Pensively watching as Tori was loaded into a high-class medical transport machine for critically ill VIPs, I was suddenly called out to. Aunt Meryl, leading Uncle Noah—who still couldn't fully recover from the loss of his own brother—caught up with me and crouched down to my eye level. Though I'd grown since the past, I was still a shorty next to my tall aunt, dwarfed by her presence.
"Brandon, you know what to do, right?" She smoothed my hair and asked with a hint of concern.
"Of course, Aunt, stay home and wait for Grandma Melissa. She'll arrive tomorrow and look after me while you and Uncle Noah go with Mom to Germany."
"Good boy," she said, wiping away a tear she couldn't hold back, and smiled. "Alright then, don't get too bored here without us. Mom will be back soon, you'll see. Come on, Noah, they're waiting for us."
"Yeah…" Uncle Noah followed her with a lost voice. I shook my head at his behavior, but I partly understood his state. He was in too much shock after learning that his older brother, his pillar of support, had died like that. At this rate, it'd take him a long time to recover from Kyle's death. I just hoped he wouldn't turn to drinking.
The staff from the medical facility—one of the best in the world—kindly drove me home. For their hefty price, they delivered top-notch service. Dropping me off at the porch, the car drove away.
Entering the house, I turned on the TV to unwind from yesterday's operation. I hate masquerading as someone else, but this time, to avoid suspicion, I had to work undercover. Or rather, it'd be more accurate to say I was imitating others. The news was airing exactly what I'd been thinking about.
"Dear viewers, now for the day's major news. The notorious Mexican drug lord Juan Joaquín Guzmán, known as El Gigante, was found dead on his illegally purchased island in the Bahamas. Everyone in the mansion, except for the women and children, was discovered dead with various stab wounds and bullet injuries. According to the DEA's joint investigation with the CIA and FBI, this appears to be the result of a war between global drug lords. For those unaware of El Gigante, he was born into a poor, large family in Mexico. As a teenager, he helped his father—though exact details of Guzmán Sr.'s work are unclear, it's believed he grew poppies for heroin production. Later, he joined a gang tied to a cartel led by Miguel Loera Gallero. El Gigante proved his efficiency to the leadership and quickly rose to a key role. In 1989, Gallero was arrested, and the cartel fragmented; one of the new organizations was the 'Dogs' cartel, led by El Gigante. To speed up shipments, he organized the construction of tunnels along the Mexico-U.S. border. Prosecutors claimed El Gigante amassed over $12 billion. He was first arrested in the early 1990s, receiving a 20-year sentence for drug trafficking. Eight years later, he escaped, hidden in a laundry basket. In 2014, El Gigante was detained in his Mexican apartment, only to escape again a year later through a tunnel dug beneath his cell. The last attempt to apprehend him was in 2016, but he evaded justice. Yesterday, at 9 p.m. local time, tourists on the island heard gunshots and loud screams. Police, arriving ten minutes later, struggled to access the island: the bridge had collapsed, and all boats within miles were disabled by an unknown electrical means. Only by morning, with the help of special military forces, did they reach the island. Please, remove children and the overly sensitive from your screens. The following footage is not for the faint-hearted."
Blurred and stamped with a giant 18+ logo across the screen, the federal channel broadcasted the chaos I'd caused in a single night. Turns out, there were no quick, legal ways to get rich in this world. And I had no desire to come up with something lawful to make a fortune in a short time. So, after some brainstorming, I realized the only thing that came to mind was to rob someone.
A bank? The dumbest idea possible, and not worth it. People who'd earned their wealth illegally and faced less scrutiny? Now that was closer to what I needed, I thought yesterday. A quick search for gangs in America showed no suitable targets—too small and too noticeable. That's when I stumbled upon the drug cartels. Specifically, the "Dogs," who controlled a third of the illegal drug trade across America. Tracking down their leader wasn't hard. Starting from the bottom and working my way up, I quickly reached this Gigante, who turned out to be a little man, nearly as short as me.
Armed with a machete I'd taken from a petty dealer in Mexico and a submachine gun with ammo, I arrived at the mansion—slowly by my standards, but supernaturally fast for those inside—to extract the money for Tori's operation. One swing, one corpse. Their throats were all equally soft against my strength. Single shots to the forehead were quick and precise too. A red fabric mask, nabbed from some house, hid my face from the women and children. A red cloak added an air of terror for anyone who saw me, and the symbols I left everywhere—two sharply angled, parallel "B"s—would throw everyone off. No one would suspect a hero could do all this.
Maybe in the future, the survivors would follow in their fathers' footsteps, and those women wouldn't change, raising the next generation the same way. But they didn't attack me, and that was what mattered. So, I left the kids and women in that mansion—there were plenty of them—alive, cutting down anyone who raised a weapon against me. There was a lot of blood.
The little Gigante first tried to demand something, then squealed for mercy when I slashed his cheek, but I didn't care. I just ordered him to transfer all his money—bank accounts, offshore holdings, cryptocurrency—to hospitals and charities worldwide. I slipped in one discreet payment under my mom's name, fast. Thankfully, our small town was already fundraising, and everyone knew our family's tragedy. It'd all wrap up with a burned-down mansion—if I hadn't gotten curious about what else the cartel was up to besides drugs. Turns out, those dogs trafficked people too. So that night, across the world, everyone in the cartel involved in human trafficking was killed. The Gigante ended up hanged in the very town where he'd started, right in the square, to confuse anyone investigating what happened that evening. The cartel boss kept his records neat and clear, so I didn't even have to hunt much. Just flew in, one machete strike—already breaking from my blows—or a bullet, then moved on. About five hundred people worldwide were tied to it, and now the "Dogs" cartel was no more. The survivors would scatter fast. Dead bodies popped up in unexpected places—toilets, rooftops—around the globe.
By morning, the arriving committee sorted everything out with my stunned aunt, and now they were flying to Germany. They say the surgeons there could help her, having handled even tougher cases. I genuinely wanted to believe a human could save Tori, but it didn't hurt to have a backup plan. Finding Atlantis turned out to be a whole lot harder than tracking cartel members, so I'd continue that search tomorrow night. Today, I just wanted a break from all the gloom in my life. Meanwhile, the news anchor went on.
"The money funneled into various charities and aid organizations—around $20 billion—has thrown the global financial world into chaos. And the mysterious masked killer has struck terror into every survivor. Who carried out this act of intimidation and aid? Find out on our next analyst show. Jim?"
"Yes, Mary, thanks, and so…"
My job was done, and I could relax. Tomorrow, more tasks awaited, and I just wanted to switch off. Switch off from all feelings. As the voices kept discussing it all, they lulled me into a doze, and I sank into Morpheus's realm.
---
Stretching my arms toward the ocean, I gently skimmed the water, slicing through it with my hand. The moon hung full, and the sky was clear, free of clouds. Starting my search today from Morocco's shores, I quickly approached the Bermudas. Atlant, burned by the Sun, as poetic as it sounds, couldn't pinpoint his homeland's exact location. He wasn't lying—if I understood anything about physiology and quickened breathing. He wasn't particularly educated by modern standards either. All the names he gave were in his tongue, tied to his people's concepts. For instance, what we call the southern Atlantic Ocean, he called the Old Home. Only by piecing together that he'd seen Cape Town in South Africa did I figure out what he meant.
Now I had to scour the northern Atlantic, eyes piercing the watery expanse. I flew in the night's silence, my gaze cutting through the ocean's endless stretches. The Atlantic waters were black as always, like a bottomless abyss swallowing everything in its path. But that wasn't a barrier for me. I was the one who could see through that darkness, past the surface. The wind was strong, its gusts almost tangible—they tore raindrops from my face, though the rain might've just been an illusion born from my flight. My eyes locked on the horizon. I flew so fast the water beneath me churned, rising into stormy swells. But that was normal. I wasn't an ordinary human. I was the one who could see through the night, through any obstacle. No ship, no crew, no people around. I didn't need them. I was alone, as always. Some time passed, and I found myself in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle. This was where ships and planes always vanished. The internet was full of theories about this place. Rumor had it the region was steeped in mystical energy, that strange disappearances happened here, that something unknown to science lived in these waters. But for me, these weren't just rumors. I knew Atlantis existed. I knew it might be hidden here, beneath the ocean's depths. And only I could uncover its location.
I stopped, slowing my speed, my eyes straining as I peered downward.
Something's there, something's taking shape. Like static interference trying to obscure what I see, but I think I've got it. Deep below, in the water's depths, outlines began to emerge. I saw them as if they were right in front of me, despite the miles separating me from them. Structures. Columns that once held up grand buildings, now crumbled by time. Marble remnants of architecture. All of it lay deep down, hidden from human eyes—but not from mine.
I kept descending. I didn't need to breathe, didn't need to stop. I pressed deeper, my eyes piercing more and more space, seeing more. Wide roads, now blanketed in sand and sea muck, countless stone blocks that once formed mighty structures. There they were—ruins, but not just ruins. This was a city. This was Atlantis.
My gaze took in everything I could see: vast plazas submerged in the depths, littered with debris, some still holding their shape. I saw towering statues, elongated figures that might've once been gods or rulers. They still stood, despite millennia, like living relics consumed by time and water. Columns that once propped up palaces stood neglected, yet their outlines retained their grandeur. Stone walls that had formed homes and buildings still stood like forgotten sentinels of an abandoned world. I scanned every object with my eyes. The ocean around was deep and dark, and I knew its waters held thousands more secrets, but I was ready to uncover them all. My eyes kept piercing this empty city devoid of life, and each new discovery didn't bring me joy. I saw how Atlantis's ancient culture had thrived, how the people who once lived in these majestic structures were now part of history. I saw their homes, streets, plazas strewn with ruins, like forgotten traces of civilization. It was empty here.
A fleeting glance was enough to let out a disappointed breath of bubbles, but I kept exploring the hidden secrets. I saw some buildings intact yet swallowed by water, massive stone structures that once served as grand temples or palaces now lying on the seabed. I saw it all in full detail, feeling more and more that Atlantis wasn't just a myth but a reality buried in the ocean's depths. A reality plundered. What was this? Deception, or was Arvin Kibela the most masterful liar the world had ever seen?
His tales of this kingdom's wonders, this city, were vivid with colorful descriptions that played before my eyes. Palaces, statues, and history. The culture here was refined, but what if it was all a lie?
Something's off. Something's hiding from my all-seeing gaze. Closing my eyes and reaching for a sensation, I tapped into my powers—ones that usually surfaced with strong emotions, breaking anything tied to electronics or the like. Flipping that switch, I pulled it down in my mind. Opening my eyes and seeing what was really here, I wasn't surprised.
All those statues, palaces, and walls weren't what they seemed. Atlantis had long fallen under the weight of its own ways. And the last man-eating Atlantean remained there, burned in the Sun's fiery depths. All around were bones and corpses of fish-like people. Dead, like the city itself, left in history as a myth. Walls broken, palaces ruined, statues fallen. Atlantis was no more. Kicking a bone beneath my foot, I couldn't help but feel disappointed.
Got it. Rising to the surface, I took one last look at the restored tech dome hiding all that horror of a dying race of fish people. I wouldn't be the one to wipe out the Atlanteans. They'd made themselves their own executioners. No one here could help me anymore. All that was left was to hope for the golden hands of doctors. A pity. Such a pity.
---
I flew, feeling the air rush through my clothes, soft clouds brushing my skin, leaving a cool trail. My defenses were minimal, my speed low. I wanted to feel it all. Around me stretched an endless bluish void, and I was just a tiny dot in this vast world, heading toward the ground. Far below, I could see the little town where my home and grandma waited. But I didn't want to rush. I could fly forever, merging with the sky. The sky—so simple, so carefree. No borders, no limits, not even time held meaning here. Below, people might count minutes, but for me, time didn't exist. A moment stretched into eternity, and all I felt was a freedom no human, no soul on Earth, could ever know. My thoughts drifted far from Grandma Melissa. She was waiting for me, of course, as always. She'd been with me for a week now. The house smelled of pies and fresh bread, and I could've gone straight down, given her all my energy, given her what she needed. She was caring, and I felt warmth toward her. Never knowing love or family, this time together was something new. Aunt had said things were going well there, and I'd seen for myself that Tori seemed stable and alive. But right now, up here in the air, I could just be me. I was strong, fast, and no one could catch me. That gave me a lightness more important than anything else. With every flight, I became part of this world. I saw cities wake up, people going about their lives, unaware of me. Some looked skyward, thinking they saw something odd, but they couldn't tell it was me. I was elusive, dissolving into the heavens. To them, I was something distant, unexplainable. Grandma always told me to come home, not to linger too long, because time wasn't something to toy with. But I knew I couldn't be home without savoring this moment. I needed to feel this freedom. Flying through clouds, I noticed them forming whimsical shapes—sometimes animals, sometimes strange figures. This was a world just for me, a secret I kept from everyone. I knew these weren't just clouds. This was my domain, my space. No one could touch me here; I was safe.
Far below was home. It looked so small, so fragile, like it sat on the edge of the world. And Grandma. I knew she'd still be waiting, and eventually, I'd have to return. But I didn't want to. I knew I couldn't stay like this forever, that sooner or later I'd be human again, sitting in my house, drinking tea with Grandma. But in these moments, I was more than just human. The clouds rustled softly as I sped up again, feeling my flight muscles tense, the air tearing around me. This was speed, this was bliss. I forgot everything—home, Grandma, responsibility. I was in this moment, and it was endless. Suddenly, the sky thickened. The clouds around me grew dense, the air heavier, almost solid. I slowed, looking around to figure out what was happening. Dark clouds gathered below, merging into a massive storm front, and I knew this wasn't just weather. It was something bigger, and I might have to step in. But even then, as my instincts urged me to act, I thought of home, of Grandma. She was waiting. I considered staying a bit longer, lingering for a moment to feel truly alive. Up here, in this vastness, there was no aging, no time—just me and the sky. And while I was here, the world could wait.
I circled once, twice, again. Only when the sky darkened did I turn and dive. Cutting through the brewing storm front, I dispersed it. Tonight would be rain-free, and that choice pleased me.
Landing softly on my clearing, I ran toward the house at a human pace. It was evening, insects chirping quietly. The smell from the house was pleasant, and Grandma's soft voice sang something like a lullaby.
Melissa was a gentle, elderly woman with fully gray hair. She was Tori's mom and worried deeply about her daughter, but she held strong, not showing me all the pain she felt. Sometimes I caught her glancing at the phone after calls, as if blaming herself for not being with her daughter. But seeing me, she'd shift to kind thoughts and care for me. A good, kind woman who didn't deserve the terror and fear of her child's approaching death.
Tori was undergoing preliminary tests now to identify all issues, with the operation scheduled for the day after tomorrow once everything was set. I decided to be there for it all, skipping school for the first time in my life.
Asking Kaitlyn to cover for me, I noticed her asking with concern what I was up to. Everyone knew our family tragedy, and this little girl was sharp enough to sense a kid my age didn't skip school for no reason. I assured her I was fine, just wanting to walk alone in the central park to escape pitying looks. To take a break from people, so to speak. She believed me, though not entirely.
Falling asleep, bracing for a tense day, I was engulfed by a golden light I couldn't dodge. It bore the symbol of an ancient Egyptian cross—the Ankh. I found myself in a metal-filled room, the closeness of space overwhelming me. The sudden shift squeezed my temples, making me feel weak. I barely kept from falling face-first. My powers were out of my control, and I felt human again. Even simple things like seeing through walls or speeding up were impossible.
And I was in my underwear…
The first person I noticed was odd. My eyes couldn't help but fix on his helmet. It was golden. His face was hidden, and I couldn't make out any features, but the helmet alone radiated power and mystery. A collar guarded the sides and back of his head. My gaze slid down his suit—dark blue and gold hues wove together, glowing as if the suit itself pulsed with energy. It hugged his body like a second skin, accentuating a lean yet powerful frame. Golden metal gloves adorned his hands, and matching ornate boots clad his feet. It didn't feel like mere clothing—something far greater. And the cape… it flowed from his shoulders, shimmering faintly, as if the fabric was infused with something. When he moved, its edges seemed to float, trailing him with an air of majesty and enigma.
He stood before me. Next to him was a guy. An ordinary guy you wouldn't expect beside someone in a sharp golden helmet. He had chestnut hair, slightly messy, and something off about his eyes—like he'd never slept. He wore a plain light suit that looked unchanged for days, paired with a long, wrinkled trench coat. His white shirt beneath wasn't quite clean. His boots were simple, worn. He smoked a cigarette, and the smoke reached me, making me grimace. Gross. His face was etched with wrinkles, like someone who'd seen too much.
"Is this him?" the helmeted man asked. He stood with arms crossed, though he seemed weakened after teleporting me here. The dandy beside him didn't bother acting tough and sat down. The golden light definitely came from the helmeted man, matching his color scheme. My strength was creeping back, but I didn't start swinging yet. There'd be time for that. This cosplay meetup felt familiar somehow.
"Maybe," came a short reply from someone I never expected to see in my life—unless he was a rich cosplayer. Stepping out from behind the duo in a recognizable suit, he loomed over me like a mountain. First thing you notice—his costume. All black, like the night sky. Muscular and massive. A mask hid his face, leaving only cold, impassive white eyes. Sharp ears jutted upward, completing the look. The suit sounded heavy, sturdy like armor, with ridges and seams as if ready for any clash. A bat emblem stood out sharply on his chest against the black. A military-style utility belt hung at his waist. The cape was long and weighty, dragging behind him like part of his being. His gloves had sharp inserts, his boots sturdy and audible when he walked. He held a tablet. He stood calm, confident, and you could feel this wasn't just a costume for show. His low voice asked a question I didn't expect. As a kid, I'd have been terrified. Looking down at me, straight into my eyes, he said,
"Kal-El, last son of Krypton?"
"Excuse me, sir, could I get some clothes first?!"