Star Tower’s medical bay boasts advanced technology and superhuman healing. Pristine white walls curve gracefully overhead, dotted with softly glowing orbs that bathe the room in a soothing, ambient light. The air hums with the quiet efficiency of advanced medical equipment, a constant reminder of the miracles that happen here daily.

I stand just inside the doorway, Skye’s arm wrapped possessively around my waist. Her grip is firm, almost uncomfortably tight as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she loosens her hold even slightly. I can feel the tension radiating from her body, a stark contrast to the calm atmosphere of the medical bay.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the rows of pristine beds and the holographic displays hovering above each one. But my attention is immediately drawn to a familiar figure sitting up in one of the beds.

‘Sarah.’

‘She’s alive.’

The relief that washes over me is so intense it’s almost painful. Without thinking, I break free from Skye’s grasp and rush towards Sarah’s bed.

“Sarah!” I cry out, my voice cracking with emotion. “I thought you died! I was so afraid!”

I reach her bedside, my hands hovering uncertainly over her form, afraid to touch her lest she disappear like a mirage. Sarah looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise at my outburst. She’s pale and looks exhausted, but she’s undeniably alive.

“I’m okay, Luke,” she says softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of fatigue and reassurance. “One of the healers brought me back from the dead.”

As Sarah’s words sink in, I feel a wave of disbelief wash over me. “So...you really did die then?” I ask.

Sarah nods solemnly, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and lingering fear. “I did,” she confirms softly. “But they were able to revive me, thanks to your sister’s quick action. Swift Wave got me to the healers in time.” She pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. “Another minute and...I would have been gone forever.”

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air between us. I shudder, imagining how close we came to losing her permanently. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently.

Sarah smiles weakly, returning the gesture. “Me too,” she says. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she asks, “Did you wonder about my legs?”

I blink, realizing I had been so focused on her face, on the miracle of her being alive, that I hadn’t even thought to look lower. “Your legs?” I repeat, remembering the gory scene.

Sarah motions towards the lower half of her body, and I follow her gaze. My jaw drops as I take in the sight before me. Where her legs should be, gleaming metallic limbs extend from beneath the hospital gown. The robotic appendages are a marvel of engineering, sleek and powerful-looking, with joints that whir softly as Sarah shifts her position.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, unable to tear my eyes away from the futuristic prosthetics. “That’s... that’s incredible.”

Sarah nods, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. “State-of-the-art cybernetics,” she explains. “They’re even more efficient than my original legs. I should be back on my feet, literally, in no time.”

As I stand there, marveling at the wonders of this world’s medical technology, I become aware of a shift in the atmosphere of the room. The air seems to grow thick with tension. I turn to see Skye still standing by the door, her emerald eyes wide with a potent mixture of jealousy and rage.

Skye walks towards us with measured steps, her cape swirling around her ankles with each movement. The soft hum of medical equipment seems to fade into the background as the tension in the room ratchets up. Her emerald eyes, usually so warm when they look at me, now burn with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You seem awfully worried about Sarah,” Skye says, her voice deceptively calm. But I can hear the undercurrent of jealousy and possessiveness beneath the surface. “Did something happen between you two?”

I meet her gaze steadily, fighting the urge to look away from the storm brewing in those emerald depths. “From the time you left your apartment to the time Sarah lost her legs was about 5 minutes,” I reply, my voice stronger than I feel.

Skye’s eyes narrow slightly, her gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. I can almost see the gears turning in her mind as she assesses me, searching for any sign of deception.

I feel a surge of defiance rise within me, born partly from the stress of the day and partly from a deeper, more primal desire. I know I shouldn’t provoke her, shouldn’t fan the flames of her jealousy. But a part of me, a part I’m not entirely proud of, craves the intensity of her reaction.

I sigh heavily, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on me. My eyes lock with Skye’s, drinking in the fierce intensity of her gaze. “Skye,” I say softly, “I would never even want to cheat on you. You are quite literally everything to me.”

The words hang in the air between us, charged with emotion. For a moment, Skye’s expression softens, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. Then, in a motion too fast for my eyes to follow, her hand shoots out. Her fingers tangle in my hair, gripping tightly at the roots.

A gasp escapes my lips, but it’s not from pain. To my surprise, and evidently Skye’s as well, I feel a rush of heat flood my cheeks. My breath quickens, my heart pounding a rapid beat against my ribs. The slight sting of her grip sends tingles down my spine, awakening something primal within me.

Skye’s emerald eyes widen, her pupils dilating as she takes in my reaction. Her gaze rakes over my flushed face, lingering on my parted lips and the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I can see the gears turning in her mind, processing this unexpected development.

The tension between us shifts, transforming from jealous anger to something altogether different. The air seems to crackle with electricity, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of Skye’s presence. Her grip on my hair loosens slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, her thumb traces a gentle path along my scalp, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me.

I lean into her touch, unable to hide the want, the need, that’s suddenly consuming me. My eyes, half-lidded with desire, meet hers. In that moment, I silently convey everything I’m feeling, the trust, the submission, the overwhelming desire for her and her alone.

Skye’s expression morphs from confusion to understanding, then to a predatory hunger that makes my knees weak. Her lips part slightly, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet them in a gesture that’s unconsciously sensual. She takes a step closer, her body heat radiating against me, and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest mirroring my own.

The tension between Skye and me is full of unspoken desire. Her fingers remain tangled in my hair, her grip firm yet gentle. Our eyes are locked, emerald green meeting my gaze with a hunger that makes my breath catch in my throat.

Suddenly, the doors to the medical bay burst open with a resounding crash. The sound echoes off the pristine white walls, shattering the intimate moment like glass. Dark Star strides in, her cape billowing behind her like a storm cloud. The soft ambient lighting gleams off her sleek black costume, the bat motif on her chest seeming to move with each purposeful step.

Dark Star’s eyes, sharp and assessing behind her mask, take in the scene before her in an instant. Her gaze flicks from Skye’s hand in my hair to my flushed face, then to Sarah watching wide-eyed from her hospital bed. In the split second it takes her to process the scene, Dark Star’s body tenses, coiling like a spring ready to unleash.

“Let go of him, Super Star!” Dark Star’s voice rings out, authoritative and filled with righteous anger. The command seems to reverberate through the room, causing the delicate medical instruments to tremble on their trays.

Skye’s reaction is instantaneous. Her emerald eyes, moments ago smoldering with desire, now flash with annoyance. The sudden shift is jarring, like watching storm clouds roll in over a sunny sky. Her grip on my hair tightens fractionally, not enough to hurt but enough to make her intentions clear.

“Mind your own business, Dark Star,” Skye snaps, her voice dripping with irritation. The words cut through the air like a whip crack, sharp and biting. Her body shifts slightly, angling herself between me and Dark Star in a subtly protective stance.

Sarah, still propped up in her hospital bed, looks between the three of us with a mixture of confusion and growing alarm. Her new cybernetic legs whir softly as she shifts, the sound barely audible over the pounding of my own heart.

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Dark Star’s eyes narrow behind her mask, her gaze fixed on Skye with a mixture of determination and trepidation. There’s a flicker of fear in those piercing blue eyes, a silent acknowledgment of Super Star’s immense power. But it’s overshadowed by a steely resolve, a willingness to stand her ground no matter the consequences.

Panic rises in my chest as I realize how quickly the situation is spiraling out of control.

“No, no!” I blurt out, my voice cracking with desperation. “This isn’t what it looks like. We aren’t fighting!”

My words hang in the air, seeming to echo off the pristine white walls of the medical bay. Dark Star’s posture shifts slightly, her head tilting to one side as she processes my outburst.

“What is it then?” Dark Star asks, her voice low and measured. There’s a hint of skepticism in her tone as if she’s not quite ready to believe that the scene before her is anything but physical abuse.

Before I can formulate a response, Sarah’s voice cuts through the tension like a scalpel, her tone unemotional, “they looked like they were about to fuck right here on the ground.”

The bluntness of Sarah’s statement hits me like a physical blow. I feel heat rush to my face, my ears burning with embarrassment. The clinical way she described our intimate moment makes it somehow more mortifying, stripping away any pretense of subtlety or romance.

Skye, on the other hand, seems utterly unfazed by Sarah’s frank assessment. A smug grin spreads across her face, her emerald eyes gleaming with a mixture of pride and amusement. Her fingers, still tangled in my hair, give a gentle tug as if to emphasize Sarah’s point.

Dark Star’s posture shifts, the tension in her body dissipating like mist in the morning sun. She sighs heavily, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose just above her mask. The gesture is so human, so at odds with her imposing costume, that it catches me off guard.

“Luke,” she says, her voice tinged with exasperation, “how exactly were you able to escape The Rapist’s clutches?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. I feel Skye’s grip on my hair loosen slightly, her emerald eyes now fixed on me with intense curiosity. Even Sarah leans forward in her hospital bed, her new cybernetic legs whirring softly with the movement.

I take a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. The events of the day swirl in my mind like a kaleidoscope of chaos and confusion. “Another superhero saved me,” I explain, my voice steadier than I feel. “His name was Tyrell. He teleported me out of there.”

The reaction is immediate and profound. Dark Star and Skye exchange a look, their eyes meeting in a silent conversation that speaks volumes.

“Who the fuck is Tyrell?” Skye asks, her voice sharp with suspicion and a hint of jealousy. Her emerald eyes narrow, scanning my face as if searching for any sign of deception.

Dark Star steps forward, her cape rustling softly against the polished floor. “I don’t know either,” she admits, her voice low and thoughtful. She turns to me, her piercing gaze boring into mine from behind her mask. “You said he was a teleporter?”

I nod, remembering the dizzying sensation of being whisked from one place to another in the blink of an eye. “Yeah,” I confirm. “He could teleport. And he mentioned something about telekinesis, too.”

Dark Star’s posture stiffens, her head tilting slightly as she processes this information. “There are no male teleporters on record,” she says slowly, each word carefully measured.

Skye’s grip on my hair tightens fractionally, her body tensing beside me. “What the fuck?” she hisses, her voice a mixture of disbelief and growing anger. “He’s a rogue?”

The word ‘rogue’ seems to echo off the pristine walls of the medical bay, carrying with it a weight of meaning I don’t fully grasp. I can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way both Skye and Dark Star’s bodies coil with sudden alertness, like predators catching the scent of potential danger.

Dark Star takes a step closer, her piercing gaze fixed intently on me. The soft ambient lighting of the medical bay gleams off her sleek black costume, casting strange shadows across the bat emblem on her chest.

“Luke,” she says, her voice low and urgent, “did this Tyrell mention who he works for? Any organization or individual that might have sent him?”

I shake my head, feeling the gentle tug of Skye’s fingers still tangled in my hair. “No,” I reply, my voice slightly hoarse. “He just said someone had tasked him with my safety. He didn’t give any specifics.”

Dark Star’s eyes narrow behind her mask, her mind clearly working to piece together this puzzle. “What else did he tell you?” she presses, her tone brooking no argument.

I swallow hard, trying to recall the details of my brief encounter with the mysterious hero. “He said he was from another world,” I explain, watching as Dark Star and Skye exchange another loaded glance. “But when I asked about it, he said his backstory was extremely convoluted. He didn’t want to get into it.”

“Another world,” Dark Star muses, her voice barely above a whisper. “That could explain why we have no record of him. But it raises so many more questions...”

Suddenly, Skye’s grip on my hair tightens. I turn to look at her, and the intensity in her gaze nearly takes my breath away. Her emerald eyes are wild, almost manic, filled with a swirling tempest of jealousy, anger, and something that looks unsettlingly like fear.

“He saved your life?” she asks, her voice low and dangerous. There’s a tremor in her words, a barely contained fury that sends shivers down my spine.

I nod slowly, acutely aware of the volatile emotions radiating from her. “Yes,” I say softly, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “If it wasn’t for Tyrell, I don’t know what would have happened with The Rapist.”

The mention of the clown villain seems to push Skye over the edge. Her emerald eyes flash dangerously, and for a moment, I swear I can see actual sparks of energy crackling in their depths. Her free hand clenches into a fist at her side, trembling with barely contained power.

“It’s my job to save your life!” she snarls, her voice rising with each word. The raw emotion in her tone makes me flinch. “Not some random interloper from another universe!”

Skye’s outburst seems to echo off the pristine walls of the medical bay, the raw emotion in her voice making the delicate instruments tremble on their trays.

As the weight of Skye’s words settles over the room, I become acutely aware of a more mundane pressure building within me. The stress of the day, combined with the adrenaline coursing through my system, has apparently kickstarted my body’s natural functions. A familiar urgency makes itself known, impossible to ignore.

I clear my throat softly, drawing Skye’s attention back to me. Her emerald eyes, still blazing with that tempestuous mix of emotions, lock onto mine. “Honey,” I say, my voice gentle and slightly sheepish, “can I go to the bathroom?”

The effect of my words is instantaneous and profound. Like a switch being flipped, the fury drains from Skye’s face. Her grip on my hair frees, her hand sliding down to cup my cheek with surprising tenderness. The transformation is so sudden, so complete, that it leaves me momentarily breathless.

“Yes, of course, love,” Skye says, her voice now soft and filled with affection. The contrast to her earlier outburst is jarring, like watching a raging storm dissipate into a calm, sunny day in the span of heartbeat.

I excuse myself and head out of the medical bay, feeling Skye’s eyes on me as I leave. My footsteps echo off the polished floor as I make my way to the men’s room.

The bathroom itself is a testament to the advanced technology of this world. The door slides open silently as I approach, revealing a space that looks more like a high-end spa than a public restroom.

I step up to one of the urinals. The porcelain seems to shimmer with an iridescent quality, and I notice there’s no splash-back whatsoever as i relieve myself.

Just as I’m getting used to the quiet solitude, the door slides open again. From the corner of my eye, I see a familiar figure in a red jacket and white helmet stride in.

Without a word, he steps up to the urinal right next to me despite there being several others available. The sound of his zipper seems unnaturally loud in the quiet bathroom.

“That’s bad urinal etiquette,” I say, breaking the silence.

Tyrell chuckles, the sound slightly muffled by his helmet. “I know.”

“We were just talking about you,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Oh?” Tyrell responds, a hint of interest in his voice. “Nice things, I hope?”

I hesitate, unsure how to respond. The conversation in the medical bay had been tense, filled with suspicion and unanswered questions. But something about Tyrell’s laid-back demeanor seems to be hiding something.

“What’s up?” I ask, getting to the point.

Tyrell is silent for a moment, the only sound the steady stream of liquid hitting porcelain. When he speaks, his voice is low and serious, a stark contrast to his earlier jovial tone.

“My boss needs something from you,” he says.

“What?” I ask, my brow furrowing in confusion.

Tyrell continues to relieve himself, the steady stream seeming to go on for an impossibly long time. I finish up and zip my pants, moving to the sink to wash my hands. The water activates automatically, warm and soothing against my skin.

After what feels like another full minute, Tyrell finally finishes and joins me at the sinks. As he washes his hands, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small plastic cup, setting it on the gleaming countertop.

I eye the cup warily, my mind racing with possibilities. “If she wants piss, we just pissed.”

Tyrell laughs, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. “No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “She wants noodles.”

“Oh,” I reply, feeling relief. “Is that all?”

Tyrell nods, his white helmet bobbing slightly.

I shrug, deciding to just go with the flow of this bizarre encounter. “Sure, I don’t really care,” I say, reaching for the cup.

As I fill the cup with the requested “noodles,” I can’t help but see how stupid this all is. Here I am, in a futuristic bathroom, providing a bodily sample for some mysterious boss of a superhero from another dimension.

Tyrell takes the cup from me, handling it with a surprising amount of care. “You seem like a nice guy,” he says, his tone warm and genuine.

“You do, too,” I reply, surprised to find that I mean it despite the oddness of our interactions. There’s something about Tyrell’s easy-going demeanor that puts me at ease, even in this bizarre situation.

Tyrell nods. He tucks the cup carefully into an inner pocket of his red jacket, the movement causing the fabric to rustle softly.

Then, Tyrell leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey, do me a favor, would you?” he asks, his tone light but with an undercurrent of seriousness.

I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?”

Tyrell’s helmet tilts slightly, giving the impression of a sidelong glance. “Don’t tell your wife about this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the pocket containing the cup. “Not because it’s a secret or anything. I just... well, I don’t want her to kill me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I think about Skye’s reaction to learning of Tyrell’s existence, the way her emerald eyes had flashed with jealousy and anger. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.

I consider Tyrell’s request, weighing the potential consequences. On one hand, I don’t like the idea of keeping secrets from Skye. On the other, I can’t shake the feeling that Tyrell’s fear isn’t entirely unfounded.

“I’ll consider it,” I say finally, my voice echoing slightly off the polished surfaces of the bathroom.

Tyrell nods, seemingly satisfied with my non-committal response. “That’s all I can ask,” he says, clapping his hands and disappearing in an instant.

“What a show off.” My words echo off the bathroom walls.