Chapter 13: Ideal Ivory

Most people called me Ivory, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember why I was here. I woke up with a goddamn headache, sprawled out on a sandy beach. My cape was gritty with sand, and I could feel something wet trickling down my nose. Blood.

“What the hell is happening?” I muttered, wiping the blood away with the back of my hand. My voice sounded hoarse as if I hadn’t used it in a while.

I forced myself to stand, my legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. Everything felt off-kilter like I was recovering from a bad hangover. I tapped twice on the bracer on my left wrist, and it responded with a faint glow, bringing up a holographic interface that showed my current location relative to the planet. The map highlighted a familiar city.

“Kane City? Why am I in Kane City again?” The name felt right, but the details were fuzzy. Then it hit me—something about being drafted here by the Union. But if that was the case, why the hell was I working as an independent?

I checked the time and date displayed on the interface—11:02 p.m., June 21, 2030. A Friday. Of course, it had to be a Friday. And here I was, stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night. This was getting more bizarre by the second. Had I been drugged? No, that didn’t add up. I had no memory of ever touching anything that could knock me out like this.

I looked around, trying to get my bearings. To my left, the dark waters of the bay stretched out endlessly, and to my right, the shadowy outlines of the slums came into view. The place reeked of desperation and decay, a far cry from the skyscrapers and bright lights of downtown Kane City.

“This is ridiculous,” I mumbled, rubbing my temples. “I should just go home.”

It was the only logical thing to do. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I had gotten too hammered and somehow ended up here. Great, just great. This wasn’t going to look good on my record. I was supposed to be a superhero, damn it.

I used my telekinesis to lift myself off the ground and flew home to my cozy penthouse. The moment I arrived, I stripped out of my sandy clothes, changed into something more comfortable, and crawled into bed. I expected to fall asleep immediately, but two hours later, I was still wide awake.

“There are gaps in my memories,” I murmured to the ceiling, the words hanging heavy in the quiet room.

Should I report it? I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. I reached out with my telekinesis, testing its limits, and it felt just as powerful as ever. But my intuition wouldn’t let go of the nagging sense that something was wrong. I tried to think it through, but the more I dwelled on it, the more tired I became until sleep finally claimed me.

The next morning, I was jolted awake by the shrill beeping of my digital alarm clock. “Shut up!” I groaned, smashing it with a hammer fist. The clock didn’t break, but my hand throbbed with pain. I grimaced, flexing my fingers.

“Shouldn’t have punched the dumb clock,” I muttered, shaking my hand to dispel the ache.

I got up and started to change into my usual hero outfit but paused, considering a different approach. Instead of donning my superhero gear, I decided to go for civilian clothes today. No patrols, no saving the day—just a normal day. After all, I needed a break, and maybe this would help clear my head.

I walked out of my penthouse and headed for my white sports car parked in the garage. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I let the car’s hood close over me, feeling the smooth leather beneath my fingers. I put on my trademark sunglasses, a part of my public image that I had cultivated over the years, and started the engine.

As I drove through the city, my thoughts drifted. In my civilian life, I was Fatima Ivory, the supermodel. But something felt off. “Huh? Weird, I never did engage in supermodeling… never… or did I?” The thought made me pause. My whole shtick was being the superhero who had no fear of showing her public identity to the world, and I wasn’t alone in that movement. Plenty of heroes had revealed their identities before me. If anything, I was the first independent hero to show her public face to the world.

The confusion lingered as I pulled up to the Kane City Union branch. This was my life, wasn’t it? A supermodel by day, a superhero by night. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more uncertain I became.

The Hero Union, or just the Union for short, was a superhero organization sanctioned by the government, operating on a galactic scale. It was the kind of place where even the most seasoned heroes could feel overwhelmed. But I wasn’t like most heroes. I was Fatima Ivory, and the spotlight was practically my second home.

As soon as I stepped out of my car and onto the sidewalk, I was immediately swarmed by reporters. Cameras flashed, and microphones were shoved in my face.

"Miss Ivory!"

"Please look at the camera!"

"Is it true you are dating—"

"What is your secret to success?"

"Since being featured in Kane magazine, what do you think—"

"This is the first time you’ve appeared here at the Kane City Union branch, do you have anything to say?"

Their voices blended into a chaotic symphony of noise, each question more insistent than the last. I didn’t even bother to respond. Instead, I focused on the task at hand. With a flicker of thought, I used my telekinesis to gently push them aside. I made sure not to hurt anyone—God forbid I ruin my image by accidentally sending someone flying across the street.

This was for the good, and I was doing something for the good… Somehow, the words didn’t feel right on my tongue.

I stepped through the glass doors of the Union building and headed straight for the elevator, ignoring the reporters who were still shouting questions from outside. As the elevator doors slid shut, the noise mercifully cut off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I pressed the button for the top floor, where the Kane City Union director’s office was located. This wasn’t just another PR visit. Something felt wrong, and I needed answers.

Kane City Union, or KCU, was practically the second most important place in the city, just behind the mayor’s office. It was the hub of hero activity, a place where missions were assigned, and heroes coordinated their efforts to keep the city safe. The KCU director, David, was a young man in his mid-20s, always dressed in a sleek business suit. Despite his age, he carried an air of authority, though it was hard to take him seriously when you knew him as I did.

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In the public eye, he was David, the KCU director, but in the field, he was known as Swift Sword.

As I walked into his office, David looked up from the bottle of wine he was chugging, his easygoing demeanor not faltering for a second.

"Hey, what’s the meaning of this? Your orders are to stay low, help the small folk, and establish a friendly rapport with the said small people as independent, aren’t they?"

I frowned, trying to recall. "Did I?" The truth was, I didn’t remember receiving any such orders.

David raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here? Wait, you’ve been here for three years, so maybe you’re getting bored with independence, huh? Too bad, no orders from the top yet." He took another swig from the bottle, clearly enjoying himself.

"Isn’t it too early for booze?" I asked, more out of habit than genuine concern.

"I mean, it is a special occasion… You came here, after all. So, what now? Have you thought about my offer? Do you wanna be my girlfriend?" His grin was infuriating, and I had to resist the urge to throw him out the window.

"Excuse me," I said, my voice dripping with disdain. "I’m here for business, not pleasure."

David chuckled, setting the bottle down. "My bad. My old man did tell me not to mess with kids from the Dome… so, what do you want from me?"

The word "Dome" caught my attention, but it didn’t ring any bells. I shook my head slightly. "There are gaps in my memories. Care to explain?"

David’s carefree expression shifted to one of mild surprise. "How the fuck would I know? Well, excuse my sailor’s mouth, but did someone mind-wipe you? I thought kids from the Dome were supposed to be tough, built to resist mind controllers and telepaths with enhanced mental resilience thanks to repeated abuse… or something… hah! I’m glad I’m not one of you freaks."

His words hit me hard. It was true, I had undergone extensive training to resist mind controllers and telepaths. A powerful metal discipline was enough to cow most telepaths, and it could even hurt them if you knew where you were supposed to look. But the Dome? That didn’t sound familiar at all. Was there a new player in Kane City? I couldn’t rely on David for answers, not when he stank of nepotism and incompetence. His father’s influence might have gotten him the position, but it didn’t make him capable.

I needed to figure this out on my own. Something was wrong, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

But for all it mattered, the wrongness began with me.

I could feel it in my bones, an emptiness where my memories should have been. The gaps were massive, stretching across days, weeks—maybe even months. It was abnormal, terrifying. What should I do? I could request resources to heal my mind, but something deep inside warned me against it. The idea of taking that road filled me with an inexplicable dread.

David, sensing my unease, leaned back in his chair, his carefree demeanor masking any real concern. “Seriously though, you didn’t cross any powerful mind fucker, did you? Those types are the easiest to fall into superpower psychosis, and they can be a real pain to deal with… but as far as I know, Kane City only has muscles, mutants, makers, and sometimes madmen.”

As he spoke, I heard a strange thumping noise. It came from a cabinet in the right corner of the room. The thing stood six feet tall, dirty and worn, the kind of cabinet where a janitor might keep their mops and buckets. It was out of place, especially in David’s office. I remembered him as a clean freak, someone who would never tolerate something so shabby in his space.

“Don’t mind it,” David said casually, but his words only fueled my curiosity. I couldn’t help myself—I had to know what was inside. With a quick motion, I plucked the cabinet’s door open.

Inside was a silver-haired, red-eyed girl—an exact replica of me. She had my proportions, my features, everything, except she was naked and her skin was covered in lacerations. My heart pounded as I realized she most likely didn’t have my powers, either.

David’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I am ashamed—”

“Cloning technology,” I muttered, cutting him off. The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Yeah,” David admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I ordered her at a premium from my dad’s old friend. She isn’t exactly your clone, just modeled after you. What can I say? I was a fan!”

I scanned the other me with my telekinesis, trying to understand what I was looking at. Unlike most telekinetics, I could extend my senses through my power, sharing my five senses with whatever I touched. The clone was a real human being, flesh and blood. It was heart-wrenching.

"Like I said, don’t mind her—" David began, his voice laced with that infuriating nonchalance.

But I couldn’t listen to him anymore. Rage surged through me, and before I could think twice, I used my telekinesis to strangle-hold him. I locked his joints in place, rendering him immobile and helpless. His powers—speed, martial arts training, phase-shifting—were all useless against me. His eyes widened in shock as he realized he was completely at my mercy.

“You disgust me,” I spat, my voice cold and unforgiving.

“B-but you gave me permission—” David stammered, his face turning red as he struggled against my invisible grip.

“I would never,” I hissed, tightening my hold.

With a snap, I twisted his neck in the wrong direction. The sickening sound echoed in the room as I released him, letting his lifeless body slump back into his chair. Strangely, I felt nothing—no remorse, no guilt—only a twisted sense of joy at what I had done. Why was that?

The clone, the other me, looked at me in terror. She kneeled before me, trembling, her red eyes wide with fear. She was a mirror image of myself, yet she was nothing like me. Seeing her like that—scared, submissive—it only fueled the unsettling satisfaction that lingered within me.

Oh, I’d love to strangle her with my own hands—

I wondered why these dark thoughts kept surfacing. The urge to strangle the clone with my own hands was almost overwhelming, but I pushed it down. I knew this girl looked exactly like me, and the scandal it would create could ruin everything I had worked for as the ideal superhero.

Wouldn’t it be convenient to get rid of her?

I forced a gentle tone into my voice, trying to mask the sinister thoughts bubbling beneath the surface. "You’ll be fine," I lied, wrapping an arm around the trembling girl, supporting her as if I truly cared. "I’m here for you."

But I knew what had to be done. The very existence of this clone was a threat to me, to my image. I couldn’t let it get out. This would be a scandal that would destroy my career and my reputation. I had to act.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, even as I prepared to do the unthinkable. "But I’ll make sure it’s as painless as possible."

The clone’s eyes widened in confusion, but before she could react, I unleashed my telekinesis, exploding her face in a gruesome burst. Her scream of agony cut through the room, her once-perfect features now a horrific, bloody mess. I didn’t stop there. I crushed her heart with a swift, brutal force, ending her life in an instant.

But I wasn’t done. I couldn’t leave any evidence behind. With a twisted sense of precision, I plucked every strand of hair from the clone’s scalp and forced them down her throat, a grotesque display of my power. It wasn’t enough to just kill her—I had to erase her completely, turn her into something unrecognizable.

As I stood over the mutilated body, I couldn’t help but think about David. His death had been quick, almost merciful. It didn’t seem fair, considering the fate I had just dealt this poor girl. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on fairness. David’s father would demand an autopsy for his son, but the clone? She was nothing, no one would question her disappearance.

"This is for the sake of the good I will do for this world," I muttered to myself, as if trying to justify the horrors I had just committed.

I used my telekinesis to explode the clone’s chest, her blood splattering across the room in a macabre display. The story I would tell was simple: it had been an assassination attempt on the KCU director, one that I had tragically been unable to prevent. But I had exacted a cruel and fitting punishment on the assassin.

The headlines practically wrote themselves: Supervillain Swift Sword Infiltrates KCU, Assassinated by a Grudge-Filled Competitor!

“It was perfect.”

The lacerations on the clone’s body might raise questions, but I could spin it. I would reveal David’s secret identity as Swift Sword and paint him as the villain. The headlines would scream of his betrayal, of how he had infiltrated the KCU only to meet a gruesome end at the hands of a vengeful competitor.

And why stop there? "While at it," I said with a cold smile, "I might as well take the title of director for myself."

As I walked out of the blood-soaked room, leaving the carnage behind, I felt nothing but a twisted sense of satisfaction. The world would see me as a hero, the one who had stopped a dangerous villain. But deep down, I knew the truth. The darkness within me was growing, and I wasn’t sure if I could—or even wanted to—stop it.

Unfortunately for me, I’d come to know at a later time that there was no growing darkness at all: just pitch-black suffering.