[Day 11]

"Lance? Oh, thank God. I just got a call from the police. They said you'd been shot!"

"Mom, relax. It was nothing. Barely a scratch."

"A scratch? That’s not what they said!"

"Yeah, well, you know how they exaggerate. Probably trying to justify their budget or something."

"This isn't funny, Lance. Are you okay? Do you need me to come up there?"

"What? No. Seriously, it's fine. Boring, actually. Didn't even leave a scar," Lance said while taking a look at his arm.

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Can we talk about something else?—Actually, what treatment did you get for NARS?”

"Oh, um, the Synergy shot at the VA. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious." Lance paused, his knuckles rapping a quick pattern on his knee. "And have you experienced any... side effects?"

"Side effects? No, sweetie, nothing at all. I feel perfectly fine. Why? Lance, are you having problems?"

"Me? Nah, everything's dandy.” He turned his wrist.

[7:48 AM]

“Listen, I gotta run. Don't want to be late."

"Late for what? It's Thursday. You said you don’t have to work."

"Crime doesn't take weekends off, Mom."

"Lance..."

"Kidding. Sort of. Love you, gotta go."

"I love you too. Please be safe."

"Always. Bye, Mom."

***

Zara had refused to tell Lance when his new friend Preston would be swinging by BioNova; patient confidentiality and whatnot.

So, he decided to keep pondering how to approach that situation. But for now, he sat across from Ananya, playing drums with his fingers on the armrest.

His leg bounced up and down as he glanced around the office. Papers were stacked haphazardly on every surface, and he couldn't stop staring at the Newton's cradle on Ananya's desk, its metal balls clicking hypnotically. Ananya wore yellow-rimmed glasses instead of her usual pink ones. Her eyes looked huge behind the lenses. She offered him a plate of murukku, a crunchy South Indian snack. They were insanely good. Lance couldn't tell if it was just how tasty they were, or his optimized body craving fuel, but he had to use serious willpower not to demolish Ananya's whole damn bowl of murukku. He limited himself to a few, trying to focus on why he was here.

"Thanks for coming in, Lance. When you texted about finding your arma type, I knew we had to update your file right away."

"No problem. I've got some questions myself."

"Good, good. Let's start with your stats. Your text mentioned genetic optimization reached one hundred percent?"

"Yeah, all my stats are now fives. When it happened, I only had one not at five - Control, specifically Power Precision. That was my lowest from the beginning."

Ananya bobbed her head up and down. "Okay, that's what we were expecting. You've reached peak human performance."

Lance laughed. "Peak human performance?"

"Precisely," Dr. Patel said with a smile.

"Oh. You weren't joking."

"Nope! Why the surprise?"

"I feel... beyond what a human body should do."

"That's not what our studies have shown. What makes you think that?"

"Pretty sure I mentioned it during my last checkup." Lance's voice trailed off, realizing it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Didn’t I? he now wondered.

“Nope,” Ananya chirped. “Nothing superhuman there.”

“I said I've been running at superhuman speeds. On a treadmill, I maintained about 16 miles per hour for an extended period."

"Ooh, impressive! But not superhuman. The world record pace for one mile is slightly above that, so..."

"Okay, but I also ran a mile and a half in five and a half minutes."

"That's certainly fast! But again, within human limits. Elite marathoners can sustain paces close to that for much longer distances."

"Fine. What about strength? I lifted the front end of my car several inches off the ground."

"Amazing! What kind of car do you have?"

"A NeoTech Phantom."

"Oh yes, that's a nice car.” Ananya clapped her hands once. “Compact sports model, right? Engine in the back?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"So most of the weight's in the rear. And the front end's pretty light - lots of carbon fiber and aluminum."

"Makes sense,” Lance said, his mouth twisting into a wry smirk. “Still felt heavy, though."

"Oh, I'm sure it did! But that design makes it easier to lift than, say, a big SUV.”

"So you're saying it's not that impressive?"

"Oh, it absolutely is impressive! But there's a video online of Brian Shaw lifting a Camaro - that's about two thousand pounds more than your Phantom. Humans are capable of extraordinary feats of strength with proper training."

"Alright, what about healing? I was shot, lost a lot of blood, and the wound closed up within two days."

"Fascinating! Did you notice any other unusual symptoms? Increased appetite, fever, extreme fatigue?"

"Yeah, all of those. Why?"

"I see. Have you ever heard of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome? Some people with the hypermobility type report quicker wound healing. It doesn't usually work that fast, but combined with your optimized genetics, it might explain the accelerated recovery. And it still took two days—it’s not like you grew a limb." ‘Heh-snrk!’ Dr. Patel snort-laughed.

"So everything I've done is... normal?"

"Not normal, Lance. Exceptional. But within human limits." She adjusted her glasses, which were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. “I can see your wound, it’s still tender. Actually, how did you get shot?”

"That's a long story..." Lance said with more mischief than he intended. "What about my pain suppression ability?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

And it worked! Ananya's eyes lit up. "Now that's different! If you're using arma, that's a whole other story - one we don't have much data on yet."

"Really?"

"Absolutely! But let's change that. Have you tried those breathing exercises I texted you?—A clinical trial in Chicago has shown a strong correlation between arma energy control and breathing.”

“Oh yeah! They're great. That’s how I found the ability’s on and off switch.”

“Right, you said your energy alignment is Nullifier? How does the pain nullification feel?"

Lance paused, considering. "It's like... a wall of calm. When I focus, pain just... stops. Not gradually. It's there one second, gone the next."

"That’s fascinating! Can you describe the sensation when you activate it?"

"It's a coolness that starts in my core and spreads outward. Like ice water flowing through my veins, but... pleasant?"

Ananya scribbled furiously on her tablet. "Any visual effects? Changes in perception?"

"Sometimes I see a faint blue glow around my hands. And everything gets... sharper. Colors more vivid."

"Incredible! Do you notice any limitations? Duration? Intensity of pain it can block?"

Lance shook his head. "Haven't found the limits yet. Held it for hours by mistake. Blocked out a gunshot wound."

"A gunshot?! Lance, that's... wait." Ananya narrowed her eyes. "Is that how you got shot? Were you testing your abilities?"

"Maybe."

"Lance! That's incredibly dangerous. Even if you can block the pain, you're not invulnerable."

"Relax, doc. It was a controlled test. Had a medical team standing by." He didn’t.

Ananya sighed. "Still reckless. Promise me you won't do anything like that again.”

"Fine, fine. So, am I some kind of super-soldier now?"

"You're certainly pushing the boundaries of what we thought possible with arma. But remember, Lance, great power-"

"Yeah, yeah. Okay."

"I'm serious. Your abilities could revolutionize pain management, emergency medicine... but they could also be incredibly dangerous…” She made a vague gesture towards all of him. "As you have just explained.”

Lance's cocky grin faded. "You think someone might try to... weaponize me?"

"It's a possibility we have to consider. Which is why it's crucial we document and understand your abilities fully."

“Okay… I’m just gonna go to…”

***

Room 201.

Lance crossed the double doors of the community center's gymnasium ten minutes early. He was the first participant in, though Elena, the facilitator, was already there setting up. He winced with every step, even more so than the day before. The squeak of his shoes echoed extra loud in the nearly empty gym.

Elena looked up from her clipboard. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Lance! I’m so glad you came again. And you're early."

"Figured I'd lend a hand setting up," he said, shrugging off his hoodie. The Titan's Den tank top underneath felt less conspicuous today.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Elena said, gesturing to the stack of folding chairs against the wall. "Would you mind helping me arrange them in a circle?"

Lance nodded, grabbing two—no, four chairs at a time. That's how you impress ladies at church, he chortled, thinking his jokes were on point today.

As he set them up, the lightness of the chairs in his hands struck him. He wondered if Elena noticed how easily he maneuvered them, if she suspected anything about his superhuman strength.

Or as Dr. Patel would say, "peak human performance," he chided himself.

"So, Lance," Elena said as they worked, "how are you feeling after yesterday's session?"

He paused, his mouth half-open as he searched for the right words. "Better, I think. It's... nice to know I'm not alone in this."

Elena smiled encouragingly. "That's often the first step. Recognizing that others are going through similar experiences can be very validating."

Lance set down another chair, his mind racing. He wanted to ask her about the others, about their abilities, but he held back. Trust took time, and he wasn't ready to reveal everything about himself yet.

Coward.

The door creaked open, and Diego's massive frame filled the entrance.

"Hey, man," Diego said, nodding at Lance. "Dr. Rodriguez."

"Diego, welcome," Elena said. "And please, call me Elena."

Diego shuffled into the room with feet dragging against the floor, yet eyes locked on Lance by the stack of chairs. Lance noticed he was wearing sweatpants that looked custom-made to accommodate his enormous thighs.

"Early bird crew, huh?" Diego said with a grin.

Lance returned the smile, warmth and wariness battling in his gut. "Yeah. Here, grab a chair."

“No thanks. They’re too uncomfortable for me. I prefer to sit on the floor.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Lance blinked, his mouth slightly open.

“Uhh… I was just asking if you could help out.”

At least that’s one mystery solved, he thought.

Diego's head jerked. “Oh yes, ah sorry…”

“Actually, never mind. I think we have enough,” Lance said.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He finished setting up the last of the chairs, then sat next to Elena. Diego took the seat beside him—if by "seat" one meant "floor."

He watched people trickle into the gymnasium. Chatter, footsteps, and chairs scraping against polished hardwood echoed off the high ceilings and blended into a stew of irritating noise.

Zack was the first to arrive after Diego. Lance recognized him from the previous session—the IT guy whose face seemed stuck in a perpetual frown. Today, Zack's jaw clenched so tight Lance could almost hear his teeth grinding. The man's eyes pingponged around the room, never settling on one spot for more than a second.

What's got him so worked up?

As Zack took a seat across from Lance, two women in matching black hoodies slipped through the door. Their faces were hidden beneath their hoods, but Lance caught a glimpse of matching silver nose rings glinting in the fluorescent light. They moved in sync, taking seats next to each other without a word.

Sisters? Or just really close friends?

The last to enter was an elderly man in a cardigan, his wrinkled hands gripping a wooden cane. He shuffled towards the circle, each step deliberate and slow.

Christ, how old is this guy? And how the hell did he survive NARS?

Lance found himself holding his breath, half-expecting the man to collapse before reaching his chair.

But he didn’t. The old man shuffled across the circle, veering directly towards Lance, his rheumy eyes fixed on him.

"Hello there, young man," he said, dragging out each word. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Rony."

"Lance. Nice to meet you, sir," he said, standing, and offering a hand.

Rony's grip was surprisingly firm. It had to be enhanced strength. "First time here, Lance?"

"Second, actually. I almost didn't come today. Was on the phone with my mom this morning and I didn’t want to tell her I come to these..."

“Ah, I missed yesterday. Back problems, bone problem, everything problems,” Rony chuckled. “That's good, son. Talk to your parents as much as you can. Some... well, we can’t do that anymore."

Lance's face pinched. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, not your fault," Rony waved him off. "It's just... the night before this whole mess started was my Jennifer's birthday. Whole family was there celebrating." He paused, his gaze went away. "Couldn't drink myself, of course. Cirrhosis, you see…"

Lance nodded, unsure how to respond.

"I guess you know what that means.” Rony's eyes refocused on Lance. “I’ll get my seat. We’re about to start."

Before Lance could ask, Rony was already on his way.

As the old man lowered himself into a seat, his bones creaked louder than the brown, metal chair beneath him. Lance winced, phantom pains shooting through his own joints.

And here I was, upset about losing touch with my Qualtech buddies…

Elena cleared her throat, drawing Lance's attention back to the gathering's focus. "Welcome, everyone. I'm glad to see some familiar faces and some new ones as well. Let's start by introducing ourselves and sharing one thing that's been on our minds since our last meeting. Who would like to go first?"

Silence.

Lance's gaze drifted back to Zack. The man's leg bounced rapidly, his fingers drumming an erratic beat on his thigh. A sheen of sweat glazed his forehead, and his eyes... Jesus, his eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

Something's definitely off with this guy.

"I'll start." Diego’s voice was thunder breaking tension. "I'm Diego. And I've been thinking about control. How to use my strength without hurting anyone."

Lance nodded, grateful for his friend’s initiative. He understood that struggle all too well.

"Thank you, Diego," Elena said. "Who would like to go next?"

More silence. The room crackled with unsaid thoughts. And awkwardness. He opened his mouth, ready to volunteer, when—

"This is bullshit," Zack spat. He leapt to his feet, chair clattering to the floor behind him. "We're wasting time here while everything's falling apart out there. You think talking about our feelings will fix this? We're not human anymore. Freaks. And you want us to pretend it's all gonna be okay?"

Lance tensed, preparing, ready to intervene if Zack got violent. But the man just stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched at his sides.

The other attendees didn't flinch at Zach's outburst. The old man's head jerked forward as he woke for a second, only to nod off again. The tallest of the two women slouched in her chair, legs stretched out in front of her, looking bored. A huge bubble of gum expanded from her mouth, eclipsing her face. As it popped, Lance spotted pink-dyed tips on her short blonde hair that matched the color of her gum; that was all he could make out under her hood. The younger woman sat perfectly still, completely unfazed.

Elena's tone remained calm. "Frank, I hear your frustration…”

What the fuck, Frank? Lance asked himself. I thought his name was Zack.

“...these changes are overwhelming for all of us,” Elena continued. “But that's exactly why we're here.”

"To do what? Pretend everything's normal?" Zack—or Frank, apparently—scoffed.

But Elena stood firm. "To support each other. To learn. Frank, you called us freaks. But what if we could show you—show each other—that these changes aren't just scary? They can be remarkable."

Frank's anger faltered, confusion replacing it. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm suggesting we allow everyone to demonstrate their new abilities to the group. Something fun, something that amazes even us. This is a safe space to explore that side of our changes, too."

Interesting, Lance thought, his fingers tapping against his thigh. New faces. New stories. New powers?

His mind played with the idea of abilities hidden beneath their ordinary exteriors. Were they like him, grappling with strength they couldn't fully control? Or did they harbor more exotic gifts?

Frank's fists slowly unclenched. "You want us to, what, put on a circus act?"

"I want us to see the potential in ourselves," Elena said. "Will you start us off, Frank? Show us something you've discovered you can do?"

Frank's eyes crawled around the room, his body wound tight. Lance watched, fascinated, as the man's internal struggle played out across his face. Finally, Frank rubbed the side of his nose with his knuckle in defeat.

"Fine," he growled. "But don't expect much."

Frank closed his eyes, three divots forming above the bridge of his nose. Seconds ticked by in silence. Then, slowly, his feet began to lift off the ground. Inch by inch, he rose until he hovered a foot above the floor.

Holy shit.

Lance's jaw dropped. He'd seen some incredible things since his transformation, but this... this was something else entirely. Frank opened his eyes, a smug grin replacing his characteristic sourness.

"Impressed?" he asked. “And FYI, I’m also stronger than ya’ll.”

Elena clapped her hands together. "That's wonderful, Frank! Thank you for sharing."

Frank descended, his feet touching down with surprising grace. He slumped back into his chair, arms crossed, but Lance caught his barely-hidden smugness.

"Who's next?" Elena asked, her gaze sweeping the circle.

Diego cleared his throat. "I'll go, if that's alright. I didn't get to show these," he said, patting his thighs awkwardly.

Following Elena’s approval, Diego stood up from the floor and walked to the center of the circle. He squatted down, his fingertips touching the polished gymnasium hardwood. Then, in a burst of motion, rocketed upward.

What's he doing? Lance wondered.

Up and up Diego went, easily clearing seven, maybe eight feet.

Damn, just damn, Lance thought. So much for peak human performance… that's not just strength. That's... superhuman.

Diego's descent seemed to happen in slow motion. As he landed, the floor groaned under the impact. A visible shockwave rippled out from his feet, and Lance felt the vibration through his own chair.

A smattering of half-assed claps rippled through the room. The old man woke up again for another moment.

Lance, however, wasn’t expecting that. Fuck, that’s at least two thousand newtons of force—per leg. Maybe more. He was rusty, but he did some mental math. He must be packing four hundred pounds.

Again. Damn, just damn. Four hundred pounds, landing from eight feet up... that's over three thousand joules of energy. If this were a two-story, he'd punch right through.

Lance found himself clapping.

Diego grinned, giving a small bow that no one but Lance found amusing, before settling back onto the floor next to Lance.

"Thank you, Diego," Elena said. “That was truly remarkable. But how has this ability affected your daily life?"

Diego sighed, rubbing his thigh. "It's... not easy. My legs hurt constantly. Chairs don't work for me anymore—too weak. I've broken three toilets." He gave a humorless chuckle. "It's like living with a superpower and a disability rolled into one."

Geez, Lance thought. I had no idea. Can’t imagine how hard that must be.

"Thank you for sharing that, Diego. It's important we understand both the gifts and challenges of our changes. Now, who would like to go next?"

The old man in the cardigan raised a trembling hand. "I suppose I could give it a try," he croaked slowly. Very, very slowly.

Rony, Lance remembered. His name is Rony.

Rony struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. He shuffled to the center of the circle, his movements slower than his voice. Lance felt a twinge of impatience, quickly followed by a wave of guilt.

Give the guy a chance, he thought, raising his fist slightly, giving it a small shake of encouragement. He’s been through so much.

Rony closed his eyes. His face scrunching up. Concentrating. For a long moment, nothing happened. Lance was about to look away when he noticed something strange.

‘Bzzt-bzzt.’ ‘Bzzt-bzzt.’

The lights were flickering.

At first, it was subtle—a slight dimming, barely noticeable. But as Rony's concentration deepened, the effect intensified. The fluorescent bulbs overhead pulsed like a heartbeat, casting shifting shadows across the room.

Electromagnetic manipulation, Lance realized. Fascinating. Maybe he can sense the flow of electrons in the wiring.

The display lasted for about thirty seconds before Rony opened his eyes, the lights stabilizing. He gave a small, satisfied nod.

"Not much," he said, "but it's something."

“Something special’s what that is. So, Rony, how do you manage the effects of your ability?” Elena asked.

With his hand trembling on his cane, Rony said: "The migraines are... intense. But it's nothing compared to the pain of being alone in this world.” He croaked as slowly as before. "Some days, I don't know why I keep going. Why I even care about living..."

He paused, blinking back tears. "But then I think of my Jennifer. My daughter. I... I wouldn't be able to face her in heaven if I did something stupid. It's her fault I'm still here, really."

The room fell silent once more. Damn, this is too much? Lance thought as he wrestled with the lump in his throat. His problems seemed like a stubbed toe next to a broken leg. Rony's words were an invisible smoke that seeped into everyone's lungs and made it hard to breathe.

"Rony, thank you for your honesty. It takes great courage to share such deep pain. Your love for Jennifer is clearly a powerful force in your life.” Elena beamed at him. “Thank you for sharing and trusting us with it."

The brave old man returned a weak nod and brushed a hand across his cheek, wiping away unrestrained moisture.

As Rony made his way back to his seat, Elena turned to: "Lance, would you like to go next?"

Shit.

His stomach churned. After what he'd just seen, how could he possibly measure up? Flying, superhuman strength, control over electricity—and what did he have? The ability to not feel pain?

Lame.

"I, uh..." he stammered, his mind racing for an excuse. "I'm not sure I..."

Elena's smile was encouraging. "It's alright, Lance. There's no pressure. Just show us what you're comfortable with."

Lance stood, his legs feeling like two dead trees as he advanced to the circle's core. All eyes were on him, expectant. Judging.

What the hell am I supposed to do? he thought, panic rising in his chest. Stab myself?

He cleared his throat. "So, uh... my ability is kind of... internal."

Frank snorted. "What, you got superpowered constipation or something?"

Lance felt his face flush. "No, it's... I can suppress pain."

“Riveting,” Frank said, not sarcastically at all. “Show us, then.”

Complete. And utter. Silence. Panic seized him at gunpoint.

God, this is embarrassing.

"I... I can't," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't do this."

She turned to address the group. "Remember, we're here to support each other, not to judge. Some enhancements are more visible than others, but that doesn't make them more valuable."

Elena's gaze swept the room before settling back on Lance. "Would you be comfortable telling us how you discovered this ability? Sometimes the story behind our changes can be just as enlightening as the powers themselves."

No, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about how he killed someone less than two days ago.

“I… I can’t.”

"It's alright, Lance," Elena said. "You don't have to demonstrate if you're not comfortable. Why don't you take your seat?"

Grateful for the reprieve, Lance nodded and zipped to his chair. He slumped down, wishing he could disappear into the hard metal.

"Perhaps we could take a short break," Elena suggested. "Let's reconvene in five minutes."

As the group dispersed, Lance remained rooted to his seat, not quite wishing he could talk to plants, but close. He barely registered the soft shuffle of feet approaching until a wrinkled hand appeared in his field of vision.

"Mind if I sit?" Rony's gravelly voice asked.

Lance looked up, surprised to see the old man standing before him. He nodded, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

Rony lowered himself. "Quite a show today, eh?"

Lance managed a weak chuckle. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You know, son, not all powers are flashy. I’m interested in what you mentioned."

Lance turned to face him, left eyebrow up. "What do you mean?"

"You said you can suppress pain, right? That sounds like what I need."

"I guess," Lance shrugged. "Doesn't feel very useful compared to flying or super strength, though."

"Usefulness is relative," Rony said, tapping his temple. "These migraines of mine... they're a real beast. Some days, I can barely think straight."

"That sounds awful. I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

"It is what it is,” Rony said. “But... I was wondering. Do you think you might be able to help with that? Your pain suppression, I mean."

Can I deal with it?

Lance's heart rate spiked. He'd never tried to use his ability on someone else before. Hell, he barely understood how it worked on himself.

"I... I don't know. I've never tried anything like that before."

Rony's face fell slightly, but he quickly masked his disappointment. "Ah, well. No harm in asking, right?"

Lance felt a twinge of guilt. Here was this man, who'd lost everything, asking for just a moment's relief. And he was too scared to even try?

Screw it, I can do it.

"Wait," Lance said, surprising himself. "Let’s give it a shot?"

Rony's eyes flared wide. "Really? You'd do that?"

Lance nodded, trying to project more confidence than he felt. "I can't promise anything, but I'm willing to try if you are."

"Son, at this age, I'd try anything short of voodoo."

Lance smiled back. "Alright, then. Let's see what we can do."

He closed his eyes, focusing on Dr. Patel’s breathing exercises and trying to focus on the strange energy that flowed through him whenever he activated his ability.

‘Hup. Hup. Hup.’

‘Phewww.’

Three breaths in. Long breath out.

He'd never tried to direct it outward before, but he imagined it like a stream, flowing from his core and down his arm.

Come on, he urged silently. Work.

He placed his hand on Rony's temple, willing the energy to transfer. The world held its breath. Then, ever so slightly, he felt... something. A tingle, like static electricity, dancing across his palm.

Lance redoubled his efforts. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His arm began to tremble with exertion. But still, nothing changed. He poured everything he had into it, imagining the pain being siphoned away, absorbed into his own body where it could do no harm.

Lance's eyes snapped open. "Did you feel that?"

Rony's brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm not sure... I don’t think so."

Lance’s shoulders dropped. He'd failed. Again. “I don’t have that ability.”

“That’s too bad.” Disappointment moved across Rony's face like a shadow on a sundial.

“I’m sorry. Really. I wanted to be able to do that.”

"Don't beat yourself up," Rony said, patting Lance's knee. “You tried, and that says a lot about you.”

Rony stood and returned to his chair, wincing slightly as he sat.

"Alright, everyone,” Elena called. “Let's get back to our circle."

The moment everyone had settled back into their spots and before Dr. Rodriguez could say anything else, the blonde woman jumped to her feet.

"Guess it's my turn."

The voice was… interesting.

Lance's eyes engaged the newcomer.

She pulled her hoodie back. Blonde waves cascaded down to her just above her shoulders, their tips kissed with cotton candy pink. A swift motion. Fingers interlaced, arms stretched high above her head. Joints popped. She rolled her shoulders, then turned. The movement was as graceful as it was erratic. A flash of rosy cheek ambushed his senses.

She pivoted a little more and blue eyes met his. A jolt. Recognition flared, then faded. Lance blinked, confused by his own reaction—it was her. The woman he'd flirted with at the bar, the one he'd walked home that fateful night before everything went to hell.

But how? She'd died. Hadn't she?

Think, think, think! First, he thought Frank was Zack, now Valentina was standing right in front of him. But she had died—that's what Alex said. She had alcohol. Or did Alex get it wrong? Maybe he never even met her. Or were the clinical trial's side effects finally kicking in? Was he dreaming? Those Guinnesses from the early pandemic days—had they caused brain damage? I’m dreaming, that has to be it. I was pretty fucked up when the pandemic started.

And superpowers, come on. That’s ridiculous.

Valentina’s gaze jumped from person to person until it paused on Lance. A flicker of... something. Her mouth quirked up, and Lance's chest tightened. Then her features pinched, as if she'd caught a whiff of spoiled milk. She jerked back, defensively.

Lance bounced up. The brown metal chair flew back, clanking. Rony was wide awake now.

Lance and Valentina spoke at the same time.

Cutting through the murmur of voices, Lance and Valentina spoke as one.

"Valentina." / "Creep."