The command tent in the Sahara was a hive of tense, disbelieving activity. The alert blared on repeat, a stark contrast to the desolate silence outside. “Single biological signature. Non-hostile. Sector Sierra 7.” The tech’s voice was laced with disbelief. Carter was on her feet, her chair clattering backward. “It’s him. It has to be him.” The words were a desperate prayer. Rush, glued to the scanner, shook his head, his face a mask of analytical skepticism. “The energy signature is… blurred. It reads human, but there’s a residual energy clinging to it I can’t identify. It’s similar to the anchors, but… different. Faded. We can’t assume it’s him. It could be a trick. A mimic.” Lieutenant General Miranda, her features hardened by the loss of Reeves and the strain of command, cut through the debate. “We are not assuming anything. A team will investigate. Immediately. But you will proceed with extreme caution. Weapons hot. If it’s not Anders, if it’s some new form of infiltra

The small, sterile room in the temporary quarters felt even smaller with the weight of Kyle’s story hanging in the air. He told Carter everything. The non dimension of swirling chaos. The legion of monsters. The terrifying, beautiful form of the One Below All. Her offer his mother, his revenge, peace. The brutal psychological warfare of the Rex puppet. His refusal. His vow. Carter listened, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and awe. She didn’t interrupt. She just absorbed the impossible reality of it. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, simply staring at him as if seeing him for the first time. “My God, Kyle,” she finally whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t even… to have faced that… and to have said no…” She reached out and took his hand, her grip firm. “You are the strongest person I have ever known.” The validation was a balm, but it couldn’t erase the cold dread that came with the memory. “She’s not done, Carter,” he said, h

The feed showed chaos in downtown Aura City. A community center that had been converted into a shelter for Gifted refugees was under siege. A cordon of police vehicles was being pushed back by a crowd of hundreds, a sea of featureless white masks under the afternoon sun. They moved with a disturbing synchronicity, not like an angry mob, but like a single organism. "See?" Rush pointed at the screen in the back of the rapidly deploying transport vehicle. "They're using coordinated sonic pulses. Low frequency. It's disorienting the police, disrupting their coordination. This is military grade crowd control tech." "Where are they getting it?" Carter asked, checking the charge on her non lethal pulse rifle. The rules of engagement were strict: minimize casualties. It was a policy that felt dangerously one sided. "Where do you think?" Kyle muttered, staring out the window as the city blurred past. The answer hung in the air, unspoken. West Star Labs. They arrived to a scene of

The street was a tableau of controlled chaos. Police officers were cuffing dazed Equalists, their smooth white masks now looking pathetic under the harsh lights of emergency vehicles. Medics attended to the few injured, while the freed Gifted from the shelter huddled together, their relief tinged with a new, profound fear. Kyle stood frozen, the Equalist’s words echoing in his head. “You’re the reason my sister is dead.” The man’s raw, grieving hatred had been a physical blow. Before being shoved into a police transport, the masked figure twisted in the officer’s grip, his blank face turning toward Kyle. “You see?” the man spat, his voice cracking with emotion. “Harassing commoners trying to protect our own! You’re no different from the monsters! You just wear a human face!” The spittle landed on Kyle’s cheek. He didn’t wipe it away. He just stood there, the accusation searing into him. Was there a sliver of truth? Had their fight to save the world caused as much collate

The morning sun did little to burn off the chill that had settled over the city. Johnny and Axel walked through the streets, a deliberate attempt at appearing normal before the night's mission. The goal was simple: grab breakfast, observe the mood on the ground. The reality was a lot more complicated. "Okay, I'm officially declaring this the worst pre mission breakfast ever," Johnny announced, his breath misting in the cool air. "We should be eating something heroic. Steak and eggs. Pancakes stacked to the ceiling. Not... whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at the bustling, slightly grimy street food stalls. "We're blending in, you idiot," Axel retorted, though her eyes were scanning the crowd, noting the tension in people's shoulders, the way they avoided eye contact. "Heroic breakfasts tend to stand out." "Blending in is overrated. I'm a beacon of hope and frosty goodness. I can't be expected to dim my light for the sake of covert ops." Johnny spotted a stall with a pictur