No gloves.

Without them, I felt…off. I moved my fingers around, hyper aware of them. Normally, I hated that. Today I was grateful. Because as I looked up to the stocky, stoic guy in front of me, I thought about how much my life could change.

“No need to be nervous,” he said with a smile and a heavy Italian accent. “My name’s Roberto, and I won’t be looking into anything too personal. Just, how do they say, erecting a few walls to make sure you are safe.”

“I told you, no need to worry.” The dean smiled behind his desk. “Just get on with it. I’m sure we all have more important stuff to attend to.”

The guy–Roberto–nodded and raised his arms, one hand one each side of my head. Paragon. Charles. Alpha Surge and Kent Smith. Jacob. Argh. Push it down. I’d been pushing stuff down my whole life, keeping it locked up in a place I always thought I’d never show anyone.

“Ready?” asked Roberto.

This was my mind and I would set the rules.

He blinked and I felt my whole body jolt forward.

Deep breaths.

Except I wasn’t in the office anymore. Smoke surrounded me, and I could smell the ash and burning of-of everything around me whenever I inhaled. Rubble and ruined buildings surrounded me and suddenly I remembered where I was.

Dozens of bodies were scattered around me, but I knew that they were all dead. No matter how much I hated even thinking about it.

“I tried to fix their mistakes, save their world, and they moved heaven and hell to stop me. And now they send a single man. They send…you,” said a voice from behind me.

I looked down at myself. Dresses in a blue suit with red gloves that retreated at the mere thought of it.

“Paragon.” I turned to face the man.

He wasn’t young like he was when this genuinely happened. He was old and gaunt. Missing an arm. But his arrogance was the same. The condescension in his eyes had never left.

But this wasn’t real. This was a play. A movie. A pastiche of memories. One I had to get out of. Now.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Your lackeys have either seen sense and betrayed you, or fallen.” I took a step forward. Maybe the only way to leave was by fighting. So I would fight. “Now’s your turn. Your time is up.”

He smiled. But it didn’t last. He squinted his eyes, looking around and the smile turned into a frown. No, no, no.

He couldn’t find this out. He was just a part of my memories.

“What are you doing, Moros?” he asked–and this was one of the rare times where he sounded genuinely lost. But just as soon as I noticed it, it was gone. Replaced with his usual superiority.

But I knew how this went. Paragon rushed down at me, a blur that was barely visible. A blur I’d been trained to specifically stop. So I dodged. I dodged his punches and his kicks, the blue beams of heat from his eyes.

Even through the close call where I could almost feel the ripples from them. When the air around his attacks was able to hurt me and push me back. I stayed on the defensive for hours, even using my power on the ground and what little buildings stood to get myself some cover or distract him.

I kept him busy for what felt like an hour. Until his collection of complexes turned to anger. Anger I was able to use to my advantage because it made him sloppy.

Sloppy enough for me to reach his arm and an explosion of red to come from it. My whole vision was filled by it. And the smell of blood filled the air.

But as the blood fell and my vision came back, I wasn’t face to face with him but rather the two people that had gotten me in this mess in the first place.

I was breathing heavily. I could feel my heart beating against my chest, a deafening sound that only I could hear.

Roberto had a small smile on his face.

“That was intense.”

“Yes.” I nodded, unsure of what he actually saw.

“Is that what you saw? When Paragon attacked you?”

Ah. Of course. I nodded yes, trying my best to look convincing. That this was my nightmare that led him to this school and not-not what it actually was.

“And what about Moros?” asked the dean, leaning forward in his seat. “If I am not mistaken, a spirit of doom and death of Greek myth? According to Roberto, you were called that in quite a few memories.”

“Sorry dude, you were out for a bit and I had to give a report.”

I looked down.

Moros.

“My hero alias.”

“That’s your hero name?” the dean asked again.

“My power-my power isn’t the friendliest. I choose to honour that. To bear that name proudly.”

And to also redeem it. Jacob had, at one point at least, also wanted to be a hero. Within me I also carried his dreams as well–even if that sentence was a bit melodramatic, it was true.

Knightley nodded and excused us.

“One last question,” he said just as Roberto left us. And I had a feeling that it wasn't an accident. I gripped the door to his office as hard as I could with just four fingers. I had a mystery to solve–an important one at that.

But I just put on a smile and turned back to face him.

“Who’s Jacob Macquoid?”

And the smile fell.