“You’re not joking, right?” Alexia’s voice was tight with tension, her heart hammering in her chest.
“No, Alex!” Clayton’s reply was sharp, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. “Whoever pretended to be me clearly wanted you dead. You were lucky the heroes were there.”
“Why, though?” Alexia’s voice dropped to a whisper, the question lingering like a dark cloud.
“That’s the thing—we can’t possibly know right now.” Clayton paused, his frustration evident. “The only lead we have is that Freya was there too.”
“How so?” Alexia’s mind raced, piecing together the events.
“Listen, Freya never leaves Asgard unless something huge is happening,” Clayton continued, his voice more serious now. “For her to show up at that subway at the same time as you… that’s no coincidence.”
“You might be right,” Alexia blurted, words spilling out faster than she could control. “After the heroes sealed the Necromancer, and we were alone, Freya said something like, ‘my destiny awaits.’ And then—get this, Clayton—she knew. She knew I wasn’t from this world. She’s been keeping tabs on me the whole time! She even gave me these runes on my arm to help control my powers.”
Clayton’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? That’s huge, Alex! She’s gotta know something big about you—something we don’t. And think about it—normally, unregistered supers would’ve been dragged to HQ for questioning. But Freya just lets you walk? That’s wild.”
Alexia nodded, frustration bubbling up. “Exactly! I asked her straight up, but all she gave me was some cryptic ‘the truth will reveal itself to you’ nonsense. It’s like she’s teasing me with answers just out of reach.”
Clayton was quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of her words. “Well, I don’t even know what to say to that.” His voice trailed off, a rare loss for words from someone usually so confident.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken curiosity.
Alexia hesitated, guilt gnawing at her. “Oh, Clayton, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my powers earlier. I should’ve trusted you.”
Clayton sighed, his tone softening. “It’s okay, I got you. Honestly, I already knew. The statues... they couldn’t just move on their own, could they?”
Alexia laughed weakly, a tiny smile forming on her lips. “Of course, the statues. The impostor said the same thing. Thank you, Clayton.”
“No worries,” Clayton replied, but there was a weight in his voice. “Hey, do you think all of this is related to ‘Ryland’s Contribution’?”
Alexia's breath caught. “Oh man, I forgot about that. It could be related, yeah.” Her mind whirred. “Do you still have the gold plate?”
“Yeah, it’s in a safe,” Clayton confirmed.
“Good,” Alexia said, a dark sense of foreboding creeping in. “I have a feeling we’re gonna need that at some point.”
“Yeah, but for now,” Clayton’s voice took on a gentler tone, “we need to lay low. You need to rest, Alex. We’ll figure this out, but you’ve been through a lot. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk more when the lockdown’s lifted.”
Alexia exhaled, feeling the tension begin to ease, even if just a little. “Alright, you’re right. I’ll rest. But, Clayton—thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Clayton’s voice softened, a hint of a smile returning. “You’ll never have to find out. We’ll get through this, Alex. Together.”
As soon as the call with Clayton ended, Alexia slumped back on the sofa, her eyes drifting to the monitors. The undead ogres still loomed on the screen, the constant sound of the turrets firing filling the air. Her mind buzzed with everything that had just happened—Freya, the mysterious impostor, her unknown destiny—but the mechanical clatter of the turrets snapped her out of it.
"It’s five o’clock in the morning and these turrets still haven’t run out of bullets? How convenient!" she chuckled, shaking her head.
She glanced down at herself, dirt and bloodstains smeared across her body and her clothes still torn from the fight. "I need a good bath," she muttered to herself, feeling the grime on her skin starting to itch.
She made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her ruined clothes and letting them drop to the floor. Standing there, ready to sink into a warm bath, she paused. The endless rattle of the turrets echoed even through the bathroom walls. "Ugh... so much for a relaxing bath," she sighed, reluctantly deciding just a shower would have to do.
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After the shower, she slipped into some loose, comfortable clothes—soft leggings and a worn-out t-shirt that felt like home—and headed back to the living room. She flicked on the TV, scrolling through channels until she landed on a news program.
“Let’s see what kind of mess the world’s in now,” she muttered as she turned her attention to the kitchen. Her stomach growled, even with the chaos swirling in her mind, she couldn’t ignore the hunger any longer. "One problem at a time,”.
The aroma of sizzling steaks filled the air, the bright color of the vegetables lit the room, making Alexia’s mouth water. She set her plate down on the coffee table and plopped onto the sofa, wishing to enjoy a quiet moment. As if the universe decided to grant her wish, the incessant sound of the turrets finally stopped.
"That’s it? Oh man, how peaceful," she muttered with a grin, relishing the sudden silence.
She turned to the TV. George Hamlet leaned forward, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Now, Mr. Thorne, let’s address something that’s been a significant point of debate during your campaign against President Kane. The President, as we all know, has effectively replaced both the police and the military with superheroes and then mandating every household to install a defense system. While many questioned that decisions at first, including you Mr. Thorne, it’s been proven to work seamlessly. We’ve all seen the devastation around the world—1.6 million lives lost to these undead creatures, and yet, here in our country, the death toll stands at just 342. A remarkable contrast, thanks to President Kane's initiative. What do you make of that?”
Thorne shifted in his seat, his lips pressed into a tight line. "I won’t argue that Kane’s methods have yielded results, but results don’t necessarily justify the means. Yes, superheroes respond quickly, the defense system somewhat worked and the casualties were minimal, but at what cost? We’ve handed over our security to a select few, giving them unprecedented power. We’ve become dependent on them, and that dependency is dangerous, there should be a limit as to what they are allowed to do. And I still maintain that mandating home defense systems was overreach, pure and simple, a waste of money."
"But, those defense systems saved millions of lives last night" George countered smoothly, "And regarding the heroes, if we were to limit their rights, wouldn't that create a vacuum? Supervillains would thrive in the chaos. Look at countries like Draxia and Valmeron, where they’ve attempted to limit the freedoms of supers. It backfired spectacularly—supervillains emerged, causing destruction and chaos. Doesn’t that make your argument, well, more dangerous than Kane’s approach?"
Thorne’s expression tightened. "Draxia and Valmeron are examples of what happens when governments mishandle their response to supers. Limiting their rights doesn’t have to mean creating chaos or pushing them toward villainy. It’s about control, George. We need regulations in place. Right now, supers are essentially lawless, answering to no one but themselves."
George wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He pressed on, “Limiting their rights, Mr. Thorne, was precisely what created chaos in those countries. Who in their right mind wants their freedoms restricted? What you’re proposing, no matter how carefully you word it, would make them feel threatened, cornered. And if you back anyone into a corner, they’re going to lash out. But when a super lashes out—it’s not the same as an ordinary citizen losing their temper, is it? Then there’s the fallout—the governments that resort to imprisoning children with powers, or worse, enslaving them... it’s barbaric. Roman, are you really suggesting we go down that road? Because that’s exactly where forced submission leads.”
Thorne’s jaw clenched. “No, George, I am not advocating for the brutal methods seen in Draxia or Velmeron. I think we can both agree those are extreme, even heinous, responses. But what I am saying is that we cannot ignore the potential for danger, simply because we’re afraid of upsetting the supers. We have to be realistic.”
George leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he prepared to go in for the jab. "Mr. Thorne, you’ve been bringing up the same argument—'what if the supers turn on us'—over and over again. But you haven’t offered any practical solution beyond vague control measures. Let’s be real here: if the supers rebel because their rights are stripped away, we’re looking at a civil war. So what would you do differently? What would you suggest we implement to prevent that kind of rebellion, without resorting to barbaric tactics?"
Thorne paused, his frustration growing. He was used to these questions, but George’s tone clearly bothered him. "We need checks and balances. A governing body for supers. Something that holds them accountable, not just to themselves but to the people. Right now, Kane’s given them free rein, and it’s only a matter of time before that backfires."
George’s smile was thin, almost amused. "Free rein, you said? The heroes weren’t given free rein. The heroes are classified by levels—1 to 10, based on their abilities and usefulness, with each level adhering to a strict set of rules. They have responsibilities and roles, someone to answer to, and we have an association that governs them. Not all the higher-ups in the association are supers, mind you, so there are checks and balances already in place, Mr. Thorne. Clearly, you haven’t been paying attention to the very system you oppose.”
Thorne’s expression darkened, but George continued before he could respond.
"Let’s get serious, Mr. Thorne. If we’re to have a real discussion here, we need more than hypothetical threats of rebellion. You need to offer a solution—one that doesn’t rely on fear-mongering or impossible control measures. The reality is, supers are our defense. They’ve proven effective time and again. And if we’re going to talk about limits, let’s not forget the limits we’re imposing on ourselves by not using them to their fullest potential."
Thorne sat in silence for a moment, clearly simmering, as George delivered the final word with a calm, authoritative tone. "You know, when I think of President Cassian Kane, I think of a man who’s always stood on the side of humanity. He’s fought for justice—whether it was for humans or supers. It’s why he stopped World War III when no one else would. And it’s why, even today, he donates his own wealth to fund research for health, defense, and technology. He's made our lives better, and he’s done it selflessly. Men like him often have the patience of a saint. But let’s not forget—if you make an enemy of Cassian Kane, if you push him too far, who’s going to stop him? The man could level a city with a single punch.”
He then turned to Roman Thorne, his gaze sharp. “And Mr. Thorne, your approach—limiting the rights of supers, sowing distrust—that’s its own form of injustice, isn’t it? We’ve seen what happens when we try to control people out of fear. So, I ask you—are you prepared to face the consequences of that kind of injustice?" The weight of his question hung in the air as the screen began to fade to black.
"Did it just end?" she muttered, leaning back into her couch. "I thought it would be longer... oh well."
She stood, stretching her arms, and crossed the room to check the security monitors. The turrets were silent, and for the first time in hours, there was no movement outside. It was both a relief and unsettling, the stillness thick with anticipation.
"The sun’s up," she whispered, her eyes darting to the digital clock on the wall. "6:30 in the morning? What happened? Why did the ogres stop?"
Curiosity gnawing at her, she walked to one of the reinforced windows and gave a voice command. "Open window, section three."
A small slot in the heavy window coverings slid open, allowing a sliver of sunlight to pour in. She squinted as she looked outside, scanning the street for any signs of life.
And then she saw it.
A necromancer, its dark cloak flapping loosely, was standing in the middle of the street. The moment the morning sunlight touched its form, its body seemed to writhe in agony. Black smoke poured from it as its skin began to sizzle, flames flickering where the light made contact. Within seconds, the necromancer burst into flames, disintegrating into nothing but ash carried by the wind.
Alexia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Well… that’s new,” she whispered to herself, a strange mix of awe and fear tightening her chest. "Sunlight is their weakness."
She watched the remaining ashes drift through the air, disappearing like they’d never existed.