Ben sat near the window in a dark leather chair, one leg crossed over the other while an open book rested loosely in his hand. The posture looked relaxed at first glance, but the stillness around him carried too much awareness to be casual. A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside him on the small wooden table. Ice drifted slowly against the sides while thin trails of condensation rolled downward and gathered beneath the glass. The study remained quiet except for the low ticking of the wall clock. A yellow desk lamp cast muted light across the room, stretching long shadows over scattered paperwork, handwritten notes, old photographs, and several metal tools laid neatly along the edge of the oak desk.
Three hard knocks sounded against the door. Before Ben could answer, the door opened. Alan stepped inside immediately. The door swung shut behind him harder than necessary, the sound cutting sharply through the silence of the study. His breathing already sounded uneven. Tension sat across his entire frame. His shoulders stayed rigid underneath his jacket while one hand remained wrapped tightly around a thick stack of folders pressed against his side.
"Dad, we need to talk," Alan said. His voice came out controlled, but barely. "It's important."
Ben slowly lowered the book from his lap. His attention moved over Alan carefully, first his face, then the way his grip kept shifting against the files, then the anger sitting plainly in his posture. Ben's eyes flicked once toward the symbol stamped across the folders. The muscles near his temple shifted faintly before he looked back at Alan. The relaxed atmosphere in the room disappeared almost instantly. He closed the book without rushing and placed it beside the whiskey glass before shifting his stance from the chair. The leather creased softly behind him as he leaned backwards.
Alan crossed the room fast. The files hit the desk hard enough to scatter loose papers and shove several notebooks sideways across the wood surface.
"I found these in the library's hidden room," Alan said. His breathing deepened while he spoke. He planted both palms against the desk and leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed directly on his father now. "You knew HeroCorp was experimenting on heroes. Torturing them for decades. Ruining people's lives." His fingers spread harder against the desk. "And you just buried it? Why?"
Ben's expression hardened instantly. The muscles around his mouth pulled tight while something colder settled behind his eyes. He stepped away from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor.
"What the hell are you doing snooping through my things, boy?" Ben snapped. His voice cut through the room low and harsh. "Since when do you think you get to dig around in places that do not concern you? Are you questioning me now?"
Alan straightened fully but did not move away. Ben stepped closer. He hated that his own body reacted before his mind did. His shoulders stiffened the moment Ben stepped closer. Alan felt it even though he tried not to show it. His chest tightened slightly while his heartbeat climbed harder inside his ears.
"I'm trying to understand," Alan shot back. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "HeroCorp is doing awful shit, and you just let it slide. Are you covering their crimes? I want to know why you're pissed at me and not them, old man."
Ben stared at him for another second without answering. Then he grabbed the papers off the desk in one quick motion. His fingers flicked outward and a small dimensional rift snapped open beside his hand. The documents vanished into it instantly. The distortion sealed itself immediately afterward.
"You don't get to poke your damn nose into matters bigger than you," Ben said flatly.
Alan took a short step forward before stopping himself. "If innocent people are involved then it does concern me… but…"
"There's no buts," Ben barked. The force in his voice made the lamp rattle and a stack of notes slide slightly across the desk. "Go to your room. Now."
Then Ben stopped. His shoulders dropped just a fraction. His eyes lost some of their sharp edge, replaced by something worn and tired. He dragged a hand down his face and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Look, kid," he said. His tone lowered, still firm but now carrying clear strain. "You have no idea how dangerous this stuff you're trying to get into really is. You're sixteen." He turned away and paced once toward the window. Heavy footsteps crossed the wooden floor while city lights reflected faintly through the dark glass ahead of him. "If HeroCorp even suspects you touched those files, they'll hunt you until there's nothing left to bury."
He stopped, staring out into the dark glass. "You never know how life's gonna play out. But if you keep your head open and your heart steady, you'll find your own path." He turned back slightly. "Just not this one. You weren't meant to be a hero. So stop trying to act like one."
Alan's pulse pounded in his ears. Fear and betrayal hit him hard, but anger quickly burned through it. "And what about those heroes?" he said. His voice shook despite his effort to keep it steady. "What about the people they hurt? Someone needs to stop them. If I'm not suited to be a hero as you say, then what are you even doing? Don't these heroes deserve saving too?"
Ben closed his eyes for a brief moment. His hand stopped halfway toward the whiskey glass before lowering again. "Don't let your emotions drown out your intelligence," he said quietly. "I've spent years keeping this family hidden from their radars. Years watching my back every second of every day." His voice hardened once more. "I'm not going back into that hell. Not because you decided to play detective and drag it here."
Alan stepped closer. "But you're supposed to be the strongest," he said. His voice dropped lower. "Why aren't you doing something? Why do they have so much power and influence over you? You can do anything, can't you? Who on earth is capable of stopping you!?"
Silence filled the room. Ben did not answer right away. Alan swallowed hard, his throat tight.
"What if," Alan continued slowly, "what if we work together? When I'm older. When I'm ready."
Ben's fist slammed into the wall beside the bookshelf hard enough to cave the plaster inward around his hand. Fragments of drywall and splintered wood burst across the floor while cracks spread outward through the wall in jagged lines. The entire study shook slightly from the impact. Alan flinched backward instinctively. A red glow burned behind Ben's eyes for half a second before fading again.
"That's exactly the type of bullshit that gets our whole family killed," Ben growled. "There is no we. And no together." He turned sharply and pointed at Alan, his finger shaking with barely contained rage. "These people will tear you apart. They'll use your mother and your sister and everyone you love just to get to you or me."
His hand dropped. "The heroes in those files that you're obsessed with," he said, his voice turning cold, "they're already dead decades ago. The experiment has stopped for many years now. So drop it."
A chill ran through Alan's body. Ben turned away from him.
"Get out of my sight."
Alan opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but nothing came out. He stood there another second waiting for his father to look at him again. He never did.