The two men groaned as they sat against the side of their car, their weapons scattered on the pavement. The younger man, clutching his side where Tony had struck him, glanced at his companion, his face pale with shock.
"What the hell was that guy?" he muttered, his voice strained. "He took us out like it was nothing."
The older man, rubbing his wrist, scowled. "I don't know, but he's no regular civilian. Did you see how fast he moved? And that strength—he bent the barrel of my gun like it was aluminum."
The younger man nodded, fear flickering in his eyes. "You think he's... military? Or something else?"
The older man shook his head, his expression dark. "Whatever he is, we need to stay out of his way."
The wail of police sirens grew closer, and the two men exchanged a panicked look. Grunting, they stumbled to their feet and climbed back into their car, speeding off before the cops arrived.
Across the street, a teenager perched on the second-floor balcony of a nearby building had recorded the entire fight on their phone. The teenager, Daniel, stared at the screen, replaying the footage with wide eyes.
"Yo," he whispered to himself, "this dude is like the Matrix and John Wick rolled into one."
He didn't hesitate. With a few taps on his screen, he uploaded the video to his social media account, captioning it: "This guy just took out two armed dudes like it was nothing. WHO IS THIS???"
In a small dorm room lit by the blue glow of a laptop screen, Lisa reclined on her bed with a bowl of popcorn, scrolling through social media. Her roommate, Megan, was hunched over at her desk, studying for an upcoming chemistry exam.
"Hey, Megan," Lisa said, her voice laced with intrigue. "You gotta see this. Some dude just went full Jason Bourne in the middle of a street fight."
Megan sighed without turning around. "You know I don't have time for your TikTok rabbit holes."
Lisa hit play on the video, the faint sound of a gunshot crackling from her phone's speakers. "This isn't TikTok. This is like... real life—or at least somebody's idea of it."
Megan finally swiveled her chair around, annoyed but curious. "Fine. What is it?"
Lisa held up her phone. The video showed Tony dismantling the two armed men with inhuman speed and precision. Megan leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she watched.
"No way," Megan said, shaking her head. "That's CGI. Look at the way he moves—it's too smooth. Nobody dodges bullets like that."
Lisa snorted, replaying the video. "CGI? You think someone put this much effort into a random street fight clip?"
"Maybe it's viral marketing," Megan suggested, folding her arms. "Probably for some action movie or video game. Look at how the guy takes down that second dude. Totally staged."
Lisa smirked, scrolling through the comments. "You're not the only skeptic. Half the people here think it's fake. But I don't know—it feels... real. Like this guy actually did that."
Megan rolled her eyes and turned back to her notes. "Real or not, I've got a chem exam to pass. Let me know when you find proof of aliens, okay?"
At a quiet bar in downtown Los Angeles, a man in a worn leather jacket sat nursing a scotch. The video played on his phone screen, the faint hum of the bar's jazz music providing a surreal background to the footage.
He rewound the clip, his finger hovering over the screen as Tony sidestepped a bullet and disarmed the second attacker with surgical precision.
The bartender noticed his intense focus and wandered over, polishing a glass. "What's got you so hooked?"
The man set his phone on the bar, angling the screen toward the bartender. "Check this out. Guy takes down two armed thugs in under thirty seconds. Look at his moves—those aren't amateur."
The bartender squinted at the video, nodding slowly. "Yeah, that's some serious training. Military, maybe?"
"Definitely," the man said, rewinding the clip again. "But there's something else. Look at his speed. His precision. That's not just skill. That's... enhanced."
The bartender raised an eyebrow. "You think he's some kind of experiment?"
The man shrugged, leaning back in his stool. "I've seen a lot of things in my time. This guy? He's not regular. And if he's out there, I'd like to know what he's up to."
In a cluttered basement lit by flickering fluorescent lights, Ted, a conspiracy blogger, was live-streaming to his audience of dedicated followers. His desk was littered with papers, cables, and empty coffee cups. On his computer screen, Tony's fight played on a loop, the dramatic takedown of the two men captivating his viewers.
"Folks," Ted said, leaning into his webcam, his face animated, "what we're looking at here is proof—proof—that enhanced humans are among us. This guy isn't just some random hero. Look at the way he moves, the way he reacts. That's not training. That's something else."
The chat exploded with comments.
"It's fake, Ted. Chill."
"He's probably ex-military."
"Are we sure this isn't for a movie?"
Ted pointed at the chat with a dramatic flourish. "Fake? Really? You think some Hollywood studio has the time to drop a random clip like this with no context? Look at the frame-by-frame analysis!" He pulled up a slowed-down version of the video. "This guy's reflexes are beyond human. This isn't just skill—this is augmentation."
He zoomed in on Tony's face, though the low light in the original video made it difficult to see details. "Who is this man? And more importantly, who made him this way? Government experiments? Alien tech? I'll let you decide."
The chat lit up again:
"This dude's watched too much X-Files."
"Nah, Ted's onto something. Look at that speed!"
"I need a guy like that for my fantasy football team."
Ted grinned, spreading his arms wide. "Mock me all you want, folks. But you heard it here first—enhanced humans are real, and they're walking among us. Stay tuned for more updates as I dig into this mystery."
The video began circulating across platforms, garnering a mix of skepticism, admiration, and curiosity. Some dismissed it as an elaborate stunt, while others became obsessed with identifying the man in the clip. For Tony, the growing attention was a problem waiting to happen.