Tson ducked low, Kevin's strike slicing through the air just above his head. He shifted his weight, boxing-style, driving the momentum from his planted leg into a sharp, clean punch. It was a textbook move—one Kevin had helped him develop. With Tson's velocity-based powers, his speed and strength worked in tandem, making that explosive motion deadly efficient.
Kevin always said it was the perfect style for him. Maybe he was right. Ezron couldn't handle the same power without losing control—but Tson could, thanks to the stabilizing systems in his suit.
All those years of experimenting on himself—being the lab rat—had finally paid off. He'd become a fusion of tech and raw power, something beyond human… beyond even Exemplar. He was Bionic. The first of his kind. Well—aside from Kevin and Grayson, of course.""
Rolling to the side, Tson sprang up and snapped an uppercut toward Kevin's gut.
Kevin flickered—his body phasing into static—then reappeared a few feet away, smirking, breathless but buzzing with energy.
"You're getting faster," he said, rubbing the spot where the punch would've landed.
Tson shrugged. "Or maybe you're just getting slower."
They laughed—just for a moment. Genuine. Easy. It didn't happen much anymore. Not with the pressure building, not with what was coming. But here in the dojo, the world quieted. It was just them. Two friends. Two fighters. Trying to be something more.
At least for now.
Tomorrow was the big day—the Vortex Hero Program tryouts. Their last chance to show they belonged. And this? This was their final spar before it all began.
"Kevin—ohhh right. You did good. You're starting to get better," he said to Tson, giving a quick nod. "I gotta head home now."
Tson gave him a look, somewhere between proud and tired.
Kevin smirked. "See you tomorrow—Vortex Academy."
They bumped fists, a silent promise between them, and split off into the city's steel veins—heading toward different nights, but the same future.
Kevin walked with his head low. Towering megastructures loomed above, casting endless shadows across the streets. The rich lived up there—clean, distant, untouchable. Down here? Neon grime clung to flickering signs. Buildings wheezed with rusted joints and patchwork wires. The Undervault didn't forgive. It barely tolerated.
He passed block after block of cracked concrete and faded murals until he reached his apartment door. But before he could pull it open, a small drone hovered in front of him. It scanned his face, beeped once, and projected a cold-blue hologram:
"NOTICE [E-079-GRAY]
Resident: Kevin A.
Location: Sector S-9
Due to continued failure to meet payment schedule, biometric access to this dwelling will be revoked in 24 hours.Evacuation will be enforced by Civic Unit 44. All property not claimed will be recycled.
This is an automated message. Do not reply."
—END—
His mother stood behind the half-open door, arms crossed, eyes already sharp. "Kevin," she snapped, "you said you got lucky. Unlike me or your father—we got stuck with useless I.L.s. And instead of doing the smart thing, like signing up for mixed martial arts—something you've always been good at—you want to waste two more years chasing a fantasy at some academy?"
"Ma, I had to—" Kevin started.
"Oh, I understand," she cut him off, stepping closer. "You're not like that Tson boy. He had a promising I.L. from the start. He could've been a doctor. A Lawley. Someone real. But you—you're following him like he's some kind of savior, instead of going after money, right now."
Kevin looked down, fists clenched. "He didn't have it easy. He got government help. And Ma, look where we live. Look where he lives. You think this was his dream?"
She snatched the eviction hologram out of his hand with a sneer. "Go on then. Be a damn hero."
Inside, his father sat silent on the couch. Missing both legs, his eyes didn't move from the static-filled holo-TV. "I gave everything to this f***ing country," he muttered. "Two legs blown up is all I got for it."
Kevin stood in the doorway, watching the light from the eviction drone fade out. He had powers now. He could do what others couldn't. Take what he wanted. He could rob a bank and no one would know. Maybe he could've had more—money, comfort, revenge.
But he didn't. He chose the hard route. Vortex Academy. Two years of training to become a rookie hero. Sometimes, he wondered if it made him a fool—clinging to ideals when the world offered shortcuts.
Still, he pressed on. Because maybe being a hero didn't start with powers. Maybe it started with saying no to the easy path—even when everything else screamed yes.
Meanwhile, Tson made it home—but he didn't stay long. He headed straight to the old lab, the one Grayson had converted into his personal base of operations. The metal door slid open with a hiss, revealing the heart of everything they'd built—and everything they were hiding.
As he walked through, Tson glanced at the two remaining orbs sitting idle in their containment chambers. Beside them stood one of his earliest suits, proudly displayed like a relic. This place was more than a lab—it was where he skipped school, buried himself in his work, and shaped the future with his own hands.
Among his many creations were the prototype suits and the power orbs—tech that Grayson had hijacked from a corrupted research facility. Some scientist had planned to use them for war. Instead, Grayson beat him to it, cracked the tech, and created Sentinel. From Sentinel came Prime—an accidental evolution, a fusion of man and machine. One Grayson destroyed before it could spiral out of control.
Now, they believed the worst was behind them. Tson was confident: no more unexpected side effects, no more twisted AIs. Just progress.
His dream, years in the making, was finally about to take shape.
He paused, hand hovering over the panel, eyes reflecting the soft glow of the orb chambers.
Behind him, Grayson called out, "Tson—good luck tomorrow."
Tson didn't turn around. He just nodded. "Yeah… thanks."
Then he pressed on.
He was ready to show them—ready to carve his name into the history books. Not just as a hero, but as a symbol. A legacy built on honor and prestige. The world would know his name. He could feel it in his chest, burning like fire. He could almost taste it.