"In a world of chaos, there is a beacon. A promise. Whether you fly, fight, or find the strength within… anyone can be a hero."
The polished, cinematic voice of the The Heroes Association latest recruitment ad blared from the cracked screen of Matthew's phone.
He didn't skip it.
He watched the whole thing, his eyes tracing the silhouette of Prime flying over the skyline.
Anyone can be a hero.
"God, I hope so," Matthew whispered to himself.
The bell for third period didn't just ring; it felt like someone was taking a serrated knife to the inside of his eardrums.
"Fuck," Matthew hissed, slamming his locker shut.
The metal shrieked, the sound echoing down the crowded hallway like a gunshot.
"Rough day?" a voice sneered from a few feet away.
Matthew didn't even have to look up; he knew that particular brand of sarcasm anywhere.
"You could say that," Matthew muttered.
He leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the locker, trying to dull the throbbing in his skull.
James had been Matthew's best friend since the second grade.
He was the only person who'd been around long enough to watch Matthew grow—and the only one who knew how much he practiced when no one was looking.
"What happened?" James said, flashing a grin.
"Well, if you must know, I just failed my Spanish exam. A forty-eight," Matthew sighed, more disappointed in himself than anything.
"Dumb ass." James laughed, leaning against the locker next to him.
"Thank you, James. Truly helpful," Matt said, finally pulling himself upright.
He looked down at the phone again, the THA logo fading out.
"I just need to figure it out, man," Matthew said, his voice dropping, more serious now.
"If I could just get this under control… if I could actually make it work instead of it just… happening… I could actually be out there. I could be doing something that matters."
He opened his hand, looking at his palm. He didn't want to tear the system down; he wanted to earn his place in it.
But his body felt like a high-end computer running a corrupted file.
"Are you talking about being a hero again?" James asked, turning to start the trek toward his fourth-period class.
"Yeah! Just imagine it—actually being a hero," Matthew called out, following close behind.
"You know, taking down villains, and most importantly… actually saving people." Matthew let out a long sigh, his mind clearly miles away from the school hallway.
"I could never be a hero. That's too much work," James muttered.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low whisper as they passed a group of students.
"Besides, I don't even have powers."
"You don't have to whisper, James. Having powers isn't some deep, dark secret," Matt said, though his own voice was guarded.
"I just don't want people knowing I have them—especially since they don't exactly function properly."
As the pair wove through a sea of loud-mouthed freshmen, Matthew suddenly froze.
His eyes locked on a girl walking against the current of the crowd: Adeline Rivers.
Adeline was the kind of girl who felt like she belonged on a different planet, let alone a different social circle.
She moved with a confidence that most people only had in dreams, and every guy in the hallway was staring.
"She won't even give you the time of day, man. Quit staring before your brain actually melts," James said, chuckling and giving Matthew a light shove.
Matthew snapped out of it, shaking his head to clear the fog. "Right," he muttered, adjusting his backpack.
They reached a junction in the hall. "Anyway, this is my stop. See you in the hub after school?"
"Not today. I've got a date with Chole later, so I have to head home early and actually try to look decent," James said with a smirk, already backing away toward the gym.
Matthew sighed, giving a half-hearted wave. "Alright, do your thing."
He watched James disappear into the crowd before turning and stepping into the soul-crushing fluorescent glow of his fourth-period class.
LATER THAT DAY.
A civilian was just cutting through the parking lot of a local burger joint by when—
BOOM.
A streak of gold and white slammed into a parked sedan, the impact folding the car like a soda can and shattering the windshield into a million glittering teeth.
The civilian stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs.
It was Prime.
The "invincible" hero was currently gasping for air amidst a pile of twisted metal and leaking coolant.
"What the fuck?!" the civilian yelled, the sound slipping out before he could think to stay quiet.
The yell caught the attention of something hovering in the smog-choked sky.
The villain, Prime's arch nemesis.. "Primal"— a silhouette of jagged armor and raw power—turned their gaze toward the sidewalk.
Without a second of hesitation, the villain dived.
They moved like a falling star, aimed directly at the civlians head with a fist that looked ready to turn him into a red smear on the pavement.
The civilian squeezed his eyes shut, but the impact never came.
Instead, there was a sudden, violent tug.
A blur of motion snatched him out of the air, the world turning into a dizzying smear of colors until he was dumped unceremoniously on the pavement a block away.
The innocent man immediately leaned over and barfed on the concrete, his stomach unable to keep up with the G-force.
He looked up, wiping his mouth, and saw him.
Standing over him was a light-skinned man with a lean, athletic build.
He was wearing a high-tech, bright grey suit that looked more like armor than spandex.
He wore a matching grey helmet that covered his entire head and eyes, leaving only his mouth exposed, with thick metallic bolts protruding from the ears like industrial sensors.
"Y-you're Whiplash!" the man choked out, his eyes wide.
"Don't cream your pants," Whiplash said, his voice buzzing slightly through the mask's comms.
He didn't even wait for a thank you.
"I've got to go kick this guys ass."In a crack of displaced air, Whiplash vanished.
A grey streak raced back toward the wreckage to finish the job, leaving the camera to focus on the billowing smoke and the terrified, scattering crowd.
The scene cut abruptly from the shaky, amateur footage to the bright, sterile environment of a news studio.
"Earlier today, the city saw another high-stakes clash near the downtown core," the news anchor said, her voice smooth and practiced.
Behind her, a graphic appeared with the faces of the two heroes.
"Tensions rose as the legendary Prime and the speedster Whiplash had a violent encounter with the villain known as Primal. Damage is still being assessed, but the THA has confirmed there were no civilian casualties."
A remote-control clicked, and the volume dipped.
Matthew sat on the edge of the sofa, the flickering blue light of the television washing over his face.
He wasn't looking at the anchor anymore; he was staring at his own hands, which were resting on his knees, palms up.
"No casualties," Matthew muttered to himself.
"They always make it sound so clean."
"It's what they do, Matt," his dad said from his armchair. He was halfway through a sandwich, leaning forward to catch the weather report that was just starting.
"They go in, they clean up the mess, and they keep the rest of humanity safe. It's incredible, isn't it?"
Matthew looked at his dad, then back at the screen where a "THA Recruitment" banner was scrolling across the bottom.
"Yeah," Matthew said, a familiar ache of longing in his chest. "Incredible."
"You'll get there," his dad added, noticing the look on his son's face.
He reached out and gave Matthew's shoulder a supportive squeeze.
"You've got the power. Once you get the… technical side of it figured out, you'll be the one they're talking about on the six o'clock news."
Matthew forced a nod.
He loved his dad for believing in him, but every time the word "power" was mentioned, it felt like a weight.
He didn't just want to be mentioned on the news; he wanted to feel like he wasn't a "glitch" in his own body.
"Anyway, I was invited to a gala sponsored by the THA," his father said, setting his sandwich down.
He didn't say it with a boast; it was just a fact of his life, a remnant of a career that had ended years ago.
Matthew let out a long, heavy sigh. "And let me guess… I'm the plus-one?"
His father gave a slow, firm nod.
"I don't get it. Why do you still get invited to these things?" Matthew asked, his voice tinged with a bit of a sharp edge.
"You lost your powers, Dad. You aren't a hero anymore."
"The powers weren't what made me a hero, Matt. It was how I my the job," his father replied, his voice steady.
There was no anger in it, just the quiet confidence of a man who had seen it all.
"And I still get the invites because I made that much of an impact while I was Power Man II. People don't forget the man who kept the lights on when the world went dark."
Matthew rolled his eyes, leaning back against the sofa.
"I still don't get why you took Grandpa's name. If I ever make it as a hero, I'm not sharing a name with anyone. I'd want something of my own."
"Well, your grandfather and I shared the same gift," his father stated, looking Matthew dead in the eye.
"The same one you have. Power Creation. It's a family trade, kid."
Matthew stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He headed toward the stairs, the weight of that 'gift' feeling more like a lead vest.
"Yeah, except for one tiny detail. You and Grandpa could actually choose what you were making. I don't have control over what I adopt or create. I'm just a passenger."
His father let out a short, dry laugh. "One day, kid. One day it'll click and you'll be the one choosing the play."
He checked his watch and pointed a finger at Matthew as he reached the landing.
"And don't take all night to get ready."
Matthew stood in front of his bedroom mirror, wrestling with a silk tie that felt more like a noose. Behind him, the television was still a dull hum, the news anchor's voice muffled by his bedroom door.
He looked at his reflection. He didn't see a hero. He didn't even see a "Power Man III."
He saw a kid in a suit that fit perfectly, even if the person inside was glitching out.
He closed his eyes, trying—just for a second—to force a spark of something. Anything.
Static hissed in his mind. A phantom heat prickled his palms, then vanished as quickly as it came.
"Matt! Let's go! The car's here!" his father shouted from downstairs.Matthew opened his eyes, smoothed his jacket, and stepped out of his room.
Ten minutes later, the quiet of the suburbs was replaced by a roar of camera flashes and the scent of expensive perfume.
The car door opened, and the world transformed into the THA Grand Gala.
Matthew and his father stepped into the main hall, and the air immediately turned into a storm of white light.
Camera flashes erupted around his father, the press clamoring to get a shot of a former legend.
Everywhere Matthew looked, the world was populated by the impossible.
"There are so many," Matthew breathed, his eyes darting from face to face. "Heat Wave, Gridlock… even Prime is her—?"
Matthew was cut off by a pat on his shoulder.
The guard didn't even look Matthew in the eye.
He just checked a tablet, saw "Minor," and hooked a thumb toward the side door.
"Minor's Lounge is that way, kid. Try not to break anything expensive."
Matthew stumbled as he was directed away from the glamour.
He looked back one last time, catching a glimpse of his father laughing with a group of men in tactical armor and women in capes.
For a second, his dad looked like Power Man II again—confident, powerful, and exactly where he belonged.
The doors to the East Lounge clicked shut with a soft, expensive thud.
It wasn't a prison cell; it was a luxury suite.
The air smelled of vanilla and clean linen, and a spread of sparkling cider and high-end snacks sat untouched on a glass table.
Still, to Matthew, it felt like being benched during the most important game of his life.
"So," a girl's voice broke the silence, sounding more bored than threatened. "Is anyone going to address the elephant in the room?"
Matthew turned.
It was Adeline Rivers.
He recognized her from school—she was the girl usually surrounded by a dozen people, but here, she was just another kid in a shimmering dress that she seemed to hate wearing.
She was leaning against the window, watching the city lights.
"Yeah," another girl agreed.
This was Calliope, a brunette Matthew had seen in his art classes.
She was sitting on the edge of a leather sofa, her feet swinging an inch off the ground,
though she didn't seem to notice she was hovering.
"I have an idea," a blonde boy said, hopping up onto a stool by the snack bar.
He had a mischievous grin and was tossing a grape into the air—except the grape wasn't falling.
It was vibrating in place, held there by a tiny hum of sound energy.
"Since the THA thinks we're too 'unpredictable' for the main floor, we might as well figure out who we're stuck with. I'm Henry."
"My parents are on the catering staff."
"I'm here because if I stay home alone, I tend to accidentally shatter the neighbors' windows when I sneeze."
"I'll go next, I suppose," A boy with glasses said, sounding like he was reciting a lab report.
He adjusted his glasses and straightened his tie.
"I'm Benjamin. My mother is the hero "Checkmate". I'm here because I was interested in interviewing some of the heroes here.
My gift is super-intelligence, which currently tells me this cider is overpriced."
"I'm Calliope," the girl on the sofa added with a small wave.
"I volunteered to help with the coat check, but they saw me use my power's and sent me here instead.
I… I can make things light. Or heavy."
Jonathan, the soccer star Matthew knew from gym class, let out a long breath and leaned back in his chair.
"JJ. My brother is a hero. I'm just here because I'm not eighteen yet and the THA has rules about 'minor legacies' being unsupervised during high-threat-level events."
Adeline finally turned away from the glass.
She twirled a lock of her golden hair, and Matthew watched as it lengthened, coiling around her wrist like a silk ribbon.
"My mother is the hero 'Demeter'. But don't ask me to grow a tree. I'm strictly bio-organic manipulation. Only my hair."
Maya Chambers was the second last to go.
She nervously tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, her eyes darting to the guards before looking back at the group.
"I'm Maya," she whispered. "I'm here as a volunteer, too. As for my power… I handle fire."
She opened her palm, and for a split second, the air above it shimmered with a heat so intense it made the surrounding oxygen flicker, before dying out.
Then, everyone looked at Matthew.
"I'm Matthew Miller," he said, feeling the weight of the name. "My dad is an ex-hero."
"Bullshit," JJ said, but it wasn't mean; it was pure shock.
"No way an ex-hero gets invited to a Gala like this. Who was he?"
Matthews heart skipped a beat.
"Po- Power Man," Matthew said.
"Well, the second one, at least."
The room went dead quiet.
Even Henry's vibrating grape fell onto the floor.
"Power Man?" Benjamin said. "If your dad is P- Power Man, then you can also create powers! You're like… the Holy Grail of powers."
Matthew looked down at his palms.
"Yeah. Except I'm like a software glitch. I can't control what abilities I adopt or what I make. Half the time, I just end up with static."
"Well, that fucking sucks," JJ said, walking over and giving Matthew a friendly, heavy slap on the shoulder.
"But hey, we're all just 'potential' right now, right? No point in sulking about it while there's a party on the other side of those doors."
Adeline looked at the three guards standing by the exit.
They weren't being mean; they were actually scrolling on their phones, looking just as bored as the kids.
"You know," Adeline whispered, a spark of rebellion in her eyes.
"They aren't actually guarding us. They're babysitting us. I bet if we asked nicely—or used a little distraction—we could sneak into the main hall and actually see the ceremony."
Matthew smiled.
For the first time all night, he didn't feel like a corrupted file.
He felt like part of a team.
"I've never been much of a rule-breaker, but… I really want to see my dad on that stage."
The group moved toward the door.
"Wait," Benjamin whispered, his eyes darting.
"If we're doing this, we have to be smart. According to my calculations, if Maya uses a heat-haze as a screen and Henry dampens the sound of the door…"
"I'll try my best," Maya said, her hands glowing with a soft, warm orange light.
They approached the guards.
Adeline stepped forward, using her hair to playfully snatch a hat off one of the guards' heads.
"Hey! Quick question about the buffet!"
As the guards laughed and turned to her, Maya released a shimmer of heat that blurred the air.
Henry snapped his fingers, creating a silent bubble around the door.
They were halfway through—sneaking out like kids skipping class—when Matthew reached for the handle.
He looked back at his new friends, a grin on his face. "C'mon! Let's go!"
He pulled the doors open.
BOOM.
The explosion didn't come from them. It came from the ballroom.
The shockwave slammed into the lounge, throwing everyone backward.
The beautiful glass windows shattered inward in a million diamond-like shards.
The lights flickered and died, replaced by the angry, flickering red of the emergency alarms.
The music was gone. In its place was the sound of crumbling marble and the distant, terrifying roar of something that definitely didn't belong at a gala.