How long am I gonna stand outside Titan's Den? Come on, just twist the door handle. My stomach's doing backflips, even after having two breakfasts. Again. God, I'm hungry. Focus, Lan.
Diego's in there, probably doing his best Verlaine impression minus the genius IQ. And here I am, walking around with his superpowered legs like I've got any right to them. Christ, what a mess.
I should just go in there and give them back. Simple, right? Except... fuck, these legs are something else. The power, the speed – it's… it’s damn, just damn it’s exhilarating. Like being drunk. And even more so that I no longer hold impervious skin.
Lance sighed.
But it's not mine. I stole it. Borrowed it. Whatever. Doesn't change the fact that Diego's in there, unable to walk, while I'm out here contemplating how to keep Saltatorial.
Like... Diego said the power caused him pain. Constant, agonizing pain. Am I really doing him a favor by giving it back? Maybe I'm actually helping by keeping it. Yeah, that's it. I'm being altruistic. Selfless, even.
And I could do so much good with them…
Who am I kidding? Come on, Lan, be honest with yourself: Part of me wants to keep this, no matter what. It was bad enough losing Impervious. Now I'll be back to what? Slightly above average? A hero wannabe without a stereotypical cape or the backstory? Pathetic.
And let's not forget my actual "superpower." Appropriation. What a joke. All the power of a comic book villain, none of the benefits. Unless I want to go around stealing people's abilities like some kind of power-hungry leech. Which I don't. I think.
God, I sound like a whiny teenager. "But Mom, I don't want to give back the superpowers I stole!" Grow up, grow up, grow up!
He took a deep breath, his hand still on the door. Time to face the music. Time to do the right thing, even if it sucks. Even if it means going back to being... an ordinary superhero.
Ordinary. Shit. Is that really so bad, though? No more worrying about controlling insane abilities. I mean, Mack or whatever the fuck his name was, had to go. That was a no brainer, but this one—
Alright, enough stalling. Let's do this. I’m not Frank. I’m not Mack. I’m not an asshole.
He spotted Diego almost immediately, seated in his wheelchair near the free weights section. Marcus stood beside him, methodically rearranging dumbbells on the rack, sorting them by weight. Lance inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling as he steeled himself for the encounter.
Farewell, Saltatorial.
Lance approached. The stolen legs carried him smoothly across the gym floor - too smoothly. Each step made him feel like a fraud.
"Hey, guys," Lance called out, voice sounding strained even to himself.
Marcus flashed a bright smile under the gym's fluorescent lights.
"Lance!"
Diego looked up, his micro-expressions a puzzle Lance struggled to solve. Anger? Disappointment? Hope? Relief? Resentment? Was there a hint of respect buried somewhere in there? Hopefully. But more likely it was pity. Or all of the above. He took another lungful of air. Was he overthinking this whole thing? Probably.
"Diego, can I talk to you for a second?" Lance asked, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, followed by a stifled laugh.
"Sure, why not? It's not like I can go for a jog," Diego said.
Marcus glanced between them, his finger tapping the forty-pound dumbbell. "You two need some privacy?"
Lance nodded, not trusting his voice. The big man gave Diego's shoulder a squeeze before walking away, and suddenly they were alone in the corner of the gym, with the perfectly organized dumbbell rack that stood between them like a barrier Lance wished he could hide behind.
Looking directly at Diego, Lance stood still. The power coursing through his legs - Diego's power - made his head spin and raised even more unanswered questions. He hadn't felt a sliver of pain since taking them, which was oddly unsettling. Not even when Pain Nullification hadn’t been activated. Would Diego suffer when he got them back?
“So, what’s up?” Diego asked.
As if coming to a sudden decision, Lance's expression cleared, and a genuine smile spread across his face as he said, "Let's get you your legs back."
"I guess you're right. Probably for the best anyway. It’s getting hard to fit through doors,” Diego chortled.
Lance winced at the awkward joke.
"Hey, about that... I was thinking,” Lance said. “Maybe the pain won't come back. I mean, I haven't felt any since... you know."
"Seriously? None at all? ¿Ni un poquito?"
“Nada,” Lance replied.
Diego gave his wheels a soft push.
"So, how do we do this?" Diego asked, gesturing between them.
The process was more intuitive this time, surprisingly simple and straightforward. Now that he'd done it once before, Lance knew what to expect. As he’d done earlier, he closed his eyes, focused inward, and visualized the orbs—orb of power. He knew what to expect now. The familiar tug-of-war feeling as he tried to separate the ability from his core. The silvery mist forming between them. Diego's eager anticipation as the power drifted towards him.
Just like that, it was over. Lance's system pinged:
[Redistribution] complete
└─[Saltatorial] removed from active slots
└──Trace of [Saltatorial] detected in host system
└───Residual arma energy: 8%
Lance stared at the system message, a smirk tugging at his lips. Did I keep some of it? Nooo, I was sure Diego got everything back. It wasn’t like I could slice it. Was it? Maybe my arma copied it?
Eight percent, huh? Not much, but it's something. Could it have been because I held onto it longer?
The satisfaction was short-lived as the wave of weakness enveloped him. Not quite as bad as before, but still like he'd suddenly put on a weighted vest. This time, his legs bore the brunt of the power loss, but he felt weaker all over. He was still strong—stronger than any normal person—but the difference was jarring. Where before he could have lifted a car without breaking a sweat, now he'd probably struggle with anything heavier than a motorcycle.
He flexed the fingers on his working arm and a few experimental squats. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up.
"Well, this is gonna take some getting used to."
The next second, Lance looked at Diego, searching for any sign of how he felt about getting his power back.
But the man in the wheelchair only grinned.
Then stood.
"Welcome back to the world of bipeds," Lance said, forcing a smile despite the pang of regret that shot through him, only slightly softened by the knowledge that he'd kept a sliver of Saltatorial.
Diego took a tentative step, then another. His movements were careful, measured, but there was an undeniable joy in his expression. "Man, I never thought I'd be so happy just to walk again."
Lance smiled. For real. This had been the right choice.
"Do they feel as strong as before?"
"Yes—no,” Diego said. “It's... different. The power's there, I can feel it. But I think I’m faster than I was strong, if that makes sense."
“And the pain?” Lance asked.
"No, that's just it. It's there, but it's... less. Way less than before. I don't understand."
And after hearing those words, Lance was finally able to breathe. "Maybe taking it away and giving it back reset something? Or maybe my ability did more than just borrow it?"
Diego shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "Who knows? All I care about is that I can walk without feeling like my legs are on fire." He paused, then added with a straight face, "I guess you could say I'm... back on my feet."
Laughter.
It bubbled up from Lance's chest. It caught him off guard, but it felt real. Diego cracked up too, and soon they were both just laughing in the middle of the gym. For a second, they weren't dealing with superpowers or any of that crap. They were just two guys having a good time.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Thank you, Lance. Not just for giving it back, but... for taking it in the first place. I know you didn't mean to, but man, I needed that break."
"I'm just glad it worked out. I was worried I'd screwed everything up."
"Nah, you're good," Diego said, standing straight for the first time in days. "If anything, I should be sorry for pushing you into it."
They stopped talking for a bit. The gym's old AC rattled away, sounding like a tired washing machine. Lance felt weird - not bad, just different. Like walking through your front door after a 20-hour flight. He hadn't noticed how much holding on to Diego's power had been weighing on him until now.
"So," Diego said, breaking the silence. "You want to hit the weights? I've got some catching up to do."
Lance smirked. "Sure, why not? Just go easy on me. I'm back to being a mere arma user now."
Diego laughed, leading the way to the bench press. "Please. You were never 'mere' anything, Lance. Arma or not."
***
Mitsuki's phone buzzed again. She groaned. She fumbled for the device, her bleary eyes struggling to focus on the screen. Captain Longly's name glared back at her, a harbinger of yet another disrupted day off.
"Yamada."
“I need you to head over to Oak Street.”
Mitsuki squinted at her watch. [6:08 PM]. Shit.
"Captain, I just got home—"
"I know, Detective. But we're spread thin. You're the only one available. I just sent you the details. Let me know that you got them.”
‘Ding,’
She put the phone on speaker and swiped into the new notification.
[📱 SecureForce • now
Captain Longly
Case Brief: Open Investigation 2051-4438 (See attachment)]
“I got it—isn’t this Stevie’s case?”
“Stevie’s on leave. His brother just died, who knows when he’ll be back.”
“That’s horrible.”
"Anyway, it should be pretty straightforward. The lady knows you're coming. Just sit down, and see what you can find out."
"Understood, sir. I'll be there."
“See you tomorrow.”
‘Click’
Thirty-six hours without sleep. Her eyes felt like sandpaper. She glanced at her watch again, having already forgotten the time she had read seconds ago.
[6:09 PM]
Had she really only been asleep for twenty minutes?
The bathroom was close, but the kitchen sink was closer, and Mitsuki splashed cold water on her face, willing her synapses to fire. She couldn't afford to be sluggish, not when lives might depend on her alertness. As she dried her face, her gaze fell on the electric blue streak in her hair. A reminder of simpler times, when her biggest worry was whether her father would approve of her career choice.
She stumbled to her closet, grabbing the first civilian clothes she could find. A faded band t-shirt. Ripped jeans. Red baseball cap. Perfect for blending in.
Mitsuki grabbed her go-bag, always packed for situations like this, and headed out. The streets were eerily quiet, a stark reminder of the pandemic's ongoing grip on the city. As she walked briskly towards her car, she couldn’t help but notice the mix of open businesses and vacant storefronts. A few pedestrians moved about, some masked, others not, hinting at the city's slow return to its regular rhythm.
And speaking of rhythm, her car refused to start. Of course.
"Dammit!" She slammed her palm against the steering wheel.
Taxi it was.
As the cab weaved through empty streets, Mitsuki's mind drifted to the case she'd just closed. A string of robberies. Nothing special. But the paperwork... endless.
The driver's voice snapped her back. "Community center, miss."
Mitsuki blinked. They were already there.
She paid and stumbled out, her legs wobbling. Sleep deprivation was a bitch.
Mitsuki reached into her purse with clumsy hands then located the precious bottle before popping the cap and shaking out a caffeine pill to dry-swallow it all in one well-practiced sequence.
She yawned, pushing open the community center's door. Blink. The fluorescent lights of the gym attacked her eyes. Blink. A woman appeared in front of her, mouth moving. Blink. Mitsuki's brain finally caught up with her surroundings.
"I said, you're a bit early. Would you like some coffee while we wait for the others?"
Mitsuki nodded, suppressing another yawn while scrolling through her phone to remind herself of the details, her mental grid failing her.
"Dr. Elena Rodriguez?" asked the detective.
"Yes, that's me. How can I help you?"
"Detective Mitsuki Yamada. The department called earlier about observing today's session."
"Ah, yes. Detective Yamada. I was informed someone would be joining us."
"I'll just observe, if that's okay. Won't interfere with your session."
"Of course, that's no problem at all. Why don't you grab some coffee? The others should be arriving soon."
Elena gestured towards a small table in the corner.
Mitsuki nodded and automatically headed for the coffee.
Another cup and I'll be more caffeine than human. Obaa-san would be appalled. She smirked, imagining her traditional grandmother's scolding voice. "Mitsuki-chan, tea cleanses the soul. That coffee will only stain it."
Sorry, Obaa-san. This detective runs on coffee, not green tea. Soul stains and all.
Mitsuki leaned against the wall, coffee cup warming her hands. The caffeine hadn't kicked in yet, but the aroma was a comfort.
Definitely not Obaa-san's green tea, she thought as she monitored the gymnasium’s entrance.
‘Creeeeak.’
First through the door was a blonde with pink-tipped hair, swagger in her step. Confident. Maybe too confident. The girl's eyes darted around, assessing. Behind her, a waif-like figure with long black hair. The smaller girl's movements were hesitant, almost ethereal.
Odd pair. If she were honest, that was probably how her father saw her and Hana. Like oil and water.
The blonde whispered something to her companion, who nodded without speaking. Very odd.
Next came a man with tousled blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses. His body language screamed tension – fists clenched, jaw tight. As he passed, Mitsuki caught a whiff of barely contained rage.
It all went to her mental grid.
A few minutes passed. Mitsuki's eyelids grew heavy. She blinked hard, willing herself to focus.
The door swung open once more, this time revealing a young man who looked like he'd just stepped out of a boy band photoshoot. His perfectly coiffed hair and designer clothes seemed out of place in the utilitarian surroundings of the community center. He flashed a megawatt smile at Dr. Rodriguez, his teeth so white they were almost blinding.
"Rick, welcome," Elena greeted him. "How are you feeling today?"
"Absolutely fantastic, doc," Rick chirped, his enthusiasm so intense it bordered on manic. "You know me, always living my best life!"
Charming. Too charming? Mitsuki wondered.
In her experience, people who claimed to always be living their best lives were often hiding the deepest pain. She made a mental note to keep an eye on Rick's interactions with the others.
Mitsuki's attention snapped to the final pair entering the gym. One she recognized immediately – Lance Lawthorn. The other, a muscular Hispanic man, was unfamiliar.
Lance didn’t notice her, their heads bent in conversation.
For the best.
But why was he here? Mitsuki rifled through her mental filing cabinet. Lance's file popped up, a sticky note attached: Highly likely arma user.
And those burns… what happened to you, Lawthorn?
The muscular man beside Lance clapped him on the back, nearly sending him stumbling forward. "Come on, hermano," he boomed, his voice filling the gymnasium. "Let's grab some seats before all the good ones are taken."
"Diego, Lance," Dr. Rodriguez greeted them. "I'm glad you both made it."
As the group settled into their chairs, Mitsuki took stock of the assembled individuals. Six enhanced individuals, each with their own quirks and mysteries. But they all seemed so…
Normal.
How could anyone know these people were enhanced?
Mitsuki grabbed a folding chair and settled into the circle. She picked a spot opposite Lance, making sure a couple of other participants blocked his line of sight. From here, she could observe everyone without drawing attention to herself. Perfect. She crossed her legs and balanced her notepad on her knee, pen at the ready.
As introductions began, Mitsuki listened, matching names to faces.
Vicky. The blonde.
Wren. The quiet one.
Frank. Mr. Rage-in-Glasses.
Rick. The charmer.
Diego. Lance's muscular friend.
She committed every detail to memory, filing away observations for later analysis. How do these people fit into my investigation? Did Stevie really think he would find clues here?
She watched their interactions closely. Vicky seemed protective of Wren, shooting glares at anyone who looked at her companion too long. Frank fidgeted constantly, his eyes darting between the other members. Rick appeared calm, but there was something... rehearsed about his demeanor.
All of them carried interesting mannerisms and she filed each and every one of them. Every twitch, every nervous glance, every shift in posture, and every microexpression.
And Lance... Lance was a puzzle. He kept glancing at Vicky, and Mitsuki wondered about the nature of those looks. Romantic interest? Lovers?
Mitsuki pinched her forearm as another yawn escaped her lips. God, I'm off my game tonight. She took a sip of her coffee, wondering if it would ever kick in.
The caffeine must have finally hit, because suddenly, something had changed.
The conversation stopped. Mitsuki scanned the circle. Some of the participants' expressions shifted. Vicky's cocky smirk faded, replaced by a distant, removed look. Lance’s features weren’t too far off. Diego, though, was the most obvious. Vacant stare. Strained brow. Slack jaw. All three of them suddenly looked confused, staring blankly as if they could see something far beyond the gym walls.
Had Mitsuki stumbled into some kind of cult?
Their eyes moved back and forth as if reading invisible text.
What the hell? Were these mass hallucinations?
Dr. Rodriguez continued speaking, oblivious to the change that had swept through her group, until she, too, noticed the bizarre behavior of some participants a moment later.
The psychologist looked bewildered.
"Is everyone alright?" she asked.
Frank leaned back and crossed his arms. “What the fuck is wrong with them? Did the new chick spike the coffee?”
A few heads swiveled towards Mitsuki. Before she was forced to respond, Diego shook his head like a wet dog.
"Dios mío, I thought I was losing it."
Lance and Vicky exchanged a quick glance, then stood abruptly.
"Sorry, Dr. Rodriguez,” Lance said. “I just remembered an urgent matter I need to attend to."
Mitsuki yawned, blinked, and suddenly Lance was already at the door, Vicky close behind.
Diego rose slowly. "Sorry, I have to go too. Today’s the day I promised. I mean. Marcus, uh... needs me for a... thing. At the gym. Yes, the gym." He walked out, hands in pockets, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
"Perhaps we should take a break,” Dr. Rodriguez said.
A break sounds great, Mitsuki thought as she rubbed her eyes. That's enough weirdness for me. I need sleep.