No handlers.
No organizations trying to use me.
This power was mine.
Mine to understand.
Mine to wield responsibly.
---
THE DECISION
As I sat there in the dim light, hearing distant trains rumble far above, I made a choice.
I wouldn't hide forever.
Not after seeing what even a small bit of my ability could do for someone in distress.
Not after calming that woman.
Not after helping, even by accident.
I wasn't ready to call myself a hero.
But I could start small.
Local.
Quiet.
Independent.
Help one person at a time.
Not as an Avenger.
Not as a SHIELD asset.
Not as anyone's recruit.
Just me.
My own path.
My own rules.
My own identity.
Whatever that would become.
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END OF CHAPTER 4 — Part 1
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