Marcus Davenport, known to a select few as "Sparkplug," sat on the worn couch in his cramped apartment, eyes fixed on the flickering television screen. The news anchor's voice droned on, discussing the upcoming election for High Chancellor of the United World Government.

"...and in a surprising turn of events, Adrian Voss has surged ahead in the polls, his hardline stance on superhuman regulation resonating with voters across the globe..."

Marcus scoffed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. At 32, he was far from the image of a stereotypical superhero. No rippling muscles or dashing good looks here—just an average guy with the ability to generate and control small electrical currents. A C-class hero, barely a blip on the radar of the Superhuman Bureau.

He glanced at the framed certificate on his wall—his official superhero license, issued five years ago. It had seemed like such an achievement then, a validation of his desire to make a difference. Now, with Voss's anti-superhuman rhetoric gaining traction, that piece of paper felt more like a target on his back.

A sudden spark jumped between his fingers, a manifestation of his growing anxiety. Marcus took a deep breath, forcing the electricity back under control. Even minor slips like that could be dangerous in the current climate.

His phone buzzed, displaying a message from his friend and fellow C-class hero, Mira "Whisperer" Jones:

"Emergency meeting at the usual spot. Things are getting worse. We need to talk."

Marcus sighed, pulling himself off the couch. He grabbed his worn jacket, carefully concealing the homemade gauntlets that helped him focus his powers. As he left his apartment, he couldn't shake the feeling that life as he knew it was about to change dramatically.

The "usual spot" was a dingy basement bar called The Underground, unofficially known as a gathering place for lower-tier superhumans. As Marcus descended the stairs, the familiar hum of muted conversations greeted him.

Mira waved him over to a corner booth where several other C-class heroes had gathered. Her ability to project her voice directly into others' minds made her the perfect coordinator for their little group. Even though C-class was the weakest, they still could not be compared to ordinary humans.

"Glad you could make it, Sparky," she said, her voice a whisper in his mind despite the noise in the bar.

Marcus nodded, sliding into the booth. "What's the situation?"

A heavy-set man with stone-like skin—Marcus vaguely remembered him as "Granite"—spoke up, his voice a low rumble. "Voss is gaining more support every day. If he wins this election, we're all screwed."

"He's already pushing for mandatory registration," added a woman with iridescent scales shimmering on her arms. "Imagine what he'll do with real power."

Marcus frowned, absently generating small arcs of electricity between his fingers. "So what can we do? We're not exactly the Titans or the Psyrens of the world. Who's going to listen to a bunch of C-class heroes?"

Mira's eyes flashed with determination. "That's exactly why we need to act. The big shots, they'll be fine for a while. It's us—the little guys, the ones just trying to make our neighborhoods a bit safer—we'll be the first targets."

The discussion continued late into the night, plans made and discarded. By the time Marcus left The Underground, a sense of purpose had replaced his earlier anxiety. They might not be able to stop Voss from winning the election, but they could make sure their voices were heard.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of clandestine meetings and hushed plans. Marcus found himself at the center of a growing network of lower-tier superhumans, all united in their fear of what Voss's election might mean for their future.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

On election night, Marcus huddled with Mira and a dozen others in The Underground, watching the results pour in. The mood grew increasingly somber as Voss's victory became inevitable.

As Voss took the stage for his acceptance speech, his words sent a chill through the room:

"My fellow citizens, we stand at the dawn of a new age. Today, we—humanity—have won."

Marcus felt his powers flare in response to his emotions, small sparks dancing across his skin. Mira placed a calming hand on his arm, her voice steady in his mind. "Easy, Sparky. This isn't over. It's just beginning."

In the days that followed, the world seemed to shift beneath their feet. The Superhuman Registration Act was pushed through with unprecedented speed, and suddenly, Marcus's hero license wasn't a point of pride—it was a liability.

The first registration centers opened, and Marcus watched as friends and fellow heroes lined up, fear and resignation in their eyes. He thought of Zephyr, a B-class hero he'd worked with once, and wondered if she'd already given in to the pressure.

It was Granite who first suggested the protest. "We need to show them we're not going to roll over," he argued. "We're not weapons or threats—we're people, dammit!"

The idea spread like wildfire through their underground network. Within days, plans were in place for a massive gathering in Central Square.

On the day of the protest, Marcus stood among hundreds of his fellow superhumans, a hastily made sign in his hands reading "Powers Don't Define Humanity." The atmosphere was electric, a palpable mix of determination, hope, and underlying fear. Central Square, usually bustling with everyday city life, had been transformed into a sea of masked faces and homemade costumes stretching as far as he could see.

Mira's voice echoed in the minds of the gathered heroes, coordinating their movements and keeping everyone focused. "Remember, we're here to be heard, not to fight. Stay calm, stay united."

The air thrummed with energy as powers of all types manifested in small, controlled bursts—a showcase of the diversity they were fighting to protect. Marcus saw small flames dancing in the palms of a fire manipulator, while nearby, a plant controller coaxed flowers to bloom from the cracks in the pavement.

Chants rose from the crowd, voices united in purpose:

"We're not weapons, we're not threats! We demand our human rights!"

"Power and humanity, two sides of the same coin!"

"Registration is segregation! We won't be pushed aside!"

Marcus joined in, feeling a surge of pride. This was what being a hero was about—standing up for what was right, no matter the odds. Their demands were clear: an end to the Superhuman Registration Act, equal rights for all regardless of abilities, and a seat at the table in discussions about superhuman policy.

As the protest gained momentum, more ordinary citizens began to join in, showing solidarity with their superhuman neighbors. For a moment, it seemed like their message might actually be getting through.

Then everything went to hell.

It happened so fast that Marcus almost missed it. A hooded figure near the front of the crowd suddenly unleashed a violent burst of energy. Windows shattered in a thunderous cascade of glass, and nearby vehicles flipped over as if hit by an invisible wave. Screams of panic replaced the chants as chaos erupted.

"It must be a setup!" Mira's voice screamed in his head. "They're trying to provoke us! Stay calm!"

But the damage was done. The carefully orchestrated peaceful protest dissolved into pandemonium as the Superhuman Containment Units stepped in to suppress the crowd. Marcus saw confused and frightened protesters lashing out with their powers, while others tried desperately to help those injured by the initial blast.

As he struggled to make sense of the chaos, the massive screens surrounding the square flickered to life. Chancellor Voss's face appeared, his expression a mask of stern resolve. His voice boomed out over the panicked crowd:

"My fellow citizens, at this very moment, a group of unregistered superhumans—beings with the power to level city blocks with a thought—are not only gathering in defiance of the law but they are showing their true colors and unleashing their madness upon our city. They claim to want peace, yet they threaten our safety with their very existence."

Marcus felt his heart sink as he realized the trap they'd walked into. The planted agitator, the perfectly timed speech—it had all been orchestrated to paint them as the villains.

Voss continued, his words hammering the final nail in their coffin: "Therefore, effective immediately, I am issuing an executive order. All superhumans refusing to register are to be stripped of their citizenship, to be stripped of their human rights as humans they are NOT. They are to be considered enemies of the state, enemies of mankind, a clear and present danger to our society."

A fresh wave of panic rippled through the crowd. Marcus saw armored figures moving in from all sides, weapons raised. Tear gas canisters arced through the air, filling the square with choking smoke.

In that moment, as the first shots rang out, Marcus Davenport made a choice. Electricity crackled around his hands as he raised them, not to attack, but to defend. He might be only a C-class hero, but he was a hero nonetheless.

As the battle raged around him, Marcus knew that this was only the beginning. The world had changed, and he would have to change with it. But one thing remained certain—he would not go quietly into Voss's new world order.