Sarah’s eyes widen in terror as she takes in the clown villain before us. Her usual composure crumbles, replaced by raw fear. She turns to me, her voice trembling as she speaks.

“Luke, I need you to stand up straight, okay?” Sarah says, her words coming out in a rushed whisper. “I’m going to get us out of here.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump of fear in my throat. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure the clown must be able to hear it. Slowly, carefully, I straighten my posture, every muscle in my body tense and ready to spring into action.

Sarah moves with deliberate caution, her movements smooth and controlled despite the panic I can see in her eyes. She gently cups my head with one hand, supporting my neck, while her other arm wraps securely around my waist. Her touch is surprisingly gentle, given the urgency of the situation.

“Ready?” she breathes, her lips barely moving.

Before I can respond, the world blurs around us. Colors smear into indistinct streaks as Sarah launches into motion, her superhuman speed carrying us across the terrace in the blink of an eye. The wind whips past us, tearing at my clothes and stealing the breath from my lungs.

We blast past the clown villain, her maniacal laughter dopplering behind us as we race for the stairwell. The twisted metal of the destroyed door scrapes against my arm as we squeeze through the opening, the smell of smoke growing stronger as we descend.

Sarah takes the stairs three, four at a time, each impact sending shockwaves through my body. The stairwell becomes a dizzying spiral of concrete and steel, passing by in a grey blur. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting against the rising nausea.

Just as I think we might actually escape, there’s a sickening lurch. Sarah’s rhythm falters, her grip on me loosening for just a moment. My eyes fly open in time to see a flash of silver, barely visible in the dim light of the stairwell.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. I watch in horror as Sarah’s legs collide with the razor wire stretched across our path. There’s a moment of resistance, a spray of crimson, and then...

The sickening sound of tearing flesh fills the air as Sarah’s legs are severed cleanly at the knees. The momentum of our descent sends us tumbling forward, a tangle of limbs and shock and pain. We crash onto the landing below, skidding across the rough concrete.

Sarah’s screams reverberate through the stairwell, a primal sound of agony that chills me to my core. Her face is contorted in pain, eyes wide with shock and disbelief as she stares at the bloody stumps where her legs used to be. The concrete landing beneath us is slick with crimson, the metallic scent of blood overwhelming in the enclosed space.

I kneel beside her, my hands trembling as I try to stem the flow of blood. The warm, sticky liquid seeps between my fingers, staining my skin a deep red. I press down harder, desperately hoping to slow the bleeding, but it seems futile. The blood continues to pump out in rhythmic spurts, each pulse carrying away more of Sarah’s life force.

“Help!” I cry out, my voice cracking with panic. “Somebody help us!” But my shouts are swallowed by the cavernous stairwell, lost in the distant sounds of chaos from outside.

Sarah’s screams have subsided into pained whimpers, her breathing rapid and shallow. Her skin has taken on an alarming pallor, beads of cold sweat forming on her brow. I look into her eyes and see the fear there, the realization that she might not survive this.

“It’s okay,” I lie, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re going to be okay. Help is coming.” But even as I say the words, I know how hollow they sound. In this moment, I feel utterly helpless, completely out of my depth in this world of superheroes and villains.

From high above us, a sound cuts through the haze of panic and pain. It’s laughter, but not the kind born of joy or amusement. This is the laughter of madness, of cruel delight in others’ suffering. I look up to see the clown villain leaning over the railing several floors above, her painted face split in a manic grin.

“What a fucking idiot!” she cackles, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. “I can’t believe the ole razor wire trick worked! It’s a classic for a reason, folks!”

Her eyes, wild and unhinged, lock onto mine. The glee in them is chilling, a stark reminder of the chaos and danger of this new world I’ve found myself in.

“Sorry, kid,” she says, her tone a mockery of sympathy. “Looks like you’re outta luck. But hey, at least you got front-row seats to a great show!” She throws her head back, laughing uproariously at her own twisted humor.

I feel a surge of anger cut through my fear and helplessness. “You’re insane!” I shout up at her, my voice raw with emotion. “How could you do this?”

“Insane?” She says, her eyes widening with mock indignation. “Me? Insane? Oh honey, I’m just ahead of the curve!”

With that, she hops onto the railing of the stairs, balancing precariously on the narrow metal bar. My breath catches in my throat, certain she’s about to plummet to her death. But instead, she slides down with impossible grace, her body twisting and contorting to navigate the spiral of the stairwell.

The sight is mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure. Her movements are fluid, almost balletic, defying the laws of physics as she descends. The jingling of the bells on her costume creates an eerie soundtrack to her descent, a twisted nursery rhyme come to life. Her green curls whip around her face, seeming to move with a life of their own.

As she slides, her laughter echoes off the concrete walls, a cacophony of madness that sends shivers down my spine. It’s a sound of pure, unadulterated joy as if this deadly game is the most fun she’s ever had. The contrast between her joy and the gravity of the situation is jarring, a stark reminder of just how unhinged she truly is.

I watch her approach, my hands still pressed firmly against Sarah’s wounds, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. But with each passing second, I can feel Sarah’s life slipping away beneath my fingers. Her skin is growing colder, her breathing more labored.

The clown comes to a graceful stop just a few feet away from us, her feet touching down on the blood-slicked concrete with barely a sound. She straightens up, adjusting her garish costume with exaggerated care, as if she’s just stepped off a carnival ride rather than performed an impossible feat of acrobatics.

Her eyes, wild and unhinged, lock onto mine. The grin on her face widens impossibly, stretching from ear to ear in a grotesque parody of joy. She takes a step closer, her boots squelching in the pool of blood spreading across the landing.

“What the fuck.” I mutter to myself in fear.

“Shhh, buddy,” she says. “She’s already dead.”

I stare at her, terrified, my mind refusing to process her words. But as I look down at Sarah, I see the truth of it. Her eyes are open, glassy, and unfocused, staring at nothing. The rise and fall of her chest has stilled. The blood flowing from her wounds has slowed to a trickle.

A wave of nausea washes over me as the reality of the situation hits home. Sarah is dead. I’ve just watched someone die, helpless to save them. The weight of it threatens to crush me, leaving me gasping for air.

I stare up at the clown, my mind reeling from the horror of Sarah’s death and the surreal madness of this villain before me. Her painted face looms close, those wild green eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

“What’s your name?” I manage to croak out.

The clown’s grin widens impossibly, her blood-red lips stretching to reveal rows of yellowed teeth. She leans in even closer, her breath hot against my ear as she whispers, “Are you sure you want to know, sweetheart? Nice guys like you hate hearing it for the first time.”

A chill runs down my spine at her words. “What…” I start to ask, but the question dies in my throat as her grip on my arm suddenly tightens, her fingers digging into my flesh.

Just as I brace myself for whatever twisted act of violence she has planned, the air around us seems to ripple and distort. A figure materializes out of thin air, only to vanish again in the blink of an eye. The clown’s head whips around, her green curls bouncing wildly as she tries to track the movement.

“What the fuck?!” a male voice shouts, the words echoing off the concrete walls of the stairwell. The figure appears again, this time just a few feet away, before disappearing once more.

The clown’s grip on my arm loosens as she stumbles back, her eyes darting around in confusion. “What the fuck?” she echoes, her voice losing its manic edge for the first time.

The air crackles with energy as the mysterious figure continues to teleport around us in rapid succession. Each time he appears, I catch a glimpse of a red jacket and a white helmet before he vanishes again. His repeated shouts of “What the fuck!” create a disorienting cacophony that seems to throw the clown off balance.

In a blur of motion, the teleporter finally materializes right next to me. I feel a strong hand grip my shoulder, and before I can process what’s happening, the world around us dissolves into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations.

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For a moment, I feel as if I’m being stretched and compressed simultaneously. The stairwell, the blood, the clown, all of it vanishes, replaced by a dizzying whirl of light and sound.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the sensation ends. My feet hit solid ground, but my legs buckle beneath me, unable to support my weight after the disorienting teleportation. I stumble forward, my hands scraping against rough brick as I fall into what appears to be a narrow alley.

As I struggle to regain my balance, strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. I look up to see the man in the red jacket and white helmet, his face obscured but his body language radiating concern. He runs his hands over my arms and torso, checking for injuries with quick, practiced movements.

“Thank god,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief. “You’re okay.”

The man suddenly takes out his phone and starts typing away.

The adrenaline coursing through my system begins to subside, replaced by a wave of confusion and wariness. “Who the fuck are you?” I demand, my voice hoarse.

The man puts his phone away, his head tilting slightly as if considering the question. “Hmmmm,” he muses, the sound amplified by his helmet. Then, with a casual air that seems at odds with the chaos we just escaped, he extends his hand. “I’m Tyrell.”

Hesitantly, I reach out to shake his hand. As soon as our palms touch, the world around us blurs and shifts. The grimy alley dissolves, replaced by the bustling sidewalk in front of a brightly lit McDonald’s. The abrupt change in scenery leaves me dizzy and disoriented.

Tyrell, seemingly unfazed by the teleportation, repeats his introduction. “I’m Tyrell,” he says again, his voice tinged with amusement.

I sigh heavily, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. “Luke,” I reply, my tone weary.

“I know,” Tyrell says, nodding as if we’re having a perfectly normal conversation on a perfectly normal day.

The smell of frying oil and burgers wafts from the McDonald’s, making my stomach growl. I realize I haven’t eaten since before the press conference, and the events of the day have left me famished. Tyrell seems to pick up on this, cocking his head to the side.

“You got any money?” he asks, gesturing towards the fast-food restaurant.

I pat my pockets, feeling the unfamiliar shape of a wallet. Pulling it out, I find a sleek black credit card nestled inside. The memory of Skye pressing it into my hand yesterday floats to the surface of my mind.

“I think so,” I say, holding up the card. The matte black surface gleams in the golden arches’ neon glow, looking impossibly fancy for a trip to McDonald’s.

Tyrell claps his hands together, the sound muffled by his gloves. “Perfect! Nothing beats a Big Mac after a near-death experience!”

As we step into the McDonald’s, the bright fluorescent lights and cheerful chatter of customers feels surreal after the chaos we just escaped. The smell of fries and grilled meat fills the air, a stark contrast to the smoke and metallic scent of blood that still lingers in my nostrils.

Tyrell strides confidently to the counter, his white helmet turning heads as we pass. I follow behind, feeling dazed and disconnected as if I’m moving through a dream. The events in the stairwell replay in my mind on an endless loop. Sarah’s screams, the blood, the clown’s maniacal laughter.

“Two Big Mac meals, please,” Tyrell says to the wide-eyed cashier. “And make those large.” He turns to me, his head tilting questioningly. “Drink?”

“Uh, Coke,” I mutter, fumbling with the credit card. My hands are shaking slightly as I hand it over, and I notice with a jolt that there’s still blood caked under my fingernails. I quickly shove my hands in my pockets.

As we wait for our order I go and wash my hands and rejoin Tyrell. I turn to Tyrell, the weight of everything that’s happened finally crashing down on me. “What about Sarah?” I ask, my voice cracking slightly. “She was panicking, bleeding out. We just left her there with that... that clown.”

Tyrell places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “She’ll be fine,” he says, his voice calm and confident. “I notified Swift Wave’s team after I grabbed you. They’ll have her dispatched immediately.”

I blink, trying to process this information. “Swift Wave? My sister?”

Tyrell nods, his helmet bobbing slightly. “The very same.”

A tray laden with our food appears on the counter, and Tyrell grabs it with his free hand, steering me towards a booth in the corner. As we sit down, I can’t shake the image of Sarah’s pale, lifeless face from my mind.

“But Sarah... I saw her die,” I whisper, the words feeling heavy and final as they leave my mouth.

Tyrell pauses in the act of unwrapping his burger, his posture shifting slightly. “Nah,” he says, his tone light but firm. “I mean, yeah, she’s dead, but she’ll be revived. It hasn’t been long enough for her die die yet.”

I stare at him, incredulity warring with desperate hope inside me. “What the fuck?” I breathe, unable to reconcile his casual attitude with the horror I witnessed.

Tyrell leans forward, his arms reaching across the table to grip my shoulders. His touch is firm but not painful, grounding me in the moment.

“Dude, I promise I wouldn’t lie,” he says, his voice low and intense. The white helmet tilts slightly, as if he’s looking directly into my eyes. “Well,” he amends, a hint of humor creeping into his tone, “I totally would, but not right now.”

I feel my brow furrow in confusion, trying to make sense of this strange man and his even stranger words. Tyrell seems to sense my bewilderment, his grip on my shoulders loosening slightly.

“Look,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer, more empathetic tone, “I get it. You’re not from a world with heroes, right? Neither am I.” He pauses, letting out a small chuckle that sounds almost wistful. “Then I was, and then after that, I got stranded here.”

“What?” I blurt out, my mind reeling from this new information. A multitude of questions swirl through my thoughts, each clamoring for attention.

Tyrell waves a dismissive hand, the movement causing the overhead lights to glint off his pristine white helmet. “Don’t focus on my deep lore,” he says with a hint of amusement. “It’s so fucking convoluted, trust me.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “What’s your deal?” I ask, my voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Tyrell leans back in his seat, his posture relaxing slightly. He picks up a french fry, twirling it between his fingers as he speaks. “My new boss tasked me with your safety,” he says, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of seriousness.

My heart skips a beat at his words, a spark of hope igniting in my chest. “My wife?” I ask, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

Tyrell sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. He reaches for his drink, shoving the straw under the bottom of his helmet with practiced ease. I catch a glimpse of stubbled chin before the white plastic obscures my view once more.

“No,” he says after taking a long sip, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You don’t know her. She goes to a differnt school.”

I can’t help but laugh at the stupidity of his response, a short, sharp bark of laughter that feels foreign in my throat after the intensity of the day’s events. “Fine,” I concede, shaking my head in bemused resignation.

“What was the clown’s deal?” I ask finally, breaking the momentary silence. The image of her wild green hair and maniacal grin flashes through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

Tyrell sets his drink down with a soft thud. “Her name is The Rapist,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he’s discussing the weather rather than a psychotic villain.

“What the fuck?” I blurt out, my eyes widening in disbelief.

“I know, right?” Tyrell agrees, nodding emphatically. “What a dumb fucking name.”

I nod slowly, still trying to process this information. The casual way Tyrell discusses such a horrific moniker is jarring, a stark reminder of how different this world is from my own.

“What are your powers?” I ask, eager to change the subject to something less disturbing. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see Tyrell’s posture change. He straightens up, his chest puffing out slightly.

Tyrell scoffs, the sound amplified by his helmet. “Dude,” he says, his voice taking on a hint of pride, “I used to be one of the most famous heroes in my second world.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “My powers? Hmmm.”

Tyrell leans back in his seat, his posture shifting as he contemplates my question.

“Well,” he begins, his voice taking on a wistful quality, “they used to be time travel, dimension hopping, mind control, telekinesis, flying, teleportation, and one more secret one.” He pauses, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the table. “But since I got to this fucking world, I can only use teleportation and telekinesis. The jury’s still out on the secret one, I haven’t tested it yet.”

As he speaks, I can sense a profound change in his demeanor. The confident, almost cocky attitude he’s displayed up until now seems to deflate, leaving behind a shell of the hero he once was. His shoulders slump slightly, and even though I can’t see his face, I can imagine the defeated expression hidden behind that pristine helmet.

“Why did you lose powers?” I ask, leaning forward, genuinely curious about this strange man’s story.

Tyrell shrugs, the movement somehow managing to convey a deep sense of resignation. “No idea,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “One day I was hopping through time trying to see what Target used to look like in the 80’s. The next...” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at himself. “This.”

The silence that falls between us is heavy with unspoken loss. I find myself wondering about the life Tyrell left behind, the adventures he must have had with his full array of powers. The thought of losing such incredible abilities makes my heart ache, even though I’ve never experienced anything like it myself.

“Do you miss your old world?” I ask softly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Tyrell is quiet for a long moment, his helmet tilted slightly as if he’s looking off into the distance, seeing something far beyond the grimy walls of this fast-food restaurant.

“I miss my friends,” he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. “We were a team, you know? Saving the world, one catastrophe at a time.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “But they kinda outgrew me anyway.”

“That’s too bad,” I say, the words feeling woefully inadequate in the face of his loss.

Tyrell nods, his helmet bobbing slightly. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice soft and distant. “It really is.”

I lean forward, my curiosity piqued by Tyrell’s story. “Where exactly are you from?” I ask, eager to learn more about this enigmatic hero and his world.

But before Tyrell can answer, the doors of the McDonald’s slam open with a thunderous bang. The sound reverberates through the restaurant, causing drinks to rattle on tables and napkins to flutter to the floor. A hush falls over the crowded space as all eyes turn toward the entrance.

There, silhouetted against the neon glow of the golden arches, stands Super Star. Her cape billows dramatically behind her, stirred by an unseen wind. Her emerald eyes scan the room with laser-like intensity, searching, seeking.

When her gaze lands on me, I see a maelstrom of emotions flash across her face, relief, anger, fear, love, all swirling together in a tempest of feeling. A smile tugs at my lips, my heart swelling with affection at the sight of her.

I turn back to share this moment with Tyrell, to introduce him to my fiancée, but the words die on my lips. The seat across from me is empty, save for a half-eaten Big Mac and a scattering of fries. Tyrell has vanished without a trace as if he was never there at all.

Before I can fully process Tyrell’s sudden disappearance, I feel a rush of wind. The world blurs around me, and suddenly, I’m engulfed in Skye’s embrace. Her arms wrap around me with desperate strength, crushing me against her chest. I can feel her heart hammering against my cheek, its frantic rhythm a testament to her panic.

“Luke!” she cries, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh god, Luke!”

Skye pulls back slightly, her hands cupping my face as her eyes roam over me, checking for any sign of injury. Her fingers tremble against my skin, and I can see unshed tears glistening in her emerald eyes.

“I didn’t know where you were,” she says, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. There were reports of The Rapist, and then Sarah’s legs...” She trails off, swallowing hard before continuing. “I thought... I thought I’d lost you again.”

The raw vulnerability in her voice strikes me to my core. This is Super Star, the most powerful being on the planet, reduced to near hysteria at the thought of losing me. The realization is both humbling and terrifying.

“I’m okay,” I assure her, reaching up to cover her hands with my own. “I’m safe. Everything’s alright.”

Skye lets out a shuddering breath, her forehead coming to rest against mine. For a moment, we simply breathe together, the chaos of the world fading away until there’s nothing but us.