Peak human performance, my ass, Lance thought as he pushed Diego's wheelchair down the sidewalk. Each step felt like a restrained explosion, power surging through his legs, begging to be unleashed. And it took a lot of teeth grinding to force himself to maintain a steady pace.
The weight of Diego in the chair ahead of him nagged at Lance's conscience. He'd done this. He'd taken so much. Lance looked around for bumps or cracks on the sidewalk. Anything to keep his mind off the intoxicating strength screaming to be used.
A jogger approached from the opposite direction—the first one he'd seen since the NARS pandemic. Before, these blocks had been crammed with runners at all hours, like an endless relay race where dodging the slowpokes was an Olympic sport in itself. His legs twitched, eager to match her pace, to surpass it.
No, he told himself firmly. You're responsible for Diego right now. No showing off.
But oh, how he wanted to. The new strength buzzed in his veins like a Red Bull overdose. Lance had never felt so wired. His Power stat had jumped to seven the moment he acquired this Adaptive Legs—correction, limbs—ability. He imagined himself sprinting down the street, leaping over cars, bounding from rooftop to rooftop like some comic book hero.
The jogger passed, and Lance's lungs burned. He hadn't realized he'd stopped breathing. He let out all the air, willing his wound-up muscles to unclench.
"You okay back there?" Diego called over his shoulder. "It’s so quiet I can hear your breathing."
He was right. Diego had a point. Also, the old wheelchair's wheels squealed with each rotation, like a piglet thrown into a bathtub. "Yeah, just... thinking."
"Legs feel unstoppable, don’t they?" Diego asked. "You can go faster, you know. I don’t care."
The casual way Diego spoke about it made Lance's stomach churn. Did he not realize the gravity of the situation? Or was he just that desperate for relief from his constant pain? Either way, Lance wasn't about to argue. He obliged with pleasure.
And boy were his legs fast.
They burned, but in a good way. He got messages about his Saltorial legs optimizing themselves during the trip, but he ignored them all. There was nothing he could do anyway. He figured he would let the program do its thing in the background and worry about...
The wheelchair rattled and creaked, threatening to shake apart with each pothole they hit. Diego hunched forward, eyes squinted against the wind.
"My face feels like an ice cube," Diego shouted over the rush of air.
Lance grinned, slowing down as they neared their destination. "Sorry. Got carried away."
Diego rubbed his face. "At least we made good time."
The wheelchair groaned as they came to a stop, as if relieved to have survived the journey.
"Lance, I'm glad you returned, but we need to talk," said Elena as they entered more unceremoniously than ever, thanks to the abused wheelchair that hushed the conversations of the few other members already gathered near the three-point line.
“I’ll join you in a second,” Lance said to Diego, who, after a down nod, leaned forward, moved his hands back and forth in a steady rhythm, and glided away.
Lance started a chuckle, but said, “I’m sorry for the spectacle yesterday”
"Lance, I appreciate your apology. Look, it wasn't just you. Things always get tense when Frank's around. Vicky was out of line too. They've both been through a lot. I can tell you have as well, which is exactly why we have this group - to help each other through tough times. I'm glad you came back. But we need to set some ground rules so everyone feels safe and respected here."
"I get it. I do. It won't happen again. And I also want to help with this group." Lance gestured towards the other side of the court and Diego, who had almost traversed the gym's length.
“Great, as long as we’re on the same page,” Elena said. “Why don't you grab some coffee and get settled? We'll start in a few minutes."
Lance’s expression lifted. "Coffee?"
"Yeah, something new we're trying," she explained with amusement in her tone. "Hoping it'll take the edge off for everyone."
"Touché. Might need a whole pot after last night."
Elena chuckled, grabbing her own cup. "Just pace yourself. We don't need anyone bouncing off the walls." She gave him a friendly smile and walked away, leaving Lance to fix his drink.
As he reached for the coffeepot, Lance caught sight of Vicky entering the gym. She gave him an up nod before making a beeline towards the huddle. Almost simultaneously, another figure appeared in his peripheral vision.
Lance tensed, his fingers tightening around the coffeepot handle. Just... shit. I didn't want to speak to Frank this soon.
He turned, plastering on a forced smile. "Frank, look—"
The man's attention dropped to his feet as his right hand instinctively moved to his left forearm, fingers tracing nervous circles on the skin. "I… I—I'm not Frank."
Wait, what? “Not Frank?” that last part coming out of his mouth. “Are you Frank’s twin?”
“Um, no. I… I’m Zack. Yeah, Zack.”
What the hell? At least I’m not fucking crazy, then. Everyone’s got a twin now.
Same blonde hair, same pale blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. But at the same time, this was a different person. The posture, hunched and uncertain. The eyes lacking that simmering rage.
Yeah, doppelgänger.
"Sorry, I thought, um. You look just like your brother—"
"Frank?" The man's lips twitched in a nervous smile. "I'm Zack. Frank's... well, it's complicated."
Lance set down the coffeepot, his guard lowering. "Complicated how?"
Zack glanced around, lowering his voice. "Frank and I, we're... the same person. Sort of."
"What?"
"It's called Dissociative Identity Disorder," Zack explained, fidgeting with his sleeve. "Frank's my... other personality."
Lance's mind was blown. He'd heard of multiple personalities before, but to see it up close? "So yesterday, that was—"
"Frank," Zack nodded, grimacing. "I'm sorry about that. He can be... intense."
"Intense…sure," Lance said. He studied Zack's face, searching for the parts of the man who'd nearly come to blows with him the night before. "How does it work? Do you share memories?"
Zack frowned. "Not really. It's like waking up from a dream sometimes. I know something happened, but the details are fuzzy." He paused, worry creasing his brow. "Did Frank do something bad?"
For a heartbeat, Lance's fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm on the side of his cup. "Nothing too serious. Just a misunderstanding."
Zack shock his head, clearly relieved. "That's good. Sometimes he... Well, let's just say I'm glad it wasn't worse."
He noticed Zack's elevated heart rate and the slight tremor in his hands. This wasn't easy for him. Whoa, Lance suddenly realized his own senses had sharpened. Was it because of Adaptive Limbs?
They didn’t overpowered like his legs did, but his senses had certainly also upgraded. And since he had now become an expert at pulling up his stats screen on demand, he checked.
Cognitive Processing Speed: 5.4
Reaction Time: 5.5
Mind-Body Synchronization: 5.2
Sheesh, what did I steal from Diego?
"Look," Lance said, waving his thoughts and system messages away. "I appreciate you explaining this. It can't be easy dealing with all of that."
Zack's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Thanks. It's why I come to these meetings. They help, you know? But Frank doesn’t like coming."
“Yeah, I'm starting to get that."
"So," Zack ventured, "can we maybe... start over?"
The irony wasn't lost on Lance. He'd come in ready to make peace with Frank, only to find himself face-to-face with an entirely different person—sort of.
"Absolutely," Lance said, extending his hand. "I'm Lance. Nice to meet you, Zack."
Zack's grip was surprisingly firm as they shook hands. "Nice to meet you too, Lance. And... uh... I heard... well, Diego mentioned that you can... um... take away powers? Is that right?"
The coffee cup froze halfway to Lance's lips. “Wait, what? I mean… It’s new and unpredictable.”
Zack leaned in, staring him in the eye for the first time since the conversation started. "But you can take powers away, right? That's what Diego said."
"Look, Zack, I don't want to make any promises. I need to see how things go with Diego first, do some more experimenting."
"Please, Lance. I can't keep going like this. After NARS... it's like living in a cell. Frank is destroying my life. You saw how he was last night." Zack’s voice was a taut wire.
The man deflated like a punctured balloon. Meanwhile, Lance couldn't shake the image of Diego's face, free from pain for the first time in who knows how long. He remembered how Diego had settled into his wheelchair, his features softening with relief as he'd murmured, "I can sit without hurting. It's... it's incredible."
Christ, what am I getting myself into?
"Zack, I get it, but-"
"No, you don't get it!" Zack's outburst was followed by a quick, nervous glance around the room. He lowered his voice again. "Every day, I wake up not knowing what Frank might have done. I can't have relationships, I’ve lost weeks—I’m lucky he even lets me come to these meetings. Please, I'm begging you."
Lance sat his cup of coffee down. “Look, I can’t possibly imagine what you must be going through, but taking someone’s power away—it scares me. Have you tried other options? Therapy, medication?"
"Nothing works.” Zack shook his head. “I think…I think Frank’s also tried a bunch of stuff too to get rid of me.”
I mean, the guy really is an asshole, Lance thought, cupping his chin in his pal. That much is clear.
"And you're sure you want to get rid of your power completely? Right now, I don’t know how to give it back. You’ll probably lose Frank forever.” A voice inside his skull reminded him that Diego can’t walk at all. “Shit—there might even be side effects that I don’t know about."
Lance’s jaw slacked as he mulled over the consequences. The thought of sharing headspace with Frank, or worse, failing to nullify him, made his skin prickle. He absently massaged the back of his neck, remembering his experience with Diego's Core Power an hour earlier. Despite taking on Diego's ability, Lance hadn't felt any of the chronic pain that had plagued Diego since NARS. So, maybe that was an advantage of his ability?
That sounds too convenient…
"I'm willing to take that risk," Zack insisted. “I won’t blame you. I… I promise.”
What the hell am I supposed to do again? Before he knew it, Lance’s finger was already tapping his thigh.
Jesus, what am I getting myself into? I'm still figuring this shit out. But if I could actually help this guy…
Lance took another look at Diego chatting with Rick—the friendly guy with wavy brown hair—and saw Diego's face light up as he laughed while effortlessly popping a wheelie in his chair.
“Okay,” Lance said. “I'll try. But I can't promise anything, alright? I don’t even understand how my power works. You get that, right?”
"Tha… thank you—Thank you so much," Zack said.
As Zack moved closer, Lance's heart raced. What the hell am I supposed to do again? Lance asked himself as he focused on his breathing. And the colors.
Auxiliary Ability activated: [Energy Classification]
Energy signature detected
[Human Shifter (1st Evolution)]
So far so good. At least I've got part one down, he thought. As he watched, Zack's aura shifted through the spectrum—red to blue to green and back again. Must be related to his shifter nature, Lance realized.
He moved his hand closer, attempting to grasp Zack's arma.
The man in front of him tensed, his energy recoiling against Lance's reach. Unable to get a hold, Lance jerked back.
"Are you sure?" Lance asked, eyeing Zack.
Zack nodded, visibly trying to relax.
"Breathe," Lance instructed, trying again. This time, he felt the energy yield, and began pulling it towards himself.
Core Power: [Appropriation (Alpha I)] activated
Target: [Human Shifter (1st Evolution)]
Assimilation in progress…
Warning: Multiple modes detected. Partial assimilation only.
Assimilation complete
New ability acquired. Internalizing…
New Essence Power acquired: [Multiplicity (Alpha I)]
└─[Multiplicity (Alpha I)]: Ability to alter physical form.
Appropriation failed for multiple modes.
[Mode: Impervious] Appropriated
└─[Impervious]: Dramatically increases skin density and durability.
Core Power evolution detected
└─[Appropriation (Alpha I)] has ascended to [Appropriation (Alpha II)]
└───[Appropriation (Alpha II)]: Improved assimilation efficiency. Can now partially appropriate complex abilities.
Lance's world became sharper, but before he could relish the new power…
Zack snapped back, bobbed his head, leaned against the table with the coffee jug and the scattered papers and half-eaten muffins, and pushed his palm against his forehead, squeezing his temples.
“Zack, are you alright?” Lance asked.
"Ah... ye—yeah. I think so. Did it work?"
“Seems like it did. Do you feel any different?”
“Um, yes. My head feels lighter actually—”
Their conversation was cut short as Elena's voice rang out across the room. "Everyone, gather round! We are about to start!"
Lance and Zack exchanged a quick glance before turning their heads towards Elena, who was gesturing for everyone to join the circle.
Lance eased himself into his seat, carefully distributing his weight to avoid the dreaded 'brown chair symphony' he'd perfected dodging over the past few days.
As the discussion picked up, Lance decided to test his energy classification ability. He wanted to see if he could use it more easily now. It still took a lot of effort to see the colors, but he was determined to practice.
He started with Diego and Zack, sitting on either side of him. Their arma energy came into focus, after a moment of concentration, exactly as he had seen it before. But when he tried to identify the others, he drew a blank.
Curious, Lance casually leaned forward, angling towards Vicky. Suddenly, her elemental affinity popped into view. There must be a distance limit, he realized. He tried the same move to his left, aiming for Elena. This time, his system labeled her as 'unawakened'. Whatever that means, Lance thought. Probably people who can't use arma.
Rick, sitting directly across from Lance, remained a mystery. No matter how much Lance stretched or leaned forward—
“Are you okay, bro?” Diego whispered from his wheelchair.
He gave Diego a quick nod and forced himself to refocus on the discussion.
Tonight's session on "Responsibility and Power" left Lance conflicted. As the group explored the ethics of their abilities, a nagging doubt about taking away others' powers persisted in Lance's subconscious. Yet, seeing Diego fully engaged, offering insights without wincing in pain, and Zack actively participating instead of shrinking into the background—as he had done during the first session, not last night as Frank—gave Lance a sense of purpose.
Vicky, still processing her twin Valentina's loss during NARS, talked about using her power to shape her own identity. Maverick tied everyone's thoughts together with his usual empathy and charm.
Lance missed Rony's presence; the 63-year-old's wisdom would've added depth to the discussion. As the session wrapped up, Lance noticed Diego's genuine smile and Zack's relaxed posture. Maybe, he thought, his actions weren't so irresponsible after all.
As the meeting ended, Lance realized his powers came with a price tag he was still learning to read. Lance absently scratched his arm, his skin suddenly itchy.
He would’ve enjoyed the session more if it weren’t for this unappeasable itch. Goddammit.
Lance's touch raked across his forearm, nails digging into flesh that refused to yield. The itch was maddening, an invisible army of ants marching beneath his skin. He glanced down, expecting to see angry red welts from his frantic scratching.
Nothing there.
His skin remained smooth, unblemished. Unnaturally so. Lance ran his palm over his arm, marveling at the firmness. It was like touching polished marble, warm and unyielding. Almost…
Impervious.
The word floated to the surface of his mind, a system message he'd dismissed earlier in his haste to help Zack. This new ability, stolen—no, appropriated—from the troubled man, had transformed his skin into living armor, and only one word came to mind, but he felt bad thinking it. Ah fuck it. It feels awesome.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
And he wondered just how impervious he was. Would knives pierce him? Bulletproof? What caliber?
Lance pressed his thumb into his bicep, hard. The flesh barely dimpled. He'd become a walking, talking action figure, all smooth planes and rigid surfaces.
Great. I'm basically Ken now.
"Hey."
Vicky's voice snapped Lance out of his dermal fascination. She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch.
"You good?" she asked. "You look like you're trying to peel your own skin off. And it’s weird. You promised you wouldn’t be weird, boludo."
Lance dropped his hands to his sides, suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, just an itch. New ability side effect, I think."
Vicky's eyes narrowed. "Right. The whole power-stealing thing your gym bro over there wouldn’t shut up about."
"Appropriation," Lance corrected automatically, wincing at how pretentious it sounded. "Look, about that—"
"Save it," Vicky cut him off. "You still want to talk about my sister?"
‘Snap.’ The abrupt change of subject caught Lance off-guard. He blinked, his psyche fighting to catch up. "Uh, yeah. Yes. Definitely."
Vicky jerked her head towards the exit. "Let's walk. This place is starting to feel claustrophobic."
Lance grunted an affirmative, falling into step beside her as they left the community center. The crisp evening breeze seemed to reset his senses as it hit his newly impenetrable skin.
"So," Vicky began with a clipped tone. "You met Val. When?"
"At a company happy hour," Lance replied. "The night before... well, everything went to hell."
Vicky narrowed her eyes. "And you're sure it was her?"
"Yeah, one hundred percent. She looked just like you. We talked for hours. She was smart, funny—She even changed how I look at things, you know?"
"Sounds like Val." A smile crept up Vicky's face, there and gone in an instant. “And do you think she would have enjoyed the job?”
“I don’t know. I think so. All our coworkers seemed to like her, too. She would’ve fit right in.”
They walked with small talk for a moment, the rhythmic tap of their footsteps filling the small pockets of silence. Meanwhile, Lance's skull buzzed, piecing together the puzzle of the Contreras Sabatini twins.
"I don't understand," he finally said. "If Val was here that night, how did she...?"
"Die?" Vicky finished, her voice hard. "NARS hit fast. Really fast. By the time I got to our hotel room the next morning, she was already gone."
Lance's gut lurched. He remembered waking up with that brutal hangover, thinking it was just the alcohol. How close had he come to sharing Valentina's fate?
"I'm so sorry," his tone was softer than a butterfly’s wings.
Vicky shrugged, but Lance could see the tension in her shoulders. "Yeah, well. Shit happens, right? One minute you're celebrating your big break in a new country, the next..."
She trailed off, not wanting to say the rest.
Lance's skin prickled with affirmation. He'd been so caught up in his new powers, he'd almost forgotten why he started this journey - to help those affected by NARS. That’s what mattered.
"Listen," Vicky said, coming to an abrupt halt. "I appreciate you telling me about that night. It's nice to know she had a good time before..."
She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. Lance pretended not to notice the sheen in her eyes.
"But," she continued, her voice steadying, "I need you to understand something. Val's gone. And I'm not her replacement. We might look alike, but we're different people. Got it?"
Lance nodded solemnly. "Of course. I never meant to—"
"I know," Vicky cut him off. "Just remember that. Okay?"
"Okay."
They stood there for a moment, both quiet and upset. Lance resisted the urge to reach out, to offer some gesture of comfort. His new impervious skin suddenly seemed a barrier, keeping him separate from the raw emotion of the moment.
Vicky cleared her throat. "Well, this has been sufficiently awkward. I'm gonna head home."
"Right," Lance said. "Thanks for talking to me. And again, I'm really sorry about Val."
Vicky gave him a tight smile. "Yeah. Me too."
"Oh, and don’t steal anyone else's powers, okay? It's kinda creepy. See ya at the nut house tomorrow."
“Sleep tight.”
Sleep tight… what the fuck was that, Lance sighed internally.
After giving him a where-the-hell-did-I-meet-this-guy face, she took a step and scanned the empty streets, checking each corner and craning her neck to peer over shadows.
“Shit, I wish there was something open,” she said. “I’m starving. Oh well.”
“There’s a Chinese place close by that’s always open,” Lance suggested.
Lance led the way through the cool autumn night for eight brisk minutes until they reached a small restaurant with a faded red sign above its entrance that seemed to beckon them back to a world of normalcy. Its glowing windows stood out as the only beacon in the pitch-black street.
"This is it," he said, gesturing to the unassuming storefront wedged between a convenience store and a laundromat.
Vicky's nose wrinkled. "Looks... cozy."
The restaurant stood empty with mismatched tables and chairs filling the space while the rich smell of fried garlic and ginger overpowered the lack of diners. Lance's stomach bellowed, signaling it was time to eat, yet it didn't want another protein bar despite Dr. Patel saying they were crucial for his evolving body.
Louie, the owner, greeted them with his lopsided grin, but not before Lanced used his energy classification skill.
[Human (Unawakened)]
Just like Elena, he thought as he smiled at Louie.
"Ah, Lance! Good to see you. And you bring a friend, yes?"
"This is Vicky," he introduced. "Vicky, meet Louie. He makes the best noodles in Durham."
Louie chuckled, waving them to a table. "You flatter me. But yes, noodle very good. You try something new tonight?"
As they settled into their seats, Lance observed Vicky's eyes whizzed around the room, taking in every detail. Her gaze lingered on the dusty fish tank in the corner, where a lone goldfish swam lazy circles.
"So," Vicky said, turning her attention to the menu. "What's good here?"
Lance leaned back, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Everything. But the Dragon's Breath Noodles are my favorite. If you can handle the heat."
Vicky snorted. "What you gringos call heat is what we use back home to warm season mate." Her gaze moved across the laminated sheet, pupils contracting as if zeroing in on prey. "What's... 'Ants Climbing a Tree'?"
"Oh, that's good," Lance said, his enthusiasm bubbling over. "It's actually vermicelli noodles with ground pork. No real ants involved."
"Uh-huh." Vicky's skepticism dripped. "And 'Lion's Head'?"
"Meatballs. Big ones. They're supposed to look like lion heads, I guess."
"Right." Vicky set the menu down, looking slightly overwhelmed. "Maybe you should just order for us both."
Lance nodded, feeling a surge of pride at being able to navigate this small piece of normalcy. He rattled off an order to Louie in his best attempt at Mandarin, earning an approving nod from the owner.
As Louie shuffled off to the kitchen, Vicky leaned forward. "So, you come here often?"
"Yeah," Lance said. "It's been a constant, you know? Even after everything changed. Louie never closed, not even during the worst of NARS. Said people needed to eat, pandemic or no pandemic."
"That's... actually pretty cool."
Lance nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "Yeah. It's not just about the food, you know? It's like... this place is still normal. Makes you feel like maybe not everything's gone crazy."
"So," she said, clearing her throat. "Tell me about these Dragon's Breath Noodles. They better live up to the hype."
Lance grinned. "Oh, they will. First time I had them, I thought my tongue was going to melt. But in a good way, you know?"
"So, you said you live close by?" Vicky asked.
"Yeah, just around the corner of Maple Grove. Got a decent-sized place in the Sycamore Apartments. Even scored a garage, if you can believe it."
“Nice.”
His fingers started a staccato beat on the table as his heart picked up pace. She'd arrived just as everything went to hell, probably stuck in limbo like so many others. Hotel rooms weren't exactly built for long-term living. Through the guilt, he asked: "How about you? Where have you been staying?"
"Me?” She tucked a pink-tipped strand behind her ear. “I'm still at the Sunview Hotel with the other NARS refugees.”
“Oh right, that’s next to the Rusty Nail.”
“Yeeeeah, I wish that was open. It's weird, you know? Living in a hotel sounds cool, but food's a pain. Pretty sure we've cleaned out every snickers bar on site. And these new... abilities? They demand so much food… never been so hungry in my life."
Lance reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out two protein bars in bright red and yellow wrappers. "Here," he said, holding them out to Vicky. "I keep these for emergencies, you can have them. My doctor says protein's important for people with arma." He shrugged, trying to seem casual.
“Arma? I have no idea what that is.”
“It’s um, our enhancements—powers.”
“I see, I heard someone say that at our meetings, but didn’t know what it was.” Vicky grabbed one of the bars, ready to tear it open. Lance's hand shot out, landing on top of hers.
"Save it for later, food's here." She flinched, yanking her hand back. A flash of revulsion crossed her face, as if his touch had left an invisible stain. She rubbed her hand against her jeans, trying to mask her unease.
Lance's nostrils flared as Louie approached, carrying two steaming bowls of Dragon's Breath Noodles. The aroma teased his senses, a potent mix of chili oil, garlic, and something indefinably other that made his mouth water.
"Here we go," Louie said, setting the bowls down in front of each of them. "Enjoy, yes?"
The dish was a sea of glistening noodles where red chili peppers floated in a pool of fiery orange broth, with droplets of chili oil bubbling slowly on the surface.
Lance grasped for the chopsticks, tearing open the white paper sleeve. ‘Snap!’ The sound was satisfying, but as he held the utensil, it felt heavy in his hand, so he set them down beside his bowl with a quiet sigh.
He smiled, his eyes fixed on Vicky. She leaned in, hovering over the steaming noodles. Her nose inched closer as she took an experimental sniff, then quickly pulled back, her lips pursed in a tight line. Lance witnessed the war raging inside her—ravenous appetite versus pride.
Pride won. For about three seconds.
Vicky seized her chopsticks and dove in, scooping up a massive tangle of noodles. Lance watched, fascinated, as she shoved them into her mouth.
'Slurrrrrrrrp.'
The long, drawn-out slurp reverberated through the quiet restaurant. Vicky's expression froze mid-slurp, then transformed as the heat hit, and her eyes bulged out, and Lance braced himself for the inevitable.
You know that moment in movies when everything slows down, the camera zooms in on the hero's face, and you can see the exact second they realize they've made a terrible mistake, right before the fireworks start? That was Vicky.
Her face flushed, a vibrant red creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. Her eyes watered, and he could see the muscles in her jaw working overtime as she fought to keep chewing.
He wanted to say something, to offer her a glass of water or a way out. But he knew better. This was a test, self-imposed perhaps, but a test nonetheless. And Vicky wasn't about to fail.
She swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. Vicky swiped at it furiously, as if angry at her own body's betrayal.
Lance pretended not to notice, focusing instead on his own plate. He twirled his chopsticks, gathering a more modest portion. The first bite sent a delicious fire racing across his tongue, but it was different now. Muted. His new impervious skin seemed to extend to his taste buds, dulling the intensity he remembered.
Another small pleasure lost to whatever I've become, he thought, shoving another portion into his mouth.
He glanced up, catching Vicky mid-bite. She was powering through, each mouthful a battle between desire and discomfort. Another tear slipped free, and this time she let it fall, too focused on her meal to care.
‘Plick.’
The next one landed squarely in the center of her bowl while sending soft ripples across the broth that gently rocked the chilis.
Lance felt an ounce of guilt drop to his heart. He should have warned her, should have insisted on something milder. But there was something captivating about watching her push through, refusing to back down from the challenge. Plus, he got the feeling she wasn’t going to let him coddle her.
"Good?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.
Vicky nodded, her mouth too full to speak. She swallowed again, gasping slightly. "Delicious," she managed, her voice rough.
Before he knew it, all Lance could do was admire her determination.
He watched as she paused, taking a deep breath. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her water glass, but she pulled back at the last second. Instead, she grabbed another forkful of noodles, shoving them into her mouth with renewed vigor.
"Thish ish sho good!" she said.
Vicky soldiered on, her chopsticks a blur as she shoveled noodles into her mouth. Her eyes were red-rimmed now, tears flowing freely. But there was a set to her visage, a determination that seemed to say, "I will not be beaten by a plate of noodles."
Lance flinched each time Vicky took a bite, but his chest puffed out a bit after she swallowed. She'd struggle, he'd tense. She'd keep eating, he'd ease up. This back-and-forth continued with each bite. Throughout it all, one word kept popping into his head.
Respect.
Lance ate slower, less hungry as he watched Vicky's micro reactions. She battled her way through the dish, each bite a small victory in a war against her own limits.
And then, suddenly, it was over.
Vicky set down her chopsticks with a clatter, her plate empty save for a few stray flecks of chili oil. She looked up at Lance, her face flushed and tear-stained, but triumphant.
"Told you," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "What you call heat, we use to warm mate."
"I stand corrected," he chortled, raising his water glass in a mock toast.
Vicky grinned, reaching for her own glass at last. As she gulped down the water, Lance found himself staring at the curve of her throat, the way her pink-tipped hair clung to her damp forehead.
“So, I never got a chance to see your superpower. What is it?”
"I didn't see your power either. Yesterday you gave us a 'my ability is internal’ bullshit, but tonight, you can apparently steal powers?” she said, giving him a suspicious look.
Lance shrugged with a half-grin.
“Fine. I’ve already shown you mine, but if you really must know..." She held out her palms, and a small flame sparked to life above them. The flame hovered an inch above her skin, its edges rippling like a tiny, fiery pond.
Beautiful. Lance reached out to touch it, but Vicky snapped her hands shut, extinguishing the fire. "It stings if I keep them going too long, though," she added, flexing her fingers.
Suddenly, their attention snapped to the front door
It burst open. The bell above it jangled violently. Two men stumbled in, their eyes wild and seeking.
The shorter guy was built like a tank under his hoodie - wide, burly, and all muscle. His taller buddy wore a similar hoodie, but with the sleeves torn off. A snake tattoo wrapped around both his arms from wrist to shoulder, its scales dark against his skin. Both looked twitchy and on edge
When they walked past their table, he used identify, which came naturally now.
[Human (Unawakened)]
[Human (Unawakened)]
Unawakened he repeated in his mind—not in his system message ‘mind’, but in his mind, mind… nevermind.
His heart thundered. He wanted to help, he really did, but fear choked him. He had all these powers; Appropriation, Adaptive Limbs, Impervious, and on top of that, his stats had skyrocketed. He wasn’t the same Lance who could only lift the front end of his NeoTech Phantom a few inches off the ground a few days ago. Tonight, this Lance was certain he could probably flip the car over if he gave it his all.
But What if he hurt someone again? He sealed off his vision for a second and inhaled. In for four, hold for four, out for four, he repeated the breathing exercise—this one was supposed to center him.
I can do this, they’re normal, he told himself. Just restrain them. No nullifying. It'll be fine. Another breath. It has to be.
“Stay low, I’m gonna try to help Louie.”
Vicky rolled her eyes in reply.
Lance jolted upright, chair clattering backwards, nearly knocked over his empty bowl of dragon’s breath noodles, stood there almost trembling, analyzing his surroundings—the eighth principle of Krav Maga.
He lurched through the tables, polished shoes squeaking and sliding on the greasy floor, the spills, the scattered chopsticks, breath hitching in his throat, adrenaline surging in his veins.
The taller attacker had rushed to the cash register, brandishing a knife. "Empty it!" As for the shorter one, he was out of view. Some hero, losing track of the criminals like that. He needed to have a clear picture of the situation before intervening. It was the only way he would maintain control and not accidentally hurt someone. Luckily, after appropriating Diego’s and Zack’s abilities, even his hearing received a slight upgrade. One that he focused on right about now.
Sounded as if there was some whimpering somewhere near the kitchen, struggling maybe. Lance edged slowly forward, trying to stay unnoticed. His knee scraped a chair and necks turned.
"Nicols, get over here," the taller one called out loud enough to be heard in the kitchen.
“Fuck, Ral! Register still locked?”
Lance inched forward—
“STAY BACK!” commanded Ral. “I’ll deal with this guy. You get the money.”
There was a knife coming at him. An impressive knife, a cross between a tactical knife and a Bowie knife coming fast.
“Shit,” said Lance. He lurched to one side, stumbled and crashed onto a table, rolled away flailing through the chairs, anticipating the blade being directed towards the small of his back any second. He shifted slightly, easily avoiding the attack without looking. Ral's sounds, smell, breathing, and initial trajectory made it too easy to anticipate. It was as if he were observing the scene from the ceiling.
"Hurry up, old man!" Nicols hissed, pressing his own knife against Louie's back, and Lance sprang to his feet with shocking speed, his enhanced legs propelling him upright in an instant.
Another attack arced down. Lance sidestepped the blade, glided through the cramped space, anticipating another strike at any second. He stood tall, breathing steady. He saw the shiny tip slashing at him again, maneuvered out of reach, positioned himself behind a large fish tank. He glanced around, and Ral growled and lunged at him.
"Stop fucking dancing around!"
He revealed himself on the opposite side, just for an instant, then vanished, circled the tank and when the knife dared get close again, Lance grabbed Ral's wrist with perfect precision and squeezed. Not too much, the pressure was just right not to break the man’s hand, but enough to hear the knife clatter to the ground.
Ral stood there, attempting to yank himself free with his other hand. It took him but a handful of seconds to realize Lance's fingers might as well have been cast from stainless steel.
"FUCK! NICOLS, HEL—”
Lance's fist connected with the robber's jaw, and the man dropped like a stone.
Lance guided Ral's fall away from the dropped knife, preventing any accidental injuries. A fleeting sense of pride sparked through him—he'd survived, subdued the threat, and avoided causing lasting harm. Right?
“Wah!” yapped Lance as his vision caught action near the register. He sensed a shift in the atmosphere. Nicols’s hand disappeared under his hoodie. A gun. A damn fucking revolver pointed at his chest. No time to take cover. No way Diego’s legs could outrun a bullet. Could they?
"Whoa, I’m sorry, man!" Lance raised his hands, palms out. "Let’s just dial back."
"You shoulda minded your own fucking business, asshole."
In slow motion, Lance saw the man squeeze the trigger. Maybe his legs would be fast enough to deal with this.
He dove behind some lacquered chairs, crawled across the tiles and the napkins and the scattered chopsticks, ducking and scrambling and panting. After another second of this, he was behind the fish tank again.
Diego's legs, for all their power, couldn't outrun a bullet.
Agony struck. His ankle screamed. Fire raced up his leg. Lance's eyes watered, the world distorting. It seemed as if flesh had been ripped away. It was searing, brutal pain. Each heartbeat pulsed torment. His jaw locked so hard he thought his teeth might shatter. Tried to focus. Everything tilted. Lance clutched his leg. His enhanced body, overwhelmed by a tiny piece of metal.
However, his leg felt whole under his hands. When the pain became manageable, Lance uncovered his calf and it was fine. He looked around it and twisted it, but there was no blood, no bullet wound, only skin. Well, a massive bruise bloomed, purple and ugly. The bullet had kissed him, hard, but not broken through.
It’s already healing, he concluded, realizing his body's natural healing had also evolved when he appropriated Diego's and Zack's essences.
“Hah!” Nicols shouted. “Asshole’s still alive.”
‘Bang’
A bullet flew out of the muzzle.
Fucking hell. 'Aaaargh!' Lance bellowed, and groaned and stumbled as forcefully as he could with his armored chest, absorbing a stinging impact from the robber's bullet, but it wouldn't penetrate, and he was able to cry through the unendurable torment of what should have been a fatal injury
This had been a great discovery. A rather dumb and irresponsible discovery, but a fantastic one nonetheless. This was the second projectile that had hit, or more accurately, bounced off his skin. Once again, it hurt like hell, but didn't pierce. And it didn't have to hurt.
[Pain Nullification: On]
Lance calmly got up, dusted himself off, and smiled at Nicols.
There weren't many tables left to navigate around now, and what remained looked like toppling over any second. Now he could focus through the ache in his torso, the throbbing in his limbs, the gunman's panic in his face. He was going to confront him. The only decision was between disarming swiftly or intimidating slowly, and that was a choice that essentially made itself.
In desperation, Nicols emptied his revolver—four shots in rapid succession. They found their marks: arm, shoulder, leg, stomach. But with pain nullification engaged, the impacts registered as little more than dull thuds against Lance's body. He continued his approach, unfazed.
"You really shouldn't have bothered Louie. He's a nice man."
Nicols stumbled backward. The empty revolver clattered to the floor, useless.
"This place?" Lance gestured around the ransacked restaurant. "It's my favorite. Been coming here for years."
He stepped over a broken chair, his gaze never leaving Nicols' face. The man was trembling now, backed against the counter, nowhere left to run.
"You know what I love about it?" Lance asked, as if they were having a casual conversation. "The consistency. No matter what's happening in the world, Louie's always here, always cooking."
Nicols opened his mouth, but no words came out. Lance was close enough now to see the sweat forming on the man's forehead, to smell the fear rolling off him in waves.
"Even during NARS," Lance continued, his voice taking on a harder edge. "When everything was falling apart, Louie kept this place open. Fed people who had nowhere else to go."
Lance's fists clenched at his sides, the memory of the past two weeks flooding back. The loss, the fear, the uncertainty. And through it all, this little restaurant had been a beacon of normalcy.
"And you. You thought you could just waltz in here and—"
‘Thwack.’
The sound was sudden, sharp. Nicols' eyes rolled back in his head, and a very confused Lance watched the body's trajectory as it made its way to the floor.
Behind where Nicols had been standing stood Vicky, her fist still raised, a grim satisfaction on her face.
"What?" she said, lowering her hand. "You were cringing hard. Someone had to do something."
Lance stared at her, then at Nicols' unconscious form, then back at Vicky. A laugh bubbled up from his chest, unexpected and slightly hysterical.
"I was not cringing hard," he protested weakly.
"Sure, tough guy," Vicky smirked. "Keep telling yourself that."
Lance exhaled slowly, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from his system. He inspected the devastated restaurant, guilt settling heavy in his gut. Chairs overturned, tables splintered, the fish tank miraculously intact but with very confused fish.
"Louie," he called out. "You okay?"
The old man emerged from behind the counter, shaken but unharmed. He surveyed the damage with a resigned sigh.
"Ai ya," Louie muttered. "Big mess."
"I'm so sorry," Lance started, but Louie waved him off.
"No, no. You help. Very brave." The old man lowered himself to the floor and bowed deeply. "This Wei Shi-lou is forever in your debt”
Oh shit, I am cringing hard. Lance felt his face flush. "I'll help clean up," he offered.
"And pay for damages," Vicky added, elbowing him in the ribs.
"Ow," Lance muttered, more out of habit than actual pain. He looked at Vicky, really looked at her. Her hair was disheveled, pink tips sticking out at odd angles. There was a smear of chili oil on her cheek, and her knuckles were red from the impact with Nicols' skull. But her eyes were bright, alive with a fire that had nothing to do with her powers.
"What?" she asked, catching his stare.
"Nothing," Lance said quickly. "Just... thanks. For the assist."
Vicky shrugged, but he could see the pleased quirk of her lips. "Couldn't let you have all the fun, could I?"
As they began to straighten up the restaurant, Lance was haunted by the idea that something had shifted. He'd acted without thinking, without hesitation. He'd put himself in harm's way to protect others. And for the first time since this whole NARS nightmare began, he felt... right. Like maybe, just maybe, these powers could be used for something good.
Sirens.