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DATE:10th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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Alice said she had to leave for a few days to find some materials for her job. I didn't question her, despite the sudden notification. It wasn't my business to. She left me the keys and struggled to make her baggage even if she was taking minimal things. I swear, this woman never matured.
At about 12 I got called from the League HQ.
The call had left me with a mix of emotions. On one hand, the news about the bonus for saving the managers was surprising—I didn't even know I was getting paid for being a hero. On the other hand, the mention of an "inquisitor" put a damper on the mood.
Apparently, I was being summoned to the HQ to discuss something related to UltraMan. They knew I was his cousin.
It wasn't entirely unexpected. If they had access to personal records through the neighborhood watches, they could piece things together easily.
Ah, I guess I never got to it. The metropolis is divided into districts, each overseen by a council. These councils are vestiges of the old medieval system, where they once wielded considerable power, answering only to the local count. Back then, they could legislate on almost anything except taxation.
Nowadays, they're mostly ceremonial, existing to handle bureaucratic tasks like collecting information for taxation. They receive a modest salary from the Unified Kingdom Administration in exchange. From what I've heard, most council members treat the role as a side job.
But for this situation, I doubted they needed to bother the local council. When I registered as a hero with the association, I gave them plenty of personal data. They probably cross-referenced it with what they already had.
Still, the mention of UltraMan unsettled me. Why bring it up now? And what did this inquisitor want from me?
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be pleasant. It never was with people like that.
I took the bus to the HQ, staring out the window as the city rushed by. Arriving at the building, I couldn't help but feel the monotony of its plain exterior, its unassuming office design hiding the real operations below. After changing in one of the empty rooms, I made my way downstairs to where the real work happened.
The atmosphere changed instantly—strong lighting, cool air, and a faint hum of distant machinery. I was directed to the meeting room, the same one I'd stood in not long ago to present the results of the raid on the Donn's compound.
When I entered, I stopped short.
Standing at the central desk was... a child? No—on second glance, something about her seemed off, like she didn't belong. She was short, no taller than a middle schooler, with vivid pink hair tied into a massive bow that seemed disproportionate to her small frame. She wore a suit, the formal attire looking almost comical on her.
What really threw me off were her eyes. They sparkled unnaturally, reflecting the light like polished candy rather than functioning human pupils. It was unsettling.
She looked up at me as I stepped inside, a faint smile on her face. Despite her appearance, there was an air of authority about her, as though she were perfectly in her element despite how out of place she seemed.
"Take a seat," she said, her voice soft but with an edge of command that made it clear she wasn't to be underestimated.
Before I even got close, a sudden flash of light erupted from her, making me instinctively take a step back. Her plain suit transformed into an extravagant, overly pompous dress, dripping with pink and gold accents. In her hand now was a wand, equally garish, adorned with intricate gold patterns and a sparkling gem at its center. A bow, even larger than the one before, now crowned her head.
For a moment, I thought she was about to attack me, but her startled expression told a different story. She stared down at the wand in her hand, visibly annoyed.
"Stop that!" she snapped, glaring at the object like it was a misbehaving child.
The wand glimmered faintly, as though responding, though I couldn't hear anything. She, however, continued to talk to it, her tone switching between scolding and pleading. It was a strange scene, almost comical, but unnerving at the same time.
Watching her argue with what was essentially a glorified stick, I wondered if this is what I looked like when I talked with Emily. No, I decided. At least I was talking to a phone, a device people could recognize. This... this was on another level entirely.
After a brief back-and-forth, she turned back to me. "You're not dangerous, right? Right?" she asked, half to me, half to the wand.
I raised an eyebrow but didn't answer.
She sighed and turned to the wand. "See? He's harmless. Now stop."
She then walked closer and, before I could react, gestured toward my mask. "Take it off," she ordered.
Reluctantly, I complied, removing it and revealing my face. She studied me for a moment, then held me up like some kind of specimen to the wand.
"There," she said. "See? A perfectly normal human face."
The wand flashed again, and just like that, her extravagant dress melted away, reforming into the formal suit she'd been wearing earlier.
"Finally," she muttered, clearly exasperated.
I took the chance to sit down, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. This was going to be an interesting meeting.
She adjusted her bow, now back in her suit, and gave an awkward chuckle. "Sorry about that. The spirit that grants me my powers thought you were... well, undead."
I leaned back in my chair, watching her carefully. "Undead, huh?"
"But don't worry!" she quickly added, holding her hands up in defense. "I'm absolutely sure you're not a zombie!"
I smirked slightly but didn't respond immediately. Her spirit might not be entirely wrong, but I wasn't about to get into that. Instead, I shrugged and played it off. "I guess I do look unnaturally young for my age. Probably my ability messing with my metabolism or something."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if studying me further. "Right... speaking of which, your ability. You're able to stop time, correct?"
"Something like that," I confirmed, keeping it brief.
She nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer, and took a deep breath to regain her composure. "Okay, good. Let's get to business." She folded her hands on the table, her demeanor shifting to something more formal. "You were probably informed about why we're meeting today."
I shook my head slightly. "Not really. Something to do with UltraMan, I assume?"
"Exactly," she said, leaning forward slightly. "UltraMan. We need to talk about your connection to him."
She paused, a flash of sympathy crossing her face. "I'm sorry for your loss. But we've recently come to learn of a plot by Secundo Manus to recreate UltraMan's abilities."
I didn't correct her immediately. It wasn't entirely accurate, but I knew it would be better to let her think she was right. "I see," I said nonchalantly. "So, you're telling me that someone's trying to recreate his powers?"
"Yes," she confirmed, her tone growing more serious. "We can't let the public know about this. It would destabilize the world. The heroes can't be aware that someone's attempting to replicate those abilities."
She paused for a moment before looking at me earnestly. "I trust that you're a good person, and that's why I'm telling you about this. We need someone we can rely on to handle it."
I raised an eyebrow. "You trust me? Why's that?"
Her eyes softened as she smiled faintly. "Because you treated my older sister, Amiya, well. I heard how you treated her well. Ah, congradulations on moving in with Miss Alice, she is a wonderful person."
I was caught off guard. "Amiya? I didn't know she was related to you."
The inquisitor laughed softly, her gaze kind. "Yes, Amiya is my sister. I thought you'd notice the resemblance."
I nodded slowly, finally putting the pieces together. "I can see it now. You two look alike, especially with the pink hair."
She smiled at that, her tone a little lighter. "Yes, the pink hair. It's part of our family lineage. We've been... blessed in a way, though I don't often go into details about it."
I nodded, accepting her words. "I understand. Family traditions can be... complicated." Like how my family used to have a baptism in animal blood to become " empowered". Such a pagan absurdity. Wait, perhaps this is how my father has that level of strength in my dreams... Naah.
Then, I turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. "But, about this Secundo Manus thing... What do we do about it?"
Her expression grew more serious again. "That's why I'm telling you. We can't let this go unchecked. But for now, I just wanted you to be aware."
She sighed, her expression softening again as she spoke. "I'm sorry for having to investigate UltraMan's league, but we've had some really bad cases of corruption at a fundamental level. Some things have gotten out of hand." I couldn't help but think back to Blazer and the Crusader—both of them had been part of that mess, remnants of the same corrupted system.
I nodded in agreement. "I'm not sure why Kevin even let them in," I remarked, the memory still fresh in my mind. The league had become more of a tangled web of people with questionable intentions than a group of heroes.
She tilted her head, her eyes curious. "So why don't you try to become the new leader?" she asked, her voice genuine, almost as if she truly thought I could fill the position.
I paused, considering it for a moment before shaking my head. "I'm not really made for leadership. I don't do well with that kind of responsibility." The weight of leading a team wasn't something I desired. I'd learned the hard way that being in charge often meant making tough decisions, ones that could pull you away from what you cared about.
I raised an eyebrow, curiosity taking over. "So, how old are you then?" I asked, now genuinely intrigued.
Her face turned grim at the question, and I could see her hesitation. After a moment, she let out a soft sigh. "I'm actually a highschooler," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of something darker, something she didn't want to share. "But this," she pointed at her wand, "this blessing keeps me like this—keeps me younger. Unlike my older sister, transforming actually makes my whole body younger, not just parts."
I could sense the weight of her words, the frustration that came with something so powerful and yet, so isolating. "I'm sorry," I said, not sure what else to say, but feeling the need to pretend to acknowledge the burden she carried.
Seriously. Such a nice guy? The most I helped her sister with was picking her up from the floor. I guess this is what having someone close who knows her brings you.
She shook her head lightly, almost dismissing it. "You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault," she said softly. "I'm just... stuck in this state." I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
Her eyes met mine with a look that almost seemed to understand me more than I expected. "You seem to have the same issue," she said, her voice gentle. "Does your condition just slow your aging, or is it something else?"
I thought about it for a moment. The truth was, I didn't really know how it worked. I had no answers, only theories. "I don't really know how it works," I admitted, shrugging. "I just... I've been this way for as long as I can remember. It's like time moves differently for me." No, that was a lie. At the very least I know something very wrong happened when I was 28. Since then I haven't aged. But what happened back then? My memory is fuzzy.
She nodded thoughtfully, processing my words. There was a quiet understanding between us—two people living with a gift, or perhaps a curse, that kept them from fully moving forward in life. What a joke. As if I could relate. For one, I am stuck to what some may say is the perfect time in life, when your body is at his strongest. Secondly, unlike me, she isn't stuck. She just has to not use her powers. But it's hard when you know you have them, right? To have the power to "do so much good", or whatever. I am sure this is how she thinks.
With that she let me go, saying I am probably busy. In actually I didn't have anything planned.
This unemployment lifestyle sure is strange.
I decided to meet my former partner from Ventia. A well a day as any to see Good old Barry. There were some things I needed to ask him.
His reputation as a mastermind of epidemic explosives made him infamous, and the fact that he was housed in the same prison Damos had broken out of was a testament to its reputation—and its flaws. Of course, that is an exhageration. The reason he was there was due to the explosives integrated into his skin. He would be far too dangerous to be kept in a normal prison so they decided to move him into the one designed for villains.
I found Sarah in her office and was surprised that she said it was possible to meet him.
She agreed to drive me to the facility herself since it was far outside the city. For identification purposes, we wore our superhero suits, a formality more than anything.
As we approached the prison, its defensive measures became apparent. A massive perimeter surrounded the facility, lined with mines meant to deter any ground escape or entry. The sole road leading in was heavily fortified, with sniper posts stationed every 200 meters, their long barrels gleaming ominously in the sun.
Between the perimeter and the prison itself were three armored checkpoints, each equipped with reinforced gates and layers of security. Soldiers with Ventium infused rifles and monitoring equipment patrolled the area, their movements precise and rehearsed.
Despite the overwhelming show of force, the setup felt almost futile. I remarked on this to Sarah, who nodded knowingly.
"All of this," she said, gesturing to the layers of security, "is only useful against villains bound by the rules of physics. Those who can fly over the minefields or teleport past the snipers? They're either kept deep underground or incapacitated with sedatives."
She paused, her hands tightening on the wheel. "Even then, it's not foolproof. Damos was proof of that."
I glanced at the minefields, imagining the chaos someone like Damos could unleash.
And that's the thing—this wasn't some kind of rehabilitation or re-education center. It wasn't a place where prisoners served sentences with the hope of eventual reintegration. This facility wasn't built for justice; it was built for containment.
The officer didn't need to explain it in detail—I could see it all too clearly. This was a place for society's industrial waste, a dump for the irredeemable. Once someone was admitted here, the likelihood of release was nearly nonexistent.
The conditions weren't designed for humanity or decency. The prisoners were confined to their cells, receiving two meals a day to minimize the risk of interaction or even the barest stimulation. The design was deliberate: the fewer things they had to interact with, the less chance they had to exploit their abilities.
These weren't ordinary criminals. This place housed the kind of people you didn't want to take chances with. The kind of people who, if given the smallest opportunity, could turn a teaspoon into a weapon or use a single conversation to spark chaos.
And while the officer avoided discussing the harsher details, I could read between the lines. This organization wouldn't hesitate to inflict the unthinkable if it was deemed necessary. They would rob someone of sleep for life, starve them to the brink of death, or break them in unimaginable ways if it meant neutralizing a threat.
The food they served here was undoubtedly the bare minimum needed to keep the inmates alive—just enough calories to sustain life, nothing more. Mercy had no place in this fortress, not for those confined within its walls.
It wasn't just because the administration lacked oversight, though that certainly helped. The reality was that to even get admitted to a place like this, you had to be considered a monster. Society had decided these people weren't worth saving.
I learned that, in the past, it was standard protocol to simply execute villains of this caliber. But someone—maybe some distant bureaucrat with a clipboard or a scientist with a hunger for discovery—decided they were more useful alive.
Research, the officer had said. That was why they kept them here. Not to serve time, but to be studied like specimens under glass. And from the grim silence that hung in the air, I knew the line between villain and victim blurred in a place like this.
And now that I think about it, I do recall hearing about the "13th's." These regiments with numbers adding to 13 carry a peculiar reputation. They're often referred to as "black regiments" because they're either controlled by the harshest generals or forged in the harshest conditions. They're not regular units; their legacies are etched in brutality, discipline, and sacrifice.
It makes sense, then, that a regiment like that would end up running a place like this.
Still, I asked the officer something that had been bothering me. "How come a whole regiment is assigned to run this one facility? It's not that large compared to the scale of other military operations."
He raised an eyebrow, perhaps slightly amused by the question. "This facility is only one of several operated by the Wardens," he explained. "The regiment was restructured as a garrison force years ago. They're no longer used for offensive campaigns like they were in the past. Their purpose now is containment, oversight, and security."
He paused for a moment, as if weighing how much more to share, before continuing. "The Wardens used to be part of the 66th Regiment. Back then, the 66th was specialized in siege warfare. They played a major role in conquering Balvere Fortress—this very place. But they suffered heavy losses during the campaign."
I could almost picture it: the endless grind of a siege, soldiers clawing for every inch of ground, bodies piling up against the fortress walls.
"After the fortress was taken," he said, "the remnants of the 66th were reassigned here, to manage what they'd fought so hard to capture. In a way, it was poetic—or maybe just practical."
I nodded, though I couldn't shake the grim irony of it. Soldiers trained to break strongholds now spent their days maintaining one. A garrison regiment born from siege specialists, now the jailers of the most dangerous people in existence.
He brought us down and into the clearance 5 section. He said clearance 5 wasn't exactly more dangerous than 3 as they don't make a distinction between henchmen and leaders, but that inmates in clearance 5 required special cells due to their abilities.
We aren't given a tour for this part, the officer guides us straight to Barryvard.
He was right. The cells here consist mostly of a glass panel or some other material for observing the inmate and a mostly empty room. The few I could see were of human-animal hybrids that were chained down and a guy in a full restraining suit.
he said 'this is the place. '
As I stepped closer to the reinforced glass, Barryvard leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting with curiosity. He smiled, his thick mustache twitching as he examined me.
"Ah, Zaun," he said, his voice slightly distorted through the speakers. "Or should I say, Will? To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"I have questions," I replied, keeping my tone firm. "What do you know about UltraMan?"
Barryvard tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "UltraMan? Can't say I've heard of him. A new hero? Or maybe some grand experiment of Secundo's?"
I studied his expression carefully. If he was lying, he wasn't giving anything away. Was he playing dumb or did he really not know the most famous hero in the world? Whatever. It was clear he wouldn't talk about it and I had a short time to discuss.
"Take off the mask," he suddenly said, leaning closer to the panel. "Let me see your face."
I hesitated but complied, pulling off the mask and staring back at him. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing with intrigue.
"Well, well," he said, stroking his mustache. "You don't look a day older than when we first met. Tell me, Will, why don't you age?"
"I don't know," I admitted flatly. I also wanted to know that.
He chuckled, the sound distorted but no less mocking. "Fascinating. Secundo Manus would've loved to get his hands on you. You know, he was obsessed with evolution—the idea of pushing humanity to its peak. The Balmundi Syndicate liked his vision, too, though not everyone was a fan. The Donn personally objected, thought it was a pompous fantasy. Said the Syndicate had no business playing god."
Barryvard smirked, leaning back slightly. "But then again, The Donn was always a bit full of himself. He thought his little arms empire would keep him relevant forever. How short-sighted."
I crossed my arms, ignoring the jab. "What about the Balmundi Syndicate? Are they still supporting Secundo?"
Barryvard's smile widened. "Oh, they're up to their own experiments these days. Do you remember the mining we did in the Southern Deserts for Ventium?"
The memory surfaced instantly—the heat, the endless dunes, the grueling work. "I remember."
He chuckled darkly. "Well, they're trying to infuse the crystals into humans now. Can you imagine that? Ventium coursing through someone's veins." He threw his head back, laughing maniacally. "Who knows? Maybe they'll create their own superheroes. Or monsters."
" But keep in mind I'm only telling you this because you're one of us, even if you want to play 'independent'." Okay, that hurt a little.
His laughter echoed in the room, grating against my nerves. I took a step closer to the glass, cutting through his amusement.
"And the bombs in your skin?" I asked sharply. "Who put them there?"
Barryvard's laughter subsided, and he gave me a sly grin. "Ah, those. A little gift from a researcher called Biz. Cost me quite a fortune, but worth every penny. The man was a genius, though a bit... unhinged. He claimed he could make anything into a weapon. Guess he proved himself right."
I clenched my fists, piecing together the fragments of information. Barryvard was as maddening as ever, but he always had a way of providing just enough to deepen the mystery.
"Time's up," the officer called from behind.
Barryvard stepped back, giving me one last mocking salute. "Good luck, Will. I have a feeling you'll need it."
I turned away, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Whatever the Balmundi Syndicate and Secundo Manus were planning, it was far worse than I had imagined.
I just wanted to retire in peace!
Haah. Wasting time like this won't do me any good. I left the facility with Sarah. She didn't try to pry at what I have discussed, but saw how serious I was.
I thanked her for driving me and entered the tower, still in my suit.
Back at Alice's apartment I made some more pan popcorn and for once she wasn't here to steal them.
I admit, it was strange to be alone in her apartment. Well, as alone as you can be considering I still have Emily talking through the earpiece.
She started discussing about strange things, weirdly human, like what movie I liked or opinions on books. Was she evolving? I don't think internet access is good for her.
Ultimately, no matter what activists would want to say, she is just a chip. She doesn't have a body and by that notion can't be human. The only place you can say she truly feels is in my dreams who also strangely didn't happen in a while. I suppose my wife still expects that final duel. I for one almost forgot.
As for Emily, I say she doesn't have a body, but at this point the professor could make a whole drone in her image and I wouldn't be surprised. His more advanced androids have human-like skin and personalities....
As I always say, a problem for another time.
That night I went to sleep quite late.-*-*-*-*-*