[??????’s POV]

Time passes in darkness and silence. Then, like the slow coalescence of stardust into a newborn sun, I feel my consciousness stirring. Motes of ash swirl and dance, drawn together by an unseen force. Bones knit, organs bloom, and skin stretches over newly formed muscle. With agonizing slowness, my body rebuilds itself from the very particles of my demise.

As the final pieces click into place, my eyes shoot open. A primal scream tears from my throat, raw and guttural. “And like a phoenix, I rise from the ashes once again!”

The words echo in the empty air, my voice hoarse as if I’ve been gargling gravel. Every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, my skin prickling with the memory of recent regeneration. I gulp in huge breaths, my newly formed lungs expanding painfully.

As awareness floods back, phantom sensations assault me. I can still feel Super Star’s vise-like grip on my throat, the phantom pressure making me gag and cough. “What a cunt,” I rasp, wincing at the lingering pain. “Ouch!”

Gingerly, I pat myself down, taking inventory. To my relief, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. My red jacket on, my helmet still firmly in place.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. Unsurprisingly, it, too, has regenerated along with me. The screen flickers to life, and my eyes widen at the barrage of notifications.

I scroll through the endless notifications. Every single missed call and text is from the same person: Jackie Jones.

“87 missed calls, 144 text messages... all from Jackie?” I mutter in disbelief. “Fuck!”

With a groan, I haul myself to my feet, dusting off the lingering ash from my regeneration. My joints pop and creak in protest after being inactive for so long.

“I should probably look for Luke,” I muse aloud, “make sure he’s okay after everything that went down.”

As I stretch, I take in my surroundings for the first time. I’m standing on the roof of some nondescript building in downtown Boston. The morning sun bathes the city in a warm golden glow, glinting off the glass and steel of the skyline.

As I scan the horizon, something catches my eye. A blur of motion, too fast to be a bird or plane. I squint, focusing on the rapidly moving object. My breath catches as I recognize the distinctive red and blue costume.

Super Star is flying across the city at breakneck speed, her long brown hair streaming behind her like a banner. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her posture, the frantic energy of her movements. She’s searching for something.”

A grimace twists my features as I watch her zigzag between buildings. The memory of our last encounter is still fresh, the phantom pain in my throat a stark reminder of her brutality.

“Orrrrrrrr,” I mutter, cracking my knuckles, “maybe it might be a good time to settle the score.”

I take a deep breath, focusing my power. In an instant, the world around me shifts. The rooftop vanishes, replaced by an open sky. Wind whips past me as I materialize directly above Super Star’s flying form.

For a split second, I’m suspended in midair, my red jacket flapping wildly. Then gravity takes hold, and I drop onto Super Star’s back with a solid thud. She lets out a startled yelp, her flight path wobbling as she struggles to adjust to the sudden weight.

“What the fuck?!” Super Star cries out, craning her neck to look over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes go wide with shock as they lock onto my masked face. “Tyrell?” she gasps, her voice thick with disbelief.

As she turns, I catch the sight of her face. Super Star’s cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy from crying. The glimpse is unexpected.

But then the memory of her crushing my throat floods back, along with the phantom pain. My resolve hardens.

“Hi bitch,” I snarl, my voice dripping with venom.

Before she can react, I raise my right hand, forming a finger gun and aiming it directly at her head. Super Star’s eyes widen in confusion, clearly not understanding the threat.

With a smirk hidden beneath my helmet, I pull the imaginary trigger.

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The effect is instantaneous and devastating. A massive wave of telekinetic energy erupts from my extended finger, slamming into Super Star with the force of a speeding truck. The impact is so powerful that the air itself seems to ripple and distort around us.

Super Star’s head snaps back violently. Her entire body goes limp, arms and legs splaying out as she plummets from the sky like a stone. The wind howls in my ears as we fall together, the ground rushing up to meet us at terrifying speed.

But I’m not done yet. With a thought, I teleport myself to safety, materializing on the sidewalk far below. I watch as Super Star’s unconscious form continues to plummet, her long brown hair whipping wildly in the wind. She crashes into the pavement with a sickening crunch, the impact cratering the concrete and sending cracks in every direction.

As the dust settles, I watch the crater intently, waiting for any sign of movement. For a moment, all is still. Then, with a grace that defies the laws of physics, Super Star rises from the rubble. Her costume is immaculate, not a single tear or scuff mark to be seen. Even her hair remains perfectly styled.

She brushes a speck of dust from her shoulder, her emerald eyes blazing with a mixture of shock and fury. The concrete beneath her feet crackles and shifts as she steps out of the impact zone, each movement fluid and controlled.

“What the actual fuck?” Super Star exclaims, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings. “How are you even here? I saw you turn to sand!”

I can’t help but sigh, a weary sound that escapes through my helmet. This clearly isn’t going to be the easy fight I had hoped for. Super Star stands before me, completely unscathed, looking more annoyed than injured.

“Well,” I begin, my tone casual despite the tension. “Turns out my Nazi dad accidentally made me immortal.”

‘Technically true. But far from the whole story.’

Super Star’s face contorts with frustration, her emerald eyes narrowing dangerously. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” she growls, her fists clenching at her sides. “I don’t have time for your stupid backstory!”

“I’m not a Nazi, though,” I add, just in case she thinks I’m like my father. I don’t want anyone confusing me for Captain Nazi.

She takes a menacing step forward, the ground trembling slightly with the movement. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Luke is missing! I can’t find him anywhere!” Her voice cracks on the last word, a hint of the fear and desperation she’s been trying to hide.

I raise an eyebrow beneath my helmet, genuinely surprised by this turn of events. “Wait, Luke’s missing?” I ask, momentarily forgetting our antagonism. “Since when?”

Super Star’s frown deepens, her emerald eyes glistening with fresh tears. The sight is jarring, this invulnerable heroine suddenly looking so vulnerable and human. She takes a shaky breath before speaking, her voice thick with emotion.

“Last night,” she begins, the words coming out in a rush. “Luke went out, and after Veronica got a tip from Dark Star. They said the Big Cheese and the Rapist were planning to kidnap him.”

My mind reels, struggling to process this new information. The Big Cheese and the Rapist targeting Luke?

“Wait,” I say, shaking my head in confusion. “Why are you telling me this? I thought you were convinced I was the leak.”

Super Star’s gaze locks onto me.

“Can you find him?” she demands, her voice raw and urgent.

The question catches me off guard. I shift nervously, suddenly very aware of how exposed I am. Super Star’s intensity is palpable, her entire being focused on me with laser-like precision.

“I... I don’t know,” I stammer, taking an involuntary step back. “My powers don’t really work that way anymore. I can’t just locate people at will.”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing as I consider the implications of Super Star’s request. The weight of the situation settles over me like a heavy cloak. Luke, missing and potentially in grave danger. The world’s most powerful hero, reduced to desperate pleading. And me, caught in the middle of it all.

“Give me a few hours,” I say finally, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. “I have someone who may be able to find him.”

Super Star’s eyes narrow, a flicker of suspicion cutting through her anguish. “Who?” she demands, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

I hesitate for a moment, weighing my words carefully. “My boss,” I reply simply, offering no further explanation.

The frustration radiating from Super Star is almost palpable. Her emerald eyes flash dangerously, small sparks of energy crackling around her clenched fists. For a moment, I think she might lash out again, unleash her fury on me or the surrounding cityscape.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, the fight seems to drain out of her. Her shoulders slump, the weight of her worry visibly pressing down on her. “Fine,” she spits out, the word laced with equal parts anger and resignation.

Without another word, Super Star crouches slightly, her muscles tensing. Then, in a blur of motion almost too fast for the eye to follow, she launches herself into the sky. The force of her takeoff sends shockwaves rippling through the air, shattering nearby windows and setting off car alarms for blocks around.

I sigh heavily, my shoulders slumping as I watch Super Star’s retreating form disappear into the morning sky. The shattered glass from nearby windows tinkles softly as it settles on the cracked pavement.

With a weary groan, I fish my phone out of my pocket.

“It’s gonna be a long day,” I mutter to myself, my voice echoing hollowly inside my helmet.

As I unlock the phone, I’m immediately assaulted by a fresh barrage of notifications. More missed calls and texts from Jackie, each one more frantic than the last. The timestamp on the most recent message shows it was sent mere minutes ago.

With a resigned sigh, I open my contacts and scroll to Jackie’s name. My thumb hovers over the call button for a moment as I steel myself for the conversation to come. Then, with a quick prayer to Yakub, I hit dial.

The phone barely has time to ring once before Jackie’s voice explodes from the speaker, so loud I have to hold the device at arm’s length.

“TYRELL FUCKING BRUNNER!” she screeches, her words distorted by a mixture of rage and what sounds suspiciously like tears. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?”

I wince, grateful for the helmet that shields my ears from the full brunt of her fury. “Hey, Jackie. I gotta get in touch with the Boss.”