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The front door clicked shut.
Ben stepped inside and paused for a moment. The smell hit him immediately. Rosemary chicken roasting in the oven. Clean detergent from freshly folded laundry. A faint scent of wood polish from the living room table.
It smelled like home.
His shoulders lowered a little as he loosened his tie with one hand. He slid his keycard into the inside pocket of his jacket while walking down the hallway. The soft echo of laughter carried from the kitchen.
"Hey, mother, we're back!"
Ben turned his head.
Alan came around the corner at a jog. His hoodie was half zipped and slightly crooked. A gold trophy was tucked proudly under his arm. His cheeks were flushed and his hair looked like he had been running outside.
"I told you I would get the trophy," Alan said, holding it up.
Ben looked at it for a second before raising both hands with a grin.
"Well of course you did," he replied. "Those people never stood a chance."
Alan walked closer while catching his breath. Ben reached out and ran a hand through his son's hair.
Alan groaned and tried to duck away.
"Seriously, quit it, old man." Alan said, laughing.
Ben kept his hand there a moment longer anyway before finally letting go.
"You look proud of yourself," Ben said.
"Damn right I'm proud, I won 10 grand and kicked some grown ass men in their own game," Alan replied, shifting the trophy in his hands. "The judge said all my rounds were perfect."
"Then he's absolutely right."
From the kitchen, Diana glanced over her shoulder while stirring something in a pan. Flour dusted the front of her apron and a few strands of hair had slipped loose from her messy bun.
"You are late, honey," she called out. "Did something happen on the way home?"
Ben walked toward the kitchen slowly and leaned against the counter beside her.
"Nothing dramatic," he said.
Diana gave him a sideways look.
"That tone means you are hiding something."
Ben slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently closer. He leaned down and rested his face against the side of her neck for a moment.
"Saving capitalism takes time," he murmured.
She laughed softly and nudged his ribs with her elbow.
"Well save some of that charm for dinner," she said. "Winchester Enterprises is not going to run itself forever. You know I can handle the business side tonight. You need to relax."
Ben smiled at her. It was an easy smile.
"Deal," he said quietly.
Alan leaned against the doorframe, spinning the trophy slowly in his hands while watching them.
"Jeez, you two are gross. Get a room already so the rest of us can eat in peace." he said.
Diana pointed a wooden spoon at him.
"Go wash your hands, young man." she said. "Dinner is almost ready."
Alan rolled his eyes but walked toward the sink.
Ben stayed where he was, resting one hand on the kitchen counter. For a brief second his eyes drifted toward the window. The city lights were starting to glow in the distance.
Something darker passed behind his expression.
Then it was gone.
Hours later the house had gone quiet.
Moonlight filtered through the tall windows of Ben's private study. The silver light stretched across polished wood floors and rows of bookshelves.
Ben stood near the large oak shelf against the wall.
Diana leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded loosely.
"Going to save the world again?" she asked calmly.
Ben's fingers ran along the spines of several books before stopping on a worn leather copy of The Republic. He pulled it out slowly.
"Already did, but not this time." he said.
He turned the book slightly in his hands.
"HeroCorp called," he continued. "They want me at headquarters tonight."
Diana watched him quietly.
"Trouble?"
"Probably, we will see what they're gonna demand this time…"
He placed the book back halfway into the shelf and pushed it inward.
A deep mechanical click echoed inside the wall.
The entire bookshelf shifted slightly before rotating inward with a heavy grinding sound.
Behind it was a hidden chamber illuminated by thin blue LED strips along the floor and ceiling.
Diana stepped forward and leaned lightly against the doorframe while watching him.
"When will you be back?" she asked.
Ben nodded once.
"I'll be here before sunrise."
He stepped into the chamber.
At the center stood a tall manikin. Sleek armor rested on its frame. Black navy blue and deep silver plates layered together with thin silver lines running across the surface.
Ben removed his jacket and laid it across a nearby chair. He loosened his tie completely and pulled it free from his collar before tossing it onto the same chair.
Next came the dress shirt. He folded it quickly and placed it down.
His body showed the result of years of discipline. Broad shoulders. Defined muscle. Old training scars faded along his ribs.
Diana watched silently.
Ben picked up the first armor piece and slid it over his forearm. Magnetic locks sealed it into place with a soft click.
He moved quickly and methodically.
Chest plate.
Shoulder guards.
Gloves.
Boots.
Each piece attached perfectly as if the suit had been built around his body.
Finally he reached for the mask resting on the pedestal.
The upper half was dark blue and angular. No visible emotion.
He lifted it and secured it over his face.
The transformation finished.
Black Mentis stood where Ben Winchester had been.
Diana tilted her head slightly while looking at him.
"I will finish the files about the investors with our company tonight so they should be ready when you return back," she said.
"Thank you, Diana, I can always count on you."
He stepped toward the window.
The glass panel slid open quietly.
In the next instant he launched forward.
His body shot through the opening and disappeared into the night sky above Ember City.
HeroCorp Headquarters dominated the island's downtown skyline.
The building rose high above the surrounding towers, a massive structure of glass and steel reflecting city lights.
The HeroCorp logo burned bright near the top. A phoenix formed from glowing circuitry spread its wings across the tower.
Massive digital billboards lit the surrounding streets.
Footage of heroes played on a continuous loop. Civilians cheering. Explosions frozen mid blast. Caped figures landing dramatically.
Inside the main atrium a rotating hologram displayed the latest headlines.
"BLACK MENTIS SAVES EMBER CITY FROM METEOR STRIKE TODAY!"
The words spun slowly in midair.
Another headline appeared.
"A NEW YOUNG HERO RISES TO RANK D. WHO IS HE REALLY?"
Employees and minor heroes walked across the polished floor. Some practiced confident smiles while glancing at their reflections in glass panels.
Two young heroes stood near a pillar rehearsing poses.
"Angle your chin higher," one said.
"Like this?"
"Yeah. Cameras love that."
PR staff walked past them carrying tablets.
"Make sure the footage loops exactly at the applause moment," a producer instructed.
"I'm already editing it man."
Further inside the building the atmosphere changed.
Glass walls disappeared.
Concrete replaced marble floors.
Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Rows of monitors filled the control room. Each screen displayed live footage from different parts of Ember City. Some showed chaotic battles. Others looked suspiciously well framed.
Two HeroCorp media interns rushed through the hallway carrying stacks of flash drives.
"We need a better script," one said while flipping through notes.
"What is wrong with the current one?"
"The meteor story needs tension. Let's add a moment where a fragment almost hits a school."
The second intern nodded while typing on a tablet.
"And keep the shaky camera during the fire villain fight. It'll look raw, and audiences love it raw."
Further down the corridor a group of doctors in lab coats gathered around a humming machine.
One doctor tapped on a monitor displaying running statistics.
"This treadmill system pushes speed response by ten percent if the hero trains six days straight."
Another doctor held a small vial filled with glowing liquid.
"Speed is not the interesting part," he said quietly. "Their blood is changing, more like evolving."
The others looked up.
"I am starting to see patterns," he continued. "Something inside them activates during high stress combat, it lets their abilities get tiny boosts."
A reinforced door opened at the end of the hallway.
Inside, the training chambers thundered with impact sounds.
New heroes sparred with each other. Their fists struck heavy training armor. Some had split knuckles and bruised faces.
In another ring a chained villain struggled while two heroes attacked him from different angles.
Multiple cameras recorded every second.
Black Mentis walked down the corridor.
Conversations faded as he passed.
No one stepped in his path.
Some fights were staged.
Some villains were hired actors.
But deeper within HeroCorp something far more deliberate was happening.
Black Mentis moved toward the lower levels without hesitation.
He knew exactly where to find the truth.
The conference room sat deep inside HeroCorp's lower levels.
The lights stayed low. Only the blue glow from the wall screens lit the space. The long metal table caught faint reflections, turning every surface cold and sharp.
Black Mentis sat alone at the center.
His armored fingers tapped slowly against the steel, tap… tap… tap. each one sending a dull metallic ring through the quiet.
Screens looped footage around him.
A collapsed overpass. Crushed cars half-buried in concrete. Dust hanging thick while sirens wailed.
Another angle: civilians dragged from wreckage, faces streaked with gray.
Another: Mentis catching a falling support beam mid-drop, muscles straining under the armor as he held it off a bus full of passengers.
The final clip: the villain slammed face-down on pavement, Mentis's boot planted on his back.
Mentis leaned forward. Elbows on the table. Hands folded tight. The red glow inside his mask dimmed, then flared as his gaze tracked every frame, the bridge's collapse angle, civilian distances, the villain's failed scramble.
His jaw clenched under the mask. A faint creak of teeth grinding.
The door behind him opened with a soft pneumatic hiss.
Slow, measured footsteps crossed the threshold.
"Excellent work out there, Black Mentis."
Victor Sinclair entered. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture rigid. Charcoal suit pressed razor-sharp. Polished shoes clicked lightly on the floor with each step.
His smile showed even teeth. No warmth reached his eyes.
"Your actions today pushed ratings through the roof. Shareholders are thrilled."
Mentis kept watching the screen. Fingers stopped mid-tap.
He waited three full seconds. Then his head turned slowly, and deliberate. The mask's glowing red slits locked onto Victor.
"I don't need your fake praise," Mentis said. Voice low. Steady. Cold. "If there's another mission, spit it out. Otherwise get the fuck out."
Victor's smile stretched wider. He tilted his head, amused.
"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk."
He strolled closer, pausing at a screen showing Mentis shielding civilians from falling debris. Victor studied it like a painting, chin lifted slightly.
"My my. Someone is in a bad mood today. Richard wants you in his office."
He turned his head toward Mentis. Eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"And for the record you've been disrespectful lately."
Victor stepped to the table's edge. One hand rested lightly on the metal. He leaned forward an inch.
"Don't mistake my silence for weakness."
Mentis's fists tightened on the table. Metal groaned under his gloves.
"You're powerful," Victor continued. Voice dropping softer. "No one denies it."
His fingers tapped once— light, mocking.
"But remember something very important."
He leaned closer. Breath even.
"But we are the ones in control."
The movement was instant.
Mentis shot up. The chair scraped back hard.
His hand snapped out his fingers closed around Victor's suit front. Fabric bunched and wrinkled. He lifted Victor half an inch off the floor. Victor's back thudded against the table edge, sharp metallic clang.
The red glow in Mentis's eyes flared bright. Thin crimson beams flickered behind the mask.
"Are you really in control, asshole?" Mentis said quietly. Grip tightened. The suit creased deeper. "How about I tear this entire fucking building apart and melt your skull off your shoulders right now."
His voice dropped lower. Almost a growl.
"Who here on this planet could stop me?"
He pulled Victor an inch closer.
"Know your damn place, mortal."
Victor stayed still. Breathing unchanged. Eyes locked on the glowing slits. He tried not to flinch.
Mentis held him there for five seconds.
Then released.
Victor stumbled back two steps. His shoes scuffed. He caught himself. Then straightened up slowly. Hands smoothed the front of his jacket. Adjusted his tie with careful shaking fingers. Expression blank.
He turned toward the door. Sweat running down his neck, his steps were calm.
"I dare you to try," Victor said evenly.
He stopped at the doorway. Glanced back over his shoulder.
"That's assuming you actually can."
His gaze slid across the black silver armor— slow, appraising.
"Your threats sound dramatic. But they're empty."
Victor pressed the panel. The door hissed open.
"I prefer the calm version of you," he added. "So behave yourself or else."
He stepped into the hall. Then paused as if remembering something Turning his head again.
"...Oh. One more thing."
He adjusted a cufflink. He looked back into the room.
"We're restructuring HeroCorp soon."
His voice stayed flat and professional.
"The current hero system is changing in the next recruitment cycle. That way we will have more heroes. And less exclusivity.
A faint smile tugged his lips.
"That expansion across Europe starts in two years."
He shrugged once, light, dismissive.
"Exciting times are ahead of us."
The door slid shut.
And silence returned. There was only the low hum of screens and electronics.
Black Mentis stood motionless beside the table.
Fists clenched tighter. Metal creaked under his fingers, small dents forming.
Behind the mask his jaw locked hard. Breath came short through the filters.
"Tsk."
His voice came out low and irritated.
"This bastard."
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