The airport was just across the bridge.


    Nate peeked out the window. Tried to read the signs. No use. The text blurred—like every named thing in this city. Some weird simulation effect.


    Didn’t matter. He didn’t need signs to find his way.


    It was over anyway.


    He exhaled. Stretched his legs. Let himself sink into the seat.


    The fatigue crept in. That surge of stamina? Fading. Muscles felt heavier. Limbs duller.


    Good. Meant it was real enough.


    He laid his head back. Closed his eyes. Let the hum of the engine rock him toward sleep.


    Then—Vega.


    “So, Nathan,” her voice cooed. Smooth. Gentle. Like she didn’t want to wake him.


    “Tried all your skills?”


    He shifted. Found a better spot. Didn’t bother opening his eyes.


    “Yeah.”


    “What did you learn?”


    Nate let out a slow breath. “Well… a lot.”


    A pause.


    “My core skills depend on each other. Every skill has consequences. And, uh… I shouldn’t chew more than I can handle.”


    Vega’s voice stayed smooth. Curious. “Did you chew more than you can handle?”


    “Yeah…” He shook his head. Felt the dried blood still crusted under his nose. “Those skyscrapers. Too much.”


    Another breath. He could still feel the nail on his head.


    “I need to stop the damage before it starts,” he muttered. “That’s the only way to avoid this.”


    “And how will you do that?”


    Nate hesitated. Just for a second.


    Then exhaled.


    “…By going after Heroes. Villains. Proactively. Just like you said.”


    Now that he had a grip on his skills, he was confident. Damage Control? He could handle it. On a small scale, at least.


    But small scale wasn’t enough.


    He had to stop them before they spiraled. Before the damage grew beyond control.


    And that wasn’t going to happen by reacting.


    He had to act.


    “A good session you had then,” Vega said, pleased.


    “Yeah…”


    A faint smile tugged at Nate’s lips.


    Damage Control. Skill learning. All of that aside—he got to see his heroes up close.


    Even ran from one of them.


    That was probably as close to working together as he’d ever get. One of his boyhood dreams.


    Such a shame.


    No hero would ever come close to them.


    No hero would dare challenge his perception.


    No hero would restore his faith.


    “They’re a lost cause,” he scoffed.


    “Indeed they are,” Vega agreed. Then, a shift—bright, bubbly, almost cheerful.


    “But don’t start your day with a negative,” she chimed. “Think of all the ways you could now kill them.”


    Nate chuckled. Hell of a joke.


    “Anyway, time for you to wake up, sweetie,” Vega said.


    Too close. Right beside him.


    Nate’s eyes snapped open.


    No one there.


    But he felt it. A gaze. Heavy. Watching.


    His eyes flicked forward—met the driver’s in the mirror.


    A white sheen. Unblinking. Empty.


    His pulse spiked. “Vega…?”


    The man grinned. Too wide. Too stretched. Too human-but-not.


    Then—“GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!”


    He yanked the wheel. Hard.


    The car whipped sideways—tires screeching, metal groaning.


    Nate slammed into the door. “HEY, HEY—STOP!”


    The bridge. Too close. Too fast.


    He reached for the wheel—too late.


    Shatter!


    The windshield exploded. Wind roared.


    Falling.


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    Stomach lurching. Gravity yanking him down.


    Too fast. Too high.


    “Oh, fuck—FUCK—FUCK!”


    Cold air.


    Then—


    SPLASH!


    .


    .


    .


    Nate’s eyes snapped open.


    His heart thundered.


    His body moved before his brain caught up—he lurched out of bed.


    Feet tangled. Balance gone. Hit the floor—hard.


    Momentum sent him skidding across the cold surface.


    Breath ragged. Skin clammy.


    Where—?


    His hands pressed against the ground. Steadying. Feeling.


    Not water. Not the car.


    A room. His room.


    Not drowning.


    Not dead.


    Just awake.


    He was finally awake!


    Nate let out a shaky sigh. Relief flooded in, cold and weak.


    He lay there. Flat on the floor. Heart still pounding. Breath still uneven.


    Eyes on the ceiling, watching the scattered sun rays shift and flicker. Real light. Not the Sandbox.


    “It’s over…” The words slipped out before he could stop them.


    Then he grimaced.


    As much as he liked the painful skill testing, the satisfaction of restoration that made it worth it, and even the thrill of seeing his heroes up close in the Sandbox…


    He couldn’t shake one thing.


    Vega. She had too much control.


    Way too much.


    Like the whole damn place was just a toy in her hands. And so was he.


    “Don’t you dare do that again,” Nate warned, teeth gritted.


    “Not just that taxi. The whole Damage Control event.” His fingers curled into fists. “The Sandbox is in my head. I decide the scenario. Not you. Got that?”


    Silence.


    A second.


    Then—soft, low. Almost… sad.


    “Of course, Nathan,” Vega murmured.


    A pang of guilt hit. Sharp. Unwanted.


    No.


    Nate ignored it. Nope. Not playing that game.


    It was morning. He had better things to do.


    .


    .


    .


    The clock struck 09:32. An hour to his shift.


    Nate flipped the planbook shut.


    Got up. Opened the closet. Pulled out the bag.


    Slid the diary inside. But—it didn’t sit right.


    Something blocked it.


    He frowned, checked—his fingers brushed against something solid. Glass.


    A small framed photo.


    He pulled it out. Old. Worn.


    From when he was seven. Maybe eight.


    Nate smiled. Ran a hand over their faces.


    Ell—still a toddler—grinning. Mom—adjusting her stance, caught mid-movement. Him—pointing at the camera, caught mid-laugh. And Dad. The only one actually posing.


    He really was the only one who took photos seriously, wasn’t he?


    Well… it was his passion.


    A passion snuffed out before it could fully blossom.


    The smile on Nate’s lips vanished.


    His chest tightened.


    He flipped the photo back. Slid it into the bag, right beside the diary.


    Zipped it. Tucked it into the closet.


    Thud!


    He slammed the door shut.


    The sound echoed. Sharp. Final.


    He turned away—


    Then froze.


    His brows furrowed.


    Why did I do that?


    The answer was obvious.


    He didn’t want to look at the photo and… regret.


    He had promised. And yet, all these years later—nothing. No justice. No vengeance.


    He hated that feeling. Powerless. Helpless.


    But he wasn’t powerless anymore.


    He had the Damage Control System.


    He had the skills.


    And he would use them.


    Use it.


    He would slip past the Heroes.


    Outmaneuver the Villains.


    They would never find him.


    He would find them.


    Nate’s jaw clenched. His teeth ground together.


    Yeah.


    “Yeah!”


    He turned back.


    Ripped the closet open. Unzipped the bag. Pulled out the photo.


    Walked over to the desk.


    Placed it right beside the bed. Where he’d see it. Every. Single. Day.


    Where he’d look them in the eye.


    And tell them—


    No matter what…


    “I will avenge you!”


    * * *


    11:45 AM


    Damage Clean-up / Control Outpost - 7


    East Cintra


    Nate leaned back in his chair. Legs folded.


    Sipped his coffee.


    Bitter. Cheap. But hot.


    On the TV, the anchor droned on. The Impossible in Ward 13.


    A world sensation—just as he’d guessed.


    All the “respectable” people had something to say. Experts. Officials. Even the Hero Association.


    They were “investigating.”


    Nate smirked. “Yeah, sure they are.” It’s called “How do we trap and kill a guy to steal his system?”


    Footsteps.


    Loud. Clear.


    To his right.


    His body reacted before his mind did—perked up, turned.


    The door was still shut.


    He waited. And a few seconds later, the knob twisted.


    In stepped Gabe Newman. Tall. Broad.


    I sensed him. Nate couldn''t help but be impressed. Just two levels in, and he was already better than the mass populous.


    “Why are you grinning like that?” Gabe frowned.


    “Who? Me?” Nate pointed at himself, quickly wiping away the grin he hadn’t even realized was there. “No. No. I was just… lost in thought.”


    Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “What thought?”


    “Like… how I’m gonna buy that blue double-door smart platinum freeze with inverter—” Nate trailed off as Gabe’s frown darkened.


    “For ten grands,” he added.


    “Fuck off.” Gabe waved him off like an annoying fly, then dropped into the seat beside him.


    “Give the auction tale a rest, damn it. I’m not that stupid anymore.”


    “Sure, sure.” Nate raised a hand, all placating. “I mean, I’m the guy who bought a third-hand antique coffee maker for seven hundred dollars.”


    Gabe’s glare could’ve melted steel.


    Because he knew. He’d never prove he wasn’t stupid.


    Because he was.


    At least partially.


    But he’d die before admitting it.


    So he changed the subject.


    “Whatever. We’ve got nothing to shovel today. That’s what matters.”


    Like always.


    “Yup.” Nate nodded, letting it go. Pushing Gabe would only ruin his mood. No point in that.


    So, he boarded the new subject.


    “Thanks to some guy restoring Ward 13 back to new.” He gestured at the TV.


    “Not some guy,” Gabe corrected, eyes locked on the screen. “A hero.”


    Hero? That didn’t sit right with Nate.


    “Did you see him?” he asked, irritation seeping in.


    “What?” Gabe turned.


    “Did you see him? Asked him if he was a hero?” Nate clarified. “For all we know, he can be anything.”


    “Like what? Alien? Villain? And they wouldn’t save lives, restore damage, would they? It’s a Hero. It’s gotta be.” Gabe said, firm.


    And he had a point.


    Nate fit the criteria of a hero perfectly. Even the definition was on his side.


    But he would never stand with the likes of what the Association had.


    No. He would never be a hero.


    Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair.


    Gabe would never get it.


    Too absorbed by the media. The Association. He spent his hard-earned money on merch—a fucking T-shirt with the face of some rich asshole.


    The thought of wearing that alone gave Nate the creeps. How could people be this blind?


    “Whatever you say.” He waved him off. Then, under his breath—just low enough for Gabe’s bad ear to miss it— “Can’t argue with a moron.”


    Gabe, none the wiser, stayed glued to the screen.


    Boredom crept in.


    Nate tapped his fingers on the armrest. What do I do?


    His martial arts class wouldn’t start until 5. And that was a while away. Not that he could leave if he wanted.


    And with no damage since last night—just as Vega had predicted—there was nothing for him to do.


    “Call me if you need me,” Nate said, pushing up from his chair.


    Gabe grunted—half acknowledgment, half dismissal.


    Nate stepped outside. Fresh air was the goal.


    Yeah, right.


    Instead, he got a face full of smoke and rot, the kind of stench that settled in your lungs and made you want to gag. The city’s filth had a name—Ward 19.


    The poorest. The dirtiest. The most violent ward in the whole city.


    A villain hideout, some claimed. And the stench? A defense mechanism. Heroes didn’t come here—not because they were outmatched, but because they couldn’t breathe in it.


    And his outpost? Right beside it.


    That’s why nobody liked it here. Only those with no choice stayed.


    “Can’t stay inside. Can’t stay outside,” Nate grumbled. “Then what the fuck do I do?”


    He looked around, half in annoyance, half searching for something—anything—to break the monotony.


    Then, there.


    A high-rise apartment, its exterior chipped and stained, looking one good earthquake away from crumbling.


    But it wasn’t the building itself that caught his eye.


    It was the red signboard.


    Flickering. Bold.


    Couldn’t tell what it said from here, but it screamed sketchy.


    A casino? A front? A hideout?


    Didn’t the news the other day say actual villains were operating out of here?


    And didn’t he need to be proactive? To grow stronger. To unlock new skills.


    But… could he beat a Villain? At level 2?


    Nah. That was stupid.


    What else would he do then? Sit around? Waste time? No. Wasting time was worse than any risk.


    Nate tapped his foot. Then paced around. Restless.


    Risk vs. reward.


    Too much risk. Unknown reward. But stagnation? That was the bigger enemy.


    “Fuck it.”


    Weak ones—recent awakeners, petty thugs? He’d beat the shit out of them.


    Proper villains? Make a run for it.


    Yeah.


    He cracked his neck. His knuckles.


    Rolled his shoulders.


    “Let’s be proactive.”