Noah finally made it past the mind detectors, bio detectors, and other portal station security measures.

Most people would feel relief at being done with this time consuming and tedious process, but not him. He just felt hopeless. After all, he was one step closer to his reviled home. One step closer to his damned family and going back to his old, shitty life.

Just a few hours ago he'd been in Union City—or the real New York City as the locals liked to call it—one of the greatest cities in the world. And now here he was, in Jackson, Mississippi. It was like falling from heaven to hell, and Noah had to force himself to keep moving, to overcome the insane impulse to run away back to New York, and, instead, follow the signs towards the nearest bathroom.

Once he found the bathroom, he entered a stall and hung his backpack on the coat hanger. The floor was wet with some dubious fluid that had a not insignificant chance of being piss, so Noah laid his large duffel bag atop the toilet and proceeded to change out of his nice set of clothes.

Jackson was a villainous place, a veritable shithole and he didn't want to get robbed today, thus he removed and turned off his favorite digital jacket. The animated, artistic waves that were in constant turbulent movement ceased when he pressed the off button, the display going black. He also took off his mycelium leather pants and crystal encrusted shoes.

Noah then changed into a pair of cheap, recycled polyester gray sweatpants, cheap running shoes, and a black hoodie, making sure to stand on the toilet so as to not step on the piss. Now fully changed, he exited the bathroom and followed the signs towards the exit. With every step he felt like a death row inmate, one step closer to his doom.

After some walking he reached the exit. He then made the final preparations. He emptied the contents of his wallet into his socks and left about a hundred dollars change in case he was robbed. One hundred dollars was chump change, a little over an hour’s work, but he'd heard stories of drug addicts or criminals killing you for having nothing on you. He also took off his VRisor phone and put it in his backpack. Last but not least, he put on some sunglasses.

Noah steeled himself for what was about to come, like a runner getting ready for the start of a race. He then tried to step out and cross the sliding doors of the portal station; however, he couldn't do it. His legs wouldn't move.

Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, ‘Come on, Noah,’ he thought. ‘you can do this. You don't have a choice, so just get on with it.’ He punched his legs, willing them to move.

Once he judged he had calmed down a little, he tried to move once more.

This time he made it past the doors.

He was immediately assaulted by a wave of hot and humid air. Even at night, Jackson was unpleasantly hot, more so coming out from the cold air-conditioned climate of the station. His hoodie was a thin one, more of a shirt, so he kept it on, the extra layer made him feel safer, the weight comforting.

Some unclean, homeless-looking people that were hovering over the entrance noticed him the moment he exited. They followed him for a few steps begging for money, asking if he needed help with directions, but he ignored them and they soon gave up, going for the next person that stepped out.

The bus stop was only a few blocks away, still on the "nice" part of Jackson. And yet, trash littered the streets and there was some graffiti here and there. The streets were empty, and in the dark, walking all alone…it made him feel nervous. He walked faster, practically speed walking now.

He soon reached the stop and did his best to endure the wait for the bus.

It took a good while to arrive, or at least that's how it felt. Time always felt longer when you were bored or stressed, and he couldn't take out his VRisor to entertain himself (not unless he wanted to get robbed). He also didn't want to risk opening a book in the middle of the street, fearing that if he started reading, he'd appear weak or call attention to himself and someone would come mess with him.

When Noah climbed inside the bus, he was greeted by a damaged robo-driver. It was missing one eye and cracked in several places due to vandalism. It even had a couple bullet holes. Pieces of food and gum stuck to the thing. It also had a brown, chunky stain on its head that smelled bad (undoubtedly the dried feces of some daring crackhead).

He already had the twenty dollar bill prepared for the machine, but prices had changed since he was last home. Due to inflation or some other factor, the bus ticket was twenty five dollars now. Noah fished around his pocket and pulled out some more money to cover the difference. Once he paid, Noah found a seat close to the back, so he wouldn't be bothered.

The bus got going again and he settled in, getting comfortable. He had a long trip of about forty minutes, so he pulled out a book he borrowed from his college's library out of his backpack and began reading it. In reality the bus wasn't much safer than the street, but life is about compromises. An hour without entertainment verged on torture for Noah, so he was willing to take the risk.

The book was about how research on superpowers would affect the future of medicine. A little dense, he would admit, but interesting nonetheless

With every stop the bus made, the surrounding area through the window got worse and worse, going from passable to poverty-ridden slum. Every house in view was dilapidated or in the process of decay. Hookers, druggies, and people wearing gang signs infested the streets. Random trash and building debris littered the streets, making the city look like a warzone.

He concentrated on his book, trying to tune it all out.

However, multiple sets of footsteps and a voice carrying the heavy accent of the slums broke him out of his immersion.

"Well, well, lookit this, bronos. If it aintent Doctor Athenstein himselve." Noah looked up from his book to see four teenagers that looked like trouble. They all wore the kind of cheap electronic clothes and neon tattoos that were stereotypical these days for gang or ghetto youths. Their clothes displayed skulls with fire coming out of the empty eye sockets—their gang symbol no doubt.

Athenstein was a legendary Mental with superintelligence. Many consider him the smartest human to ever live. It took Noah a second to get the joke and link it to the fact he was reading a book.

As if the words of their leader were a signal, the four men broke into laughter, snickering at Noah's expense. One of them fisted the one who made the joke playfully on the shoulder, his other hand on his chest as if he couldn't breathe from all the laughing.

They were drawing too much amusement from this, practically crying from how funny they found their little joke…most likely they were high, he thought. Their dulled eyes lend further evidence to his hypothesis.

Another guy, getting carried away by the group's energy, ripped the book out of Noah's hands. "What tha fack you reading, Athenstein?!" He looked at the cover and sneered, looking at him with contempt. "Why tha fack you reading this sherda, man!"--he then started ripping the pages out of the book--"I’m doin’ you this solid straight for you! If you keep readin’ this sherda and bein’ a such a fackin’ dollfucker, you’ll never sex some bichutas!"

Another member of the group, not wanting to be left out, made a grab for Noah's sunglasses. "What’s big reyman ‘ere doin with glasses a’night, hahaha!"

He struggled desperately with the young thug to keep them on.

Noah was half Japanese in a post Taiwan War world. And Mississippi was notorious for having a bunch of AAA nutjobs with a burning hatred for Asians despite the war having been more than a century ago and them not being alive when it happened. That Japan allied itself with America wouldn't matter if these bastards were AAA.

He struggled to make up a lie on the fly, "Wait! Wait! I have, um, I have conjunctivitis!" When they showed no sign of knowing what the hell he was talking about, he dumbed it down. "Eye infection! I have an eye infection! I don't want you to get infected!"

The guy struggling with him for his glasses released them real fast, as if they'd give him the cock-pox.

The leader then suddenly stepped up. "Hey, hey hey, y'all leave poor ol' Athenstein alone. Where yah manners, bronos. We haven' asked ‘im tha question yet, you ve?" The leader then turned his dead serious eyes towards me. "Answer careful as careful, Athenstein…careful as careful…" he said, his voice radiating importance, "What football team do yah heart?"

The absurd question caught Noah out of left field, but he recovered and began furiously thinking. There was only one right answer to this question. And that was whatever team these four gentlemen were a fan of. Any other answer was liable to cause them to beat him till his shit came out red. After all, people down south were rabid about their football. Fans killed each other all the time, placed bombs in the enemy team’s stadium…its just, Noah never expected it to run into such a situation. He’d had a sheltered upbringing and all this was new to him.

Noah tried to establish eye contact with the few passengers that were scattered here and there across the bus in order to ask them for help. But they all ignored him, deliberately looking away.

He had to answer, so he went with a guess based on the colors of their gang symbol. The skull was white and the flames red. Ole Miss?

Noah was a proficient liar. He lied frequently and had plenty of practice. He cleared his voice and grinned, "Obviously, I heart"--noah mimicked them, using their language--"the best team, facking Ole Miss!" He hoped that by showing enthusiasm it would count for something even if he got it wrong. Maybe they'd see he liked the sport and leave him be.

Immediately they all started yelling and cheering and pushing each other and shaking him.

"Tha’s goddam right! Ole Miss! Ole Miss! Ole Miss! Ole Miss tha facking prime! The primest of em all! And Christ fackin’ rape whoever says no!"

They even started doing the cringe wolf howling noises that kids from the younger generation that spent too much time on social media did sometimes.

Things calmed down after a few seconds and the leader, catching his breath, told Noah, his voice laced with approval, "You’re proper as proper, Athenstein. Maybe those books are good for somethin’."

The leader then caught sight of the torn up book on the floor and flew into a senseless rage. He turned towards the one who destroyed Noah’s book and gave him a hard slap on the back of the head. "You son of a cultist whore! Pick up tha book an’ apologize to ol' Athenstein ‘ere!"

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The lackie looked furious, his hand twitching as if it would go for his knife at any moment and carve the leader a new asshole. But, at the last moment he relented and picked up the tattered thing and handed it to Noah.

After that intense exchange the drug-addled four bid him farewell and moved on to the back of the bus where they could all sit together.

Noah felt intense relief, but he found he couldn't calm down completely. Adrenaline coursed through his body making his hands shake. Even after he reached his stop he still had some left.

However, he knew that the stress was only just beginning. His family was like a poison, or radiation: there was only so much exposure he could take before they drove him to a breaking point.

Thinking about his family inevitably caused him to look back at the unfortunate events that had caused his current situation. His grandfather, a ruthless businessman who had worked out a deal with a b-list hero to exclusively sell her merchandise, had amassed a small fortune for the family.

However, the apple fell far from the tree. Noah's father was the complete opposite of his grandfather. He was weak and altruistic. Over the years he had squandered the money, donating it to one righteous cause or another. The cherry on top of the cake was that Noah couldn't even finish his own college studies because his father had given even that away as well.

That was the reason he was returning back to Jackson—because his bastard of a father had thought his "friend" who had been infected by that new villain, Necroplanter, and had to undergo numerous costly surgeries needed it more than his own son.

Now his dreams of going to medical school were ruined, condemned to a life of mediocrity in Jackson, at least until he saved enough money to go back to college.

He would have cried tears of blood if he could at how unjust his situation was.

As he walked the last few blocks from the bus stop to his family home, he did his best to clear his mind from negative thoughts. It was difficult and he wasn't wholly successful, but it helped a little. It was better to be numb than drowning in bitterness.

Sooner than he wanted, Noah reached his destination, a boring apartment complex in the okaish or lower middle class part of town. He had the keys ready in an easily accessible pocket so that he could pull them out fast. In places like this, if you took too long opening the door, a thief would pounce on the chance. Noah looked behind him and, seeing the coast was clear, went ahead and opened the door.

During the elevator ride to his home, Noah steeled himself for the shit show that was soon to begin. His stepbrother was mentally ill and his stepmother hated him. Some might consider him insane for going back to this hellhole. In fact, he was doubting his sanity himself, but money was king, and he wouldn't have to pay rent or food if he stayed in their house. There was also the fact that his dad's family business would pay better than any entry level job.

Sighing, he rang the doorbell.

He could hear someone walking towards the door.

The door opened and his piece of shit stepmother greeted him: a “plus-sized” black woman with slightly crooked teeth and what he could only describe as a beer belly. "Hello." she said, her voice devoid of happiness or emotion, eyes flinty with bitter displeasure.

Noah gave her a fake, wan smile in return. "Hey, Shanice." He then gestured with his hand, indicating he wanted to step inside and that she was blocking the way.

Shanice acquiesced and moved sideways, pursing her lips in distaste. When Noah went past her, she closed the door and locked it.

Now that he was inside, he could hear his disgusting stepbrother cursing and yelling and screeching while he played virtual reality games in his room…there were two sets of walls between his room and the living room for fucks sake.

The moment Noah came in, his dad, Robert, was upon him, smiling. His father radiated joy and was teary eyed with happiness at having his son back after so many years studying away. He engulfed his son in a warm, heartfelt hug.

"Noah, by The God, if it isn’t good to see you!” Robert said, disengaging from the hug to look at him. “How was your trip! You have to tell me all about it! Christ, it's been so long since we've seen you! We have so much to catch up on!"

To put it lightly, Noah wasn’t in the mood. He felt like screaming in his father’s face, like pushing him away harshly. Nevertheless, all he did was sigh: the damage was done, the money gone. He needed to be diplomatic (or as diplomatic as he could manage with the toxic anger pent up inside him) if he wanted to stay.

He slowly and deliberately removed his father’s hands from his body. "Look, dad, I'll be honest.... I haven't managed to forgive you yet. I'm still disappointed and sad. I can’t believe you would ruin my education—my future—over some friend of yours. So... just give me some space for a time, will you?"

Robert’s smile waned, replaced with sadness.

He looked like he was about to say something but Noah's stepmother interjected, screeching in that high, pitched nasal voice of hers. "You ungrateful little shit! Why do you make your father suffer like this?! After all he done did for you! After he done worked like a dog for you while you lived a rich boy life?"

Bitter hate. That's the only way to describe the feeling he felt then for her. This disgusting, gold digger whore from the slums lecturing him was the last thing he needed! Because at the end of the day, she wasn’t with his father for his looks. The years hadn’t been kind to Robert: stress, work, and worry had sunk their teeth on the balding white man. Due to eating the same food as Caleb and Shanice, he was also walking the road to obesity and had a belly that looked 2 months pregnant. No, Shanice could only be with him out of some pathetic desire not to be lonely or, most likely, due to what little money the man now possessed.

Noah didn't reply, ignoring her. He kept talking with his father. "I'm going to go get some rest now. It's been a long trip. Goodnight dad."

This drove her even more mad and she started crying and cursing and begging his father to kick him out.

The noise thankfully dulled down when Noah entered his room and closed the door, but he made sure to put on some headphones.

He played chill, relaxing songs until, finally, the darkness took him.

---

Despite everything, Noah woke up feeling much better than yesterday, refreshed. It was amazing what a goodnight sleep could do.

Noah turned off and removed the headphones he had slept with. Then he stretched and groaned.

He moved towards his bag and started rummaging inside for his VRisor phone.

He found it and then placed the small, thin, visor-like device on his head. Noah pressed a button on the side of it and it activated, turning invisible by camouflaging with his head and environment. The only way to tell he was wearing the device was the brand logo that was projected in fine print on the white of his eyes in a curved, semi-circle.

He now had a HUD projected across his vision, showing things such as time, missed messages, etc. It was 8am.

Stepping out of his room, he could hear sounds of eating in the living room. Shanice and Caleb were gorging themselves on a veritable banquet of food. One could make the mistake of confusing them with Eaters from the amount of food they were consuming. Caleb, in particular, looked the part: he was morbidly obese and utterly repulsive.

When the duo saw Noah, they mumbled a half-hearted good morning while they chewed on their food.

Noah made to grab some of the less unhealthy options on the table, but Shanice stopped him, "I'm sorry, I only did food for two."

Noah gave her an unimpressed expression, "How thoughtful of you, Shanice."

The bitch got all defensive, raising both hands in that silly display of innocence people sometimes do, "You’ve to earn the food on your plate. Your father woke up at 7 today and went to work. Every day he works like a dog, and what did you do? You slept in like a lazy bum. You’re an adult now. You need to grow the hell up and done go to work."

Noah glared at her. It was difficult to keep his tone down and polite. "And what does your son do to earn his food, huh? Play video games all day and masturbate?"

They were both outraged and tripped over each other to answer "How dare you say that! I'll tell your father!" she said, while Caleb yelled "I'm a minor! A highschooler! I can't work!"

"Caleb you are 17. Plenty of people your age work, instead of…playing with toys or whatever the fuck you do." Of course, when Noah was 17 he didn't work either, but he didn't tell them that. He believed in fairness, but only when he was the only one benefiting from it.

"They are figurines, not toys! Limited edition, collectible figurines! Stop bullying me! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" Caleb went berserk, crying in frustration and screeching like a rabid animal. He began tearing at his hair in a sickening display of mental illness.

Shanice jumped to his defense like always, soothing him and stroking his head as if he was a scared animal, all the while shouting at me. "Stop it! Look what you did to him! Look what you did to my boy! Just go away! GO AWAY! GET THE HELL OUT!"

This wasn't going anywhere and the loud screaming and crying was irritating him real fast, so he went back to his room for the headphones.

Noah found them and began blasting some music. He then went back, headed towards the kitchen. He could have waited till they left. After all, Caleb had to go to school soon and his mother wouldn't let her precious little baby go alone. But he felt it important to show them that he would never back off.

So he ignored them and started cooking an omelet and made a peanut butter sandwich. When he was done, he grabbed his plate of food and went back to his room.

He laid down on the bed and synced his headphones with his VRisor phone with a hand gesture. With a few more hand gestures, his HUD changed to a tv screen showing the news. Predictably, it was showing clips of the latest political debate. The two clowns that were to be presidents were frantically speaking over each other. They threw barrages of insults and logical fallacies without end.

"You want to cut the hero budget, but you haven't been in the trenches like I have, John! You haven't been in the trenches!” said the current President, Arturia Gates, “You don't even know what the hell you are talking about, so shut your goddamned mouth!" She was wearing power armor which looked ridiculous in a debate. Surprisingly the old woman was attractive (or at least, attractive by old people standards).

Arturia was an ex-hero that went on to become president on account of her popularity. People had voted her in after The Genocide 6 had attacked NYC. People had wanted strong, anti-villain leadership then, and who better than a hero? But they would only vote for one without powers, like Arturia. You see, people were too scared of superhuman supremacists ruling them.

Her rival, John Ballmer, a man that looked much older than her, wearing a digital suit that displayed a moving, animated American flag, said "Oh, please, Arturia! As if you had ever been in a proper fight! They were all paid actors! It was all staged! Paid for with your family's blood money!"

"That's not true and everyone knows it! You think Americans are stupid, John, but they aren’t. They are smart! They are very smart! They know better!" "I never said that and-" "-but you want to talk about dirty money, then let's talk about your cultist friends and the money they-" "That's ridiculous! The only cultist here is you! You and your democrats who play around with AI like children with fire! Do you-"

Noah changed the channel with a flick of his finger. The debate had made him sick. It horrified him how much it resembled a tv show, entertainment. Zero evidence had been presented, no actual plans discussed.

The next channel was covering some dumb animal story. "A new video of an Eater has surfaced on the internet. Viewer discretion is advised…because the video might be too cute." the anchor said, comedic laughter playing in the background. Then a video of a little chihuahua dog furiously eating some food was played, "It looks like the Paragon 9 are gonna have their hands full with this little villain." More comedic background laughter.

Noah changed the channel again. "-and ever since the new Crazyass Part 2 movie got filmed by the infamous villain group The Giggle, teenagers everywhere have been performing ever more elaborate and dangerous pranks out in public." A video was then played of a teenage guy walking up to a mother with a baby and asking if he could hold it. He then purposefully let it slip, catching it at the very last moment before it impacted against the pavement. The guy doing the recording could be heard laughing, making commentary all the while the mother cried, holding the baby for dear life after tearing it away from the teenager that had pulled the prank.

Bored and a little sick, he switched from tv mode to messaging. He started going through his unread messages, but it was all uneventful. People just said the same, dull things over and over again.

After he finished his food, he went back to the kitchen to clean his stuff and found all the plates his step family left there to wash. Of course, he only washed his own stuff. There was no chance in hell he'd do their stuff.

Noah then waited a few hours for digestion, watching videos on Utube. Once he judged enough time had passed, he changed into his running clothes. He liked exercising. It helped his mental health and made him feel good. It even improved his looks a little. He still didn't have a six pack, but he was getting there.

With that done, he left the apartment. During the day, the streets had a few more people, but not that many, since most of them were working.

He started with a fast walk for warm up and eventually transitioned to a jog and then a moderate run. He could run at that not so fast rhythm for an hour, which usually translated to six miles.

Noah got tired eventually and walked the rest of the way to the park he used to use for calisthenics before he went to Union City for school. It all felt nostalgic, as if he had never left at all.

Surprisingly, a guy was already there, doing calisthenics as well. The bastard was pulling off the extremely advanced stuff, like the human flag or inverted shoulder presses, as if it was trivial. It made Noah burn with envy. He had been doing this for years and he wasn't anywhere near.

Trying not to feel too pathetic, he set up a ways away from him and began his routine.

While he was halfway through his inclined pushups, he heard steps approaching him.

It was Mr. Exercise from before. The bastard was shirtless and now that he was in close proximity, Noah could see his body was covered in scars—hundreds of them. The man was also bursting at the seams with muscle. Enormous veins snaked across his arms like tree roots made of flesh.

Noah stood and turned towards him. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled knowingly, his eyes dark and condescending. "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, you can help me. You see, I subscribe to this very rigorous exercise routine, and my workout isn't complete until I've at least fought one man and fucked one woman. I just don’t feel right if I don’t, ‘sides, experts say this’ the best way to boost natural testosterone production, and who am I to disagree with the mental boys."

Noah could read between the lines. "Look, I'm sorry, man, but I'm not looking to fight no one." Noah then smiled in a charming manner. Smiling was the first step to defuse bad situations. "I also follow a routine that involves me getting home with all my bones intact, and you are freaking massive man. You'd break every bone in my body.” Noah forced himself to chuckle, but it came out nervous. “You've gotta share your routine with me." He forced himself to laugh some more at his joke.

The man smiled again, this time in a more genuinely amused manner. "Oh, I don't do anything special…just chicken, rice, and broccoli." He sniggered at the last part, some kind of inside joke. But then his expression lost all its mirth and went dead serious. "Look, I'll go easy on you since you seem like a proper guy, but if you don't man up and give me a good fight…well, let’s just say you'll be getting home alright, but in a bodybag."

Noah began panicking, his heart jackhammering.

He could try to escape, but his legs hadn't recovered from his grueling run. Desperate, he started trying to figure out a solution, brain working overtime.

His time was running out, so he went with the best half-cooked plan his brain could produce in those few frantic moments he had: he’d try to reason once more with him and if that didn't work, Noah would surprise-kick him in the nuts. This trick had worked in the past once when he faced a school bully bigger than him. Of course, this wasn’t school, and he might die if it failed, but, on paper the testicles were a weak point, no matter how much muscle one packed.

All he could do was pray this’d work, but he had some serious doubts.

"Well thank you for offering to take it easy on me--I definitely appreciate that--but if you want to fight so much, I'm sure you can find better fighters than me out there. Wouldn't that be a better workout, more of a challenge?" Noah prayed he would be able to convince him with that.

The man shook his head in negation and Noah's heart sunk. "No. I pick people at random because-"

Negotiations had failed. Quick as a viper, Noah shot out a kick right at his ballsack. The kick was thrown with all his force and-

And the madman saw it coming a mile away, blocking it with his tree trunk of an arm almost effortlessly.