[Day 21]
"No, you're right. I understand now." A pause. "Thank you for helping me…"
The time was [7:48 AM] and everything was perfect.
Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the room. He stretched, relishing the absence of pain or stiffness. Another day alive.
He swung his legs off the bed, toes sinking into plush carpet. The world felt different today. Brighter. Cleaner. Like someone had scrubbed away the grime of the past few weeks.
Whistling, Lance pulled on his underwear, socks, jeans, gray t-shirt, and the black leather jacket that framed his personality. He packed his duffel with careful attention—every item in its place, everything he needed for today.
The morning sun caught his face as he stepped out of the building. Perfect weather for what lay ahead. Time to show everyone at Titan's Den what he could really do.
Outside, the city pulsed with life. Birds chirped. Cars honked. People laughed. Lance breathed deeply, savoring the crisp morning air. His enhanced senses picked up a thousand tiny details—the thrum of light traffic, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. He'd treat himself to one of their sandwiches after he was done at Titan's Den. A reward for a job well done.
He set off at an easy jog, reveling in the smooth mechanics of his body. No pain. No fatigue. Just pure, effortless motion. The sidewalk flew beneath his feet as he wove through the sparse Sunday morning crowd.
A couple walked hand-in-hand, lost in each other's eyes. An old man tossed crumbs to eager pigeons. A group of kids raced by on skateboards, whooping with joy.
It had been a long road, but the city was finally coming back to life after everything that had happened.
Lance's grin widened. This. This was what he'd been fighting for. Normal people living normal lives, untouched by the chaos of arma users and shadowy conspiracies.
The walk to Titan's Den felt longer today, but he didn't mind.
He picked up the pace, letting his legs stretch out. Reality seemed to shift a few degrees left of normal as he tapped into his enhanced speed. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to make his body buzz like a live wire.
He'd never taken this route before, but he liked it. He'd have to remember this way.
The familiar façade of Titan's Den loomed ahead. Lance slowed, not even winded from his run. He pushed through the doors, breathing in the comforting smell of sweat and rubber.
"Morning, champ!" Marcus's powerful timbre took over the lobby. "Ready to crush it today?"
Lance flashed a thumbs-up. "You know it, big guy. Let's see what these muscles can do."
Today wasn't about training to fight some nebulous threat. Today was about pure, simple joy. Today was about something bigger. He could feel it humming through his veins, this sense of purpose. Everyone would see what he was capable of. He'd show them all.
As he placed his bag down, Lance caught sight of himself in the lobby’s mirror. He paused, studying his reflection. The man staring back at him looked... happy. Genuinely, unreservedly happy.
When was the last time he'd felt like this? Before the NARS pandemic? Before BioNova and gene therapy and arma abilities? At Qualtech?
He shook his head, banishing the somber thoughts. No use dwelling on the past. Today was about living in the moment, embracing the here and now.
Marcus ambled over to him, all natural muscle and earnest concern. No enhancement, no powers - just an ordinary man doing his best to help others. That's what this world needed more of. Real people living honest lives, not twisted by abilities they were never meant to have. Through the chaos, Marcus approached—the same trainer who'd helped dozens of regulars perfect their form, celebrate their personal records, push through their doubts. Such simple, meaningful work. But Marcus couldn't understand what needed to be done. How could he? He'd never felt power coursing through his core, never known the weight of responsibility that came with it. Lance smiled as the gym owner drew closer. After today, everything would be clearer.
"Hey, Lance. You good? You seem... off today."
"Never better."
"You sure? Because you're acting kind of weird."
"Just focused. Got a lot to accomplish today."
"That's what I mean. You never talk like that. 'Accomplish?' Since when do you say stuff like that?"
"I promise I'm fine, Marcus. Better than fine."
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
"Right... well, I should probably check on that leg curl machine. Someone said the weight stack's sticking again."
"Of course. Go ahead—Oh, is Diego in?"
"Yeah, he's at the deadlift platform.”
“Great. Thanks,” Lance said.
“O…kay.”
A few early morning regulars dotted the lobby, checking in or warming up. Marcus had disappeared down the hallway to fix that machine. Through the glass walls, Lance could see others already deep into their routines—lifting, running, pushing themselves toward simple, ordinary goals.
"Hey Lance! Hitting arms today?"
"Something like that." Lance kept his smile easy as Sarah waved from behind the front desk. Before NARS, she kept stealing glances at Brad over by the pull-up bars, who remained completely oblivious to her crush. She'd just started back at work two days ago or so. He remembered her mentioning she got the Vital Pharmaceuticals gene therapy—the Zurich treatment, if he recalled the news right. No reported side effects yet. But he could feel it: arma lying dormant inside her, like a seed waiting for the right moment to sprout.
He set his duffel on one of the wooden benches. The zipper's sound was lost in the thrum of workout music and clanking weights in the other room. His movements were casual, unhurried. Just another member grabbing his gear.
His hand closed around cold metal. The sharp chemical smell hit him first, then the weight of the gas can.
"Lance? What are you..." Sarah's voice trailed off as she spotted what he was holding.
Her words grew more strained with each syllable, each sound had climbed higher in pitch as he continued his task.
He pulled out the second can, then the third. His smile hadn't changed at all. Not even when Sarah's fingers froze over the keyboard.
"Lance, what are you doing with those?"
He unscrewed the first cap with mechanical precision, his movements fluid and purposeful. The toxic sweetness of gasoline filled his nostrils as he began pouring, leaving a glistening trail across the lobby's rubber flooring.
"Just making some improvements to the place." Lance's voice was light, cheerful even, as he worked. Like he was telling her about a new paint job.
Sarah gripped the edge of the front desk. "What—what are you—" She coughed, doubling over. "Lance, that's gasoline."
"I know! Isn't it great?" He beamed at her, continuing to pour with casual efficiency. "Everything's going to be so much better after this."
Sarah's hand inched toward the phone. "You need to stop. Right now."
But Lance was already there, plucking the receiver from her grasp with gentle care. "Oh, we can't have any interruptions. This is important work." He unplugged it, still smiling that vacant, pleasant smile.
"Lance, stop!" Sarah backed toward the door, her voice shaking. "You've lost your mind!"
"Actually, I've never felt more like myself!" He started on the second can, humming under his breath. "You'll understand soon. Everyone will."
The fumes made Sarah's eyes water as she edged toward the emergency exit. Lance just kept grinning at her, methodically working as if burning down their workplace was just another item on his to-do list.
When he struck the match, the flame looked tiny and insignificant against the gym's vast space. Time seemed to stretch as it fell, end over end, until it hit the fuel-soaked floor.
The fire caught with a ‘whoosh,’ racing along the trail of gasoline. Heat bloomed instantly, and Sarah’s cough became screams as flames climbed the walls with supernatural speed. Smoke began to fill the lobby in thick, choking clouds.
Through the haze, footsteps approached from the weight room. "Bro, Marcus said you were acting wei—" Diego's voice cut off. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
The inferno's roar drowned out everything else.
Diego grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall, yanking the pin out. The white spray seemed pathetically small against the spreading inferno. “Come on, come on,” he mumbled frantically, sweeping the nozzle back and forth. The flames just ate through the foam, climbing higher.
Lance stood with his hands in his pockets, a tune forming on his lips. Some pop song from the gym's playlist—he couldn't remember which one. The heat felt pleasant against his skin, like standing in warm sunlight.
"What the fuck, Lance?" Diego rasped. "Help me put this shit out!" The empty extinguisher clanged against the floor as he threw it aside. Smoke stung Diego's vision as he squinted through the murk.
Lance observed The Beast through the inferno, a narcotic calm seeping into his bones. Everything felt right, simple. Clear. He stepped forward, unhurried, through his burning creation. The voice in his mind hummed with approval.
Diego backed away. "Man, what are you—"
Lance moved. One moment he was watching Diego scramble backward, the next his palm connected with The Beast’s chest. The energy surged through him, natural as breathing, and released with a crack of displaced air. Diego flew backward, crashing through the rack of merchandise. Hoodies and shirts scattered around him like confetti, catching fire instantly. Lance smiled as Diego gasped for breath among the burning clothes, his eyes wide with betrayal.
The man on the floor had lurched to his feet, clearing the fuzz out of his skull while Lance moved toward him again.
Sarah was gone—he hadn't noticed when she'd left, hadn't cared to notice. After all, tigers don’t concern themselves with the matters of ants.
Sweat rolled down his neck, the heat growing fiercer. Oh, how he missed Impervious. Now he lifted his hand, joints popping, ready to end this properly.
"Wait—" Diego croaked. Then Lance's fingers crunched into his friend’s tank top. Fabric tore as he lifted The Beast clean off his feet. The kick connected with a wet thud, sending him sprawling across the lobby. Through the smoke, Lance saw him crash into the counter, heard the register burst apart. Bills fluttered through the air, coins bounced off the burning walls with sharp pings. The Beast slumped behind the wreckage with a gurgle, disappearing into the smoke.
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Past the mess of the front desk, a voice drifted up.
"What the fuck’s wrong with you?"
Lance watched the smoke curl around him, transfixed. "Still conscious? You’ve gotten this sturdy in two days?"
"Mack? That you in there?"
"Sorry to disappoint. Just Lance."
A string of curses floated through the hellscape. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
"Fine... I'll come to you."
The sprinklers finally sputtered to life, their weak spray doing little against the inferno. The water turned to steam before it could reach the floor. Behind him, shapes moved in the weight room—Marcus and the others, trapped behind a wall of flame that had consumed the entryway.
He'd always respected Marcus. The man could have been exceptional if he'd had access to arma, instead of spending his days teaching scared kids how to stand up straight, how to defend themselves. Lance remembered him spending hours with that skinny teenager last month, teaching proper form, building confidence. Such a waste.
Unlike Diego, who'd had every advantage, every opportunity to grow stronger. He'd even tried to give away his power to Lance, as if arma were some burden to be shed. Before today, Lance had never seen him this desperate before. His friend's voice was hoarse, barely carrying over the crackle of burning merchandise. It made Lance sad, in a distant way, that Diego's arma hadn't progressed further. He should have been stronger by now.
"What happened to the directive? You were fine yesterday."
Through the flames, Marcus shouted something. Probably ordering everyone to the fire exit. Smart. Lance felt a flutter of approval—even without arma, Marcus had good instincts.
"Still me, Diego." The water beaded off Lance's shoulders as he moved forward. “It’s just evolution, brother.”
"Evolution? You're burning down our fucking gym!"
Lance paused, considering this. The peaceful warmth in his mind made everything so simple, so clear. "I suppose I am."
Beyond the counter, he heard Diego shifting position. Metal scraped against tile—probably reaching for something to use as a weapon. Acting like he hadn't evolved past civilian reflexes. Even after three weeks of powers, and attributes, and system messages, and enhancements, and arma.
The Beast exploded.
Faster than Lance expected. His legs shifted and pulsed, growing dense with muscle as he charged. A dumbbell flew at Lance's head. A distraction. Lance tilted his head, letting it pass. But Diego had already closed the distance.
The kick caught Lance in the ribs. Diego's calf had swelled to twice its normal size, dark veins pulsing beneath the skin.
New trick? Lance questioned. Adaptive Limbs at work. Maybe there’s some potential after all.
A normal person's bones would have shattered from the force. But Lance wasn't normal anymore. Shifting the Morphoplasm to catch the blow, hardening it to steel - it was like swatting away a toddler's punch. Instinct and reflex, nothing more.
'Shit,' Diego gasped. His overpowered leg crumpled, bones cracking as it met the hardened black piece of flesh. He stumbled back, dragging his useless limb. Bone jutted through torn skin, leaking blood.
Lance brushed his hand over where the kick had landed. Nothing. Not even a bruise.
"That was good," he said. "The quad growth - I didn't expect that. But you're still thinking like a martial artist." He stepped forward, water from the sprinklers running down his face. "Should have gone for the throat."
Diego's other leg swelled, muscle and sinew expanding. He launched himself backward, putting distance between them. His broken leg had already started shrinking, becoming spindly, minimizing the damage. Smart. But not smart enough.
"You taught me that move," Diego said through gritted teeth. "Remember? That day you showed up early to train—"
Lance struck. His fist connected with Diego's jaw before he could finish the sentence. The man flew sideways, crashing into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. He slumped to the floor, spitting blood.
"Different lesson today," Lance said.
Diego’s leg dangled beneath him and he tottered and sagged down on to his good knee. After a heartbeat, his working leg—Lance watched it grow ridiculously large, impossibly large, monstrously large. Then Diego was moving, faster than before dragging himself towards his opponent with explosive force from his single enhanced limb.
Lance almost missed the movement. One moment Diego was three steps away, the next he'd stopped dead in front of Lance, so close their chests nearly touched. Then Diego's head snapped forward.
‘Crack’
The headbutt caught Lance square in the face. The force of it - powered by that monstrous leg - sent Lance stumbling backward. His vision blurred, the serenity in his mind stuttering for the first time. He spat, blood and—
What the fu–fu–
Strands of Diego's hair caught between his teeth.
He wiped the hair from his mouth with a grimace. "That's more like it," Lance said, shaking his head to clear it. Blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the wet floor. The sprinklers had finally tamed the inferno, steam hissing where water met flame, leaving only Diego's ragged breathing.
But Diego wasn't done. His good leg pulsed again, muscle fibers stretching the skin tight. Ready for another burst of speed.
Lance probed his jaw, working it side to side. At least his teeth were all accounted for. Fresh blood dribbled down his chin. "Alright, this is getting annoying."
Activate Pain Nullification? Y/N
Yes.
The pain vanished instantly. Lance rolled his shoulders, settling into a fighting stance. "There. Now this shouldn't be a—"
[Dark Resonance detected hostile arma signature]
└─Warning: Foreign arma manipulation detected
└──Source: Neural pathways compromised
└───Initiate disruption sequence? Y/N
Sure, why not? he thought. After all, I should be pure of mind and body.
Initiating disruption sequence…
[Dark Resonance disruption failed]
└─Unable to counter hostile arma influence
[Ability adaptation detected]
└─Neural defense merging with energy disruption
└──New neural pathway forming…
He raised an eyebrow at the nonsensical set of messages marring his vision, then shrugged. Everything felt right - the calm certainty, the absolute control. He was unstoppable, invincible, perfect. And if Diego couldn't see that, well... some friends just couldn't handle your success.
Integration complete
└─New mode unlocked: [Neural Purge]
└──Neural Purge: Ability to detect and eliminate foreign influences from neural network
[Neural Purge initiating system cleanse]
└─Detecting neural contamination
└──Purging foreign arma influence
└───Neural network restored to baseline
Lance blinked rapidly as the truth hit him. The peaceful stupor shattered, leaving him standing in a half-burned gym with the taste of blood in his mouth and his best friend ready to take his head off.
The gasoline fumes. The flames. Diego’s… leg.
"Oh god." The words came out rough. "What did I do?"
He knew where he was now. The gym where he'd trained with his friends, practicing Krav Maga late into the evening. The lobby was unrecognizable - soggy brochures floated in black puddles, membership forms reduced to ash. Scattered bills and coins lay everywhere, knocked loose from the broken register, and the front desk's wood veneer had bubbled and peeled away. He pressed his hands against what remained of the counter and doubled over, coughing up smoke, watching sweat drip into the sludge of water and ash and blood at his feet.
"Diego I'm so—"
The kick caught him square in the nose. Lance sprawled backwards into the pool of his failures.
"Lance?"
More blood trickled down Lance's face as he sat up slowly, hands raised.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. Really me."
"Bullshit."
"Just listen,” said Lance. “Please."
Diego's leg tensed, ready to strike again. "Why should I?"
“Man, is this arma shit, you know what it does. It wasn’t me. But I’m in control now.”
“Hermano, look at this place.” Diego lowered his leg slightly, but his stance remained defensive. "The real Lance wouldn't do this."
"I know," Lance said. "Something took over. I couldn't fight it."
"Stay where you are."
Lance remained on the floor, hands still up. Water from the sprinklers dripped down his face.
"How do I know you won't flip again?"
"It won't happen. I can fight it now. Block it out." Lance wiped blood from his nose. "But I still need help."
His friend’s superpowered limb slowly began to shrink back to normal size.
"You broke my leg."
"I know. I'm sorry. God, Diego, I'm so sorry."
"Was it Frank—Mack, whatever up there?"
"No—maybe. I don’t know. It was the killer. I’m sure. Rick said it’s Frank."
Memories hit Lance one after another, each making him feel sicker. The gasoline. The match. Diego flying across the room. He held his tongue, fighting the urge to vomit.
It happened again…
Lance's knees gave out. He hit the flooded floor hard, sending dirty water splashing across the area. All those hours training with Diego, learning to channel his strength just right. All that work controlling his abilities, measuring each punch, holding back just enough. And for what? He'd nearly killed his best friend, anyway. Thrown him through a wall like he was nothing.
His fist slammed into the water. More splashes, more ripples in the grey puddle around him. He'd thought having power meant protecting others. Instead, he'd kept hurting people every chance he got. Owen's long arms cutting the priest in half flashed through his head. Owen did it out of anger. Was every arma user destined for chaos?
The water soaking his jeans was freezing, but he didn’t feel it. Something had to change. He couldn't keep pretending he had this under control.
"I keep screwing up, Diego..." His tears cut trails through the soot on his face. "But I'll make this right."
The Beast stared at him for a long moment, jaw working like he was chewing through his thoughts. He slumped back against the ruined counter, wincing as he adjusted his broken leg. A grunt of pain, then that familiar exhale Lance had heard a thousand times during their heaviest sets. “Mierda, me lleva la chingada este cabron.” The sound of The Beast pushing past his doubts.
"Yeah, you are a mess." The broken leg dragged as he scooted closer. "But I've seen worse."
"Not sure about that." He wiped his face. "This is pretty bad—I'll…I’ll face the consequences.” Lance glanced up at the charred ceiling, where metal beams sagged under melted insulation. Smoke still curled from blackened patches of drywall. “But right now, we need to get out of here. The building's not stable."
As if to emphasize his point, a loud crack echoed through the lobby. Both men looked up to see a support beam near the ceiling start to buckle.
"We need to move," Lance said urgently. "Now."
Another groan from above. Metal giving way.
Diego tried to stand, his left leg trembling. Too slow. Lance reacted - one fast motion and his friend was over his shoulder. A grunt of protest from The Beast, but he was already running.
Smoke burned his lungs. He leaped over the scorched bench. Through the lobby. His 24% of Saltatorial placed him at the doors.
The first beam crashed down behind them.
Lance burst onto the street, squinting in the morning glare. He made it five steps before setting Diego down against a lamp post. Just in time - the sound of Titan's Den collapsing behind him filled the street, a thunderous crescendo of metal and concrete giving way.
The last brick fell into silence just as the first siren shattered it—an ambulance's cry, then another, then police cruisers and fire trucks, their urgent wails converging from every direction.
"I need to go."
"Like hell you do. You just said you'd face consequences."
"And I will. But that psycho's still out there."
Diego's teeth clicked as he tried to find a better angle against the lamppost. "Let the cops handle it."
"We’ve been through this, Diego. Look around."
Red and blue lights bounced off the smoke rising from Titan's Den. A chunk of ceiling crashed down somewhere inside.
"Look at what he made me do. What happens when he mind-controls the entire force? What then?"
Diego stayed quiet.
"Can you take care of this mess for me? With the gym?"
"Take Vicky with you, at least."
"Just texted her. No answer. Besides..." Lance glanced at the ruined gym. "After what just happened, we can't risk..."
“Okay, fine… I’ll trust you.” Then Diego squinted at Lance's face and grimaced. "Jesus. Your nose is all sideways."
Lance probed the damage, fingers coming away bloody. "That bad?"
"Pain blocker thing still on?"
"Yeah. Can't turn it off. Not now. I’ll lose control if I do."
"Okay…” Diego bit his cheek. “How are you even gonna find him?"
Lance pressed his palm against his temple. "His face's... blurry. But I know where he is."
The images were there, distorted and hazy like a bad TV signal. Last night. This morning. Being trapped in his own head, watching his body move without permission. Not like with the priest - this was worse. Complete helplessness. Complete silence in his mind. Just that artificial tranquility telling him everything was fine while he screamed inside.
His hand shook at his temple. He dropped it quickly.
"You good?"
"Yeah, I—" Lance's voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "No. I'm not."
"Talk to me."
"I couldn't..." Lance stared at the ground. "He was just... everywhere. Inside." His voice went raw. "And I felt... I felt… I can still feel where he..."
Diego's breath hitched as he tried to lean forward an inch. "So maybe don't go after him alone?"
Diego, I’m going to kill him, he didn’t say to his best friend.
Lance pushed it down. Deep down. Deal with it later.
Instead he took in the damage: The Beast’s eye swollen shut, burns streaking his cheek, lip split and oozing. His leg... Nothing had changed. Since getting his powers, all he'd done was hurt people. He'd have to face that. But right now, for the first time, he actually wanted to hurt someone. And he would.
"Lance—"
"I'll bring back Chinese food."
Through the smoke and chaos, Lance disappeared into the city.