-
-
DATE:6th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
-------------------------------------------------
-
-
That isn't something I want to do again.
I weakly raised myself and went to the bathroom. The light was weak, but it was just enough to see my figure in the mirror.
I haven't aged it a long time. I told myself that it was the skincare routine, but that is obviously bullocks. I am almost forthy yet I look the same age as that girl that only finished college since a couple of years. That isn't normal.
Being disconnected from reality because of trauma? Sure, I can believe that, but not something like this.
I stood before the mirror, the dim light casting an unsettling glow that only deepened the shadows on my face. As I peered into the glass, I was met with a visage that should have betrayed the weight of my years—a face that should have echoed the toll of nearly forty years of life. Yet there I stood, as if time had chosen to pass me by, leaving me untouched.
I looked exactly like I did fifteen years ago, the day I ended her life. My skin was smooth and unblemished, devoid of the lines that typically creased the faces of men my age. It was unnaturally flawless, as though it were the skin of a perfectly chiseled statue rather than a living being. The soft glow of youth clung to my features like a veil, rendering me a grotesque paradox—a thirty-something man trapped in the body of a boy.
My hair was still dark and thick, tousled in a way that seemed effortlessly stylish, while those who shared my age had long since surrendered to thinning or gray. The way it fell across my forehead gave me an air of youthful charm that was utterly disconcerting against the backdrop of my internal decay.
My eyes—oh, those eyes—were startlingly bright and full of a life that belied my history. They sparkled with a depth that seemed almost innocent, yet within their cerulean depths, a storm raged. I was painfully aware that I bore no traces of the sorrow and regret that had shaped my soul; it was as if my face were a mask, perfectly crafted to hide the horrors of my past.
Even my mouth, shaped in a gentle curve, spoke of warmth and compassion—qualities that had long since evaporated from my being. When I parted my lips, they remained full and youthful, not betraying the anguish I felt. I could easily pass for a teenager, fresh and eager to face the world, instead of a man haunted by the shadows of his past.
As I turned to assess my body, I couldn't help but marvel at how well-defined my muscles were, honed from years of discipline and conflict. My physique was athletic, the product of countless hours spent training and preparing for violence. The tautness of my skin only added to the illusion of youth, making me look like a soldier just emerging from boot camp rather than a man on the brink of middle age. I am sure that people like Barryvard are just now starting to crank from age, but I am as nimble as I have ever been.
But the most terrifying aspect of it all was the realization that I was an imposter in my own skin, a cruel joke played by fate. The more I looked, the more I felt like a ghost—one who had long since died but remained locked in a physical form that wouldn't betray the truth. I was a perfectly sculpted figure of a man, yet I felt utterly hollow.
In that dim light, I was not just a man; I was a reflection of denial, an eternal reminder of the life I had destroyed. Time had no power over me, or perhaps the opposite, but in that stillness, I understood that it was not youth I had been granted—it was a curse, a relentless reminder of the horror that awaits me each time I don't dare to look away.
I take a coat and some pants I stashed away to not wake up Alice in situations like this and go for a walk.
I should probably call the changeling...
The night was thick with silence as I stepped out into the empty streets, the faint hum of streetlights above casting pale glows across the concrete. I'd thought the cold air might help clear my head, but every breath only stirred up memories of the night's events. It all churned in my mind, clinging and relentless, sleep nowhere in sight.
It was late—nearing 2AM—but she picked up on the second ring, her voice sharp and alert as always. Yet even in her practiced calm, I caught something just beneath it, a faint tremor trying to mask a deeper wound. She was trying too hard to sound upbeat.
"Should I be flattered you thought of me in the dead of night?" she teased, a practiced flirtation that didn't quite reach her usual charm. It felt flat, almost hollow.
"Sophie… are you alright?"
A pause. Then, in a voice that was a shade too casual, she replied, "I'm fine. You know how it is—people don't sleep well these days." But I knew her too well, knew the slight catch in her tone meant something else.
I didn't press, just shifted the conversation. "We took down Biz," I said. "One less monster in the world. And one step closer to taking down the Donn."
For a moment, the line went quiet, the silence punctuated only by a shaky exhale. Then she laughed, a bitter, shaky sound. "The Donn, huh? I'll drink to that." But it was clear the mention of his name had hit something raw, dredging up the pain of what he'd done to her, to her family.
"Sophie…" I started, but the words seemed small, almost ridiculous in the face of all I felt. She'd known loss as well as I had, but the Donn had carved his mark on her in ways that ran deeper than just scars. I'd say she was just weak though.
"You remember what he always used to say?" she murmured, her voice turning to something colder, a hint of fury beneath it. "That power is what makes the world turn, and he'd be the last man standing in it."
I clenched my jaw. I'd heard that line enough times to hate it as much as she did, but it didn't haunt me. I have enough ghosts as is.
"We'll get there, Sophie," I promised, my voice firm. "We're closer than we've ever been. Biz was part of his network. That's one less obstacle."
"Guess that makes us lucky." She sniffed, but I could tell she was fighting tears again. "Or maybe it's just a matter of time before it's our turn."
I paused, glancing up at the sky, the stars barely visible against the dim glow of the city. "If we're going down, I'll bail out."
She was silent for a moment, then her voice softened. "Yeah, just like before." There was a smile in her words, the briefest spark of something real and warm cutting through the pain. Did she find it comical? I was serious.
After a moment, she cleared her throat, back to her usual banter. "Now, get some sleep, hero. Can't have you sounding all mopey next time we talk."
I chuckled, the first genuine sound to break through the heavy night. "I think you need more sleep than me." What? Did she mock me?
"Right" she whispered, her voice so soft it felt like a distant memory.
I stood in the stillness long after the call ended, letting the silence settle over me, knowing that the night had just grown a little colder.
Afterwards I went to the closest Matthew's and bought a Salvia extract. A psychoactive drug.
It would do me no good to keep awake.
This essence was supposed to be sprayed into cigarettes so I bought a pack and returned to Alice's balcony to smoke a few.
It didn't take long before I started getting the effects so I sat on the couch and waited to get knocked out.
Perhaps it was a mistake, because I only felt more conscious. I did use a dose thrice the recommended one...
The walls of the slick room were spiraling around me.
The ghosts wouldn't leave me alone. They trailed me, clinging like shadows burned into my skin, haunting me with every step. Every corner I turned, every quiet moment—there they were. Faces, memories, mistakes—each one pricking at my mind, breathing down my neck, whispering things I didn't want to hear.
The frustration roared up, scratching at the inside of my skull until I couldn't take it anymore. Power surged through me, raw and seething, thrumming in my veins like it was waiting, begging, to be unleashed. It felt… familiar somehow, like what I'd heard about UltraMan's strength, but twisted, something born from anger instead of heroism. I clenched my fists, letting that energy coil tighter and tighter until it poured out, spilling through me, vibrating in my bones.
I chased the ghosts, following their shadows as they led me through some warped, shifting place. It wasn't real, couldn't be real, but it wrapped around me like a sickly, distorted city rising out of the darkness. The streets stretched and twisted like they were alive, buildings looming, faceless, towering high and threatening to close in. It felt like every city I'd ever set foot in, pieces stitched together in some twisted, impossible puzzle.
And then I heard it—the screams.
At first, it was just a faint sound, distant. But it grew, louder and sharper, until it was all I could hear. They were unmistakable—panicked, pleading, rising in pitch until they seemed to echo off every street corner, every twisted alleyway. My heart thudded in my chest, pounding harder with every scream. I kept moving forward, the power flaring in me, rippling out with every step I took. It was like something had snapped, and I couldn't pull it back, couldn't rein it in. I watched my hands slice through walls, the streets crumbling beneath my feet.
I told myself it wasn't real, just some trick from the drug warping my senses. But those screams… they sounded so real, so agonizingly human. Desperate voices calling my name, begging for mercy. Each one clawed at me, pulling me deeper into the chaos, merging my own memories with this twisted vision until I could barely tell one from the other.
And then a thought slipped in, cold and sharp, curling around my mind like a vice: Is this who I am now?
Fuck. I woke up with a searing migraine at about 11AM. I spent the rest of the day trying to stop it.
-
-
DATE:7th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
-------------------------------------------------
-
-
SuperiorWoman called us to HQ to discuss what happened with Biz. Alice and I arrived at HQ, walking into a room far more crowded than I'd expected. There were faces I recognized as the Legion's elite—heroes with reputations, people who'd stood in UltraMan's shadow back when he was still around. At the center of the room stood SuperiorWoman, her expression firm and almost regal, like this was some kind of coronation.
She gave us a quick nod and motioned for us to take seats. Once we were settled, she began detailing the events of the previous day's operation, laying out our victory over Biz with calculated efficiency. I glanced around the room, catching a few nods of approval from the others. This was no small task. Biz had been a threat for a long time, and it felt like this operation had elevated our status in their eyes.
But I couldn't shake the lingering frustration gnawing at me, and I felt it boiling up, unrestrained by any sense of caution or decorum. Without raising my hand, I cut in, my voice slicing through her report, blunt and unfiltered. "So, how did you manage to lose to Biz?"
A cold silence fell over the room, heavy and immediate. All eyes turned toward me, some wide with shock, others narrowing with barely concealed disdain. SuperiorWoman's expression froze, but there was something darker in her eyes now, a glint of anger just barely restrained.
I didn't back down, even though I knew I'd broken some unspoken rule. My mind churned, questioning everything. This was supposed to be the leader of the Legion? Someone strong enough to fill UltraMan's shoes, to carry on his legacy? But here she was, just his cousin by blood, standing in his place, failing when it mattered. I would be shocked if her ego hadn't been hurt considering she has been in this business for 7 years at the very least and this technically my 2 month.
In my head, the thought simmered like an accusation: Filling her dead cousin's shoes takes more than just sharing his blood.
SuperiorWoman's voice was tight as she responded, her tone controlled but icy. "There are things about that encounter you weren't briefed on. Biz had the advantage, not just with his tech but because he knew we'd come." She paused, glancing around the room as though daring anyone to question her further. "It's easy to question decisions after the fact, Aionis. Perhaps next time, you'll consider the whole picture before you make assumptions."
She turned back to the others, dismissing me as though I hadn't even spoken, but I could feel the shift in the room. Her authority had cracked, just a bit, and a quiet doubt had settled in. I am sure of it. And this is without them knowing I "am" also UltraMan cousin. How embarrassed SuperiorLoser!
As the room emptied and the other heroes filed out, I stayed behind as SuperiorWoman had instructed. Part of me had braced for a lecture after my outburst, a public scolding for daring to question her leadership. But as soon as we were alone, she looked at me with something far different from anger. Instead, she seemed almost... cautious. Wary, maybe.
She stepped forward, studying me carefully, but her voice was surprisingly soft. "You know, I'm not here to reprimand you. I couldn't, even if I wanted to. They don't know it, but you're as much family to Kevin as I am." She said this with a strange twist to her expression, like she wasn't sure if that connection made things better or worse.
"Kevin's funeral was the first time I heard he was a hero." I replied, crossing my arms. "So, whatever my ties to him are, they're ancient history to me. The only thing they mean is that I have to watch others try to fill his shoes."
SuperiorWoman pursed her lips, but she didn't push. Instead, she shifted the topic. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Alice. I know she's been... keeping you over at her place, but hearing that you two are now a couple took me by surprise. She's ten years younger than you, and I just assumed—" She cut herself off, hesitating.
"Assumed what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "That I'd take issue with her being Kevin's old apprentice? Or with her being younger?" My tone was sharper than I intended, but I didn't care to soften it. "None of that matters. I met Alice at his funeral, not in some training session. And, for the record, she's the one who kept pestering me back when we both did that teaching stint at Zenik. I kept my distance until she made it clear she wasn't about to."
SuperiorWoman's expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty mingling with curiosity. "I guess I'd just thought it would be different for you, that's all."
I shrugged. "We don't get to pick who we're drawn to." She looked away, digesting my words, and I could feel her reevaluating whatever assumptions she'd made about me, about Alice, maybe about herself.
"Just remember," she said finally, "she's one of ours. She's been through a lot, and we both know this line of work doesn't get easier." She looked back at me, the commanding tone back in her voice. "I don't want her hurt."
The corner of my mouth lifted in a faint smile. "Understood." But as she turned to leave, I wondered if she knew the irony of her own words. In this life, hurt was almost a given.
Ah, this was about how Carter Jr. was a traveling vagabond for most of his life. I do get what she meant, Alice would get broken if I were to suddenly leave her. But is she really serious? As if I would agree to have such a dangerous person searching for me.
At the very least this woman was aware of my real age. Not the best circumstances, I admit, but I am tired of being treated like some eternal rookie.
After much insistence, SuperiorWoman finally agreed to let me talk to Biz alone. She didn't like it—her glare said as much—but she couldn't stop me. So, I left with Alice, heading down several city blocks to one of the Legion's high-security prisons. This one was a little-known, sterile bunker beneath street level, reserved for only the worst offenders—the ones who were more dangerous to themselves than to anyone else if left alone too long.
We passed through the layers of guards and security checks, each one more invasive than the last. Finally, we reached his cell. The walls were the color of bleached bone, and every surface was designed so there was no chance of him finding anything sharp or hard enough to use against himself. In that blank, clinical setting, even the air felt sanitized.
The doctor was out of his hazmat suit, stripped down to a simple gray prison jumpsuit with a breathing mask strapped over his nose and mouth, hissing quietly as it regulated his airflow. He was seated in a metal wheelchair bolted to the floor, his hands and feet shackled. Without the layers of bulky gear and tubes snaking around him, he looked smaller, shrunken, almost frail—but the gleam in his eye hadn't dulled a bit. If anything, the absence of his protective suit only made his intensity more unsettling.
Alice hovered behind me, reluctant but watchful, her gaze fixed on Biz. He glanced at her only once, dismissing her like an afterthought, before his attention snapped back to me.
"Ah," he murmured, voice muffled behind the mask, yet somehow managing to sound mocking. "The cousin of Kevin Hart. Tell me, is this a family visit?"
I crossed my arms, taking my time before speaking. "I'm not here to play games, Biz. I want answers."
He chuckled, a wheezing sound from behind the mask. "Isn't that why you all came to me in the first place? Tell me, what knowledge did you come looking for? Was it the secrets of flesh and steel? Or maybe…" His gaze flicked to Alice, lingering for a moment before drifting back. "...a question of survival?"
I clenched my fists, holding back the impulse to snap back. "I came to understand why. You had a chance to use your tech to make things better. Instead, you created...those things. The 'abominations,' as you so proudly called them. Why?"
His eyes narrowed, a gleam of something twisted and hungry lurking behind them. "You think it's that simple? That I could have made a utopia with a snap of my fingers? You're as naive as Kevin was." He coughed, his breath rattling through the mask. "What you call 'abominations,' I call evolution. Humanity has been stuck in the mud for too long, limited by fragile bodies and soft minds. I was giving them a chance to be… more."
I leaned in closer, my voice cold. "And how many lives did you ruin in the process? How many people did you butcher just to make a point?"
He shrugged, a thin smile creeping onto his face. "Every breakthrough requires sacrifice. Isn't that what they tell you heroes, too? That 'the greater good' demands it?" His gaze bored into me, unyielding. "Tell me, have you ever questioned how many lives Kevin sacrificed in his time? Or does your family get a free pass?"
I could feel the anger bubbling up, but I kept my expression controlled. "Kevin was nothing like you."
He laughed again, dry and rasping. "Believe what you want. It's easier that way." He glanced at Alice again, curiosity mingling with disdain. "And you, apprentice of the great UltraMan... Are you here to finish what your master couldn't?"
Alice said nothing, her silence cold and resolute. I couldn't tell what she was feeling, but I could sense her tension beside me, the unspoken hatred burning under her quiet exterior.
I stepped between her and Biz, lowering my voice. "Enjoy your cell, doctor. Because whatever you think you accomplished, it ends here. No more experiments, no more twisted games."
As I turned to leave, I heard him call after me, his tone laced with a chilling satisfaction. "You can lock me away, but you'll never bury the truth. When the world crumbles, remember this moment. Remember that you walked away."
Alice and I left his cell without another word, but his laughter followed us, echoing down the sterile corridor like a haunting reminder that, for all his twisted beliefs, Biz had never truly been defeated. Whatever.
After stepping away from Alice, I paused at the corner of the dimly lit corridor, listening for any sign that the guards were watching. Satisfied that I had a moment alone, I turned back toward Biz's cell, my heart pounding with a mix of determination and anger.
I approached the heavy door and stepped inside, feeling the sterile chill of the room wash over me. Biz looked up, his eyes glimmering with mock surprise. "Back so soon? Have you reconsidered my offer of philosophical discourse on the nature of heroism?"
I didn't respond. Instead, I reached up and covered the small camera mounted in the corner of the cell. The cold metal felt unforgiving against my fingertips, a reminder of the prison that surrounded us. I turned to face him, my demeanor now as icy as the walls around us.
"I'm not here for games, Biz. I want to know about the Donn."
His smile faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "The Donn? Such a curious topic. What could you possibly want to know about—"
"Cut the crap," I interrupted, my voice low and sharp. "I know you're involved in arms dealing, and I know you've worked with him. Where is he?"
His expression shifted, amusement replaced by cautious calculation. "And if I refuse to answer? What will you do, hero? Threaten me with the same pain I've inflicted upon others?"
I stepped closer, feeling the heat of my anger boil beneath the surface. "I can make you wish you were back in that hazmat suit. I've seen things that would haunt you even in your dreams. Now, tell me where I can find him, or I swear—"
He met my gaze without flinching, but I could see the calculation in his eyes. "You think you can break me? I'm made of tougher stuff than that. But very well," he said, leaning forward in his chair, the mask hissing as he spoke. "If you're so desperate for information, I'll share what I know about the Donn's operations."
I held my breath, waiting for the details. "He has a facility—an underground arms center—where he conducts his dealings. It's not one of his main Maizo Commerce hubs, though. Just a simple warehouse where he's been picking up supplies from the likes of me."
I pressed him further, "Where is it?"
He hesitated, clearly weighing his options. "It's in the industrial district, buried deep beneath the surface. I can't give you an exact address, but you'll know it when you see it. Just look for the old shipping containers—the ones he uses for... shall we say, 'discreet deliveries.'"
I nodded, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on me. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"
His expression twisted with amusement again, but it was tinged with something darker. "Oh, dear cousin of UltraMan, you don't. But what choice do you have? Either you take my word for it, or you go back empty-handed and wonder what could have been."
I turned to leave, my patience wearing thin. "I don't have time for your games, Biz. If this leads to a dead end, I'll come back, and next time, you won't have the luxury of a cozy cell."
As I stepped back into the corridor, I felt the weight of the information press down on me. I had what I needed, but I also had the nagging feeling that this wouldn't be the last time I'd encounter Biz or his twisted machinations. I stepped away from the cell, ready to regroup with Alice and figure out our next move.
But how did he know I " was" UltraMan's cousin? Something doesn't add up...