Tony stood in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, his shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. Dust motes swirled in the shafts of light cutting through broken windows. His breaths were measured but deep, each movement controlled and precise. Roomie's hum filled his mind, a steady presence guiding him.
Again, Roomie said. Strike the target with less force. Control is essential.
Tony squared his shoulders, focusing on a stack of bricks in front of him. With a sharp exhale, he delivered a calculated punch. The bricks cracked but didn't shatter, the result more restrained than his earlier attempts.
"How's that?" Tony asked, flexing his fingers.
Progress is evident. Refinement required for broader application.
Tony smirked. "You're really into this coach thing, huh?"
Your success ensures mutual survival. This outcome benefits us both.
Tony laughed, shaking his head as he moved to the next challenge—a balance beam set high above the ground. His enhanced reflexes and strength were powerful, but Roomie was right: without control, they were just liabilities.
Tony had just completed his training session when his phone buzzed. He grabbed it from the workbench nearby, seeing Jay's name flash on the screen.
"Hey," he said, answering.
"Tony!" Jay's voice was frantic, her words tumbling out in a rush. "You have to help. There's a hostage situation at Helen Bernstein High. A student's got a gun—he's holding kids in the cafeteria."
Tony's grip tightened on the phone. "What? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Jay said, her voice shaking. "But my cousin is one of the kids in there. Please, Tony, I don't know what else to do. The police are talking about breaching, but they're worried the kid might—might do something before they get in."
Tony's jaw tightened. "I'm on my way. Stay safe."
Michael Jenkins sat at the back of his history class, his hands trembling under the desk. The weight of the revolver in his backpack was heavier than he'd imagined, pressing against him like a physical burden. The whispers, the snickers, the taunts—it had all built to this moment.
They'd called him names for years: freak, loser, waste of space. Even the teachers turned a blind eye, their sympathy doing nothing to stop the constant barrage. And then, last week, when a group of seniors dumped a milkshake on his head in the cafeteria, something inside him snapped.
Michael had spent the weekend stewing, replaying every insult, every shove in the hallway. By Monday morning, he'd made his decision.
He waited until the bell rang for lunch. As students filed into the cafeteria, Michael stood near the door, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The din of chatter and laughter was deafening, a cacophony that made his pulse race.
"Hey, Jenkins!" a voice called. One of the seniors who had tormented him grinned from across the room. "Try not to spill anything on yourself today!"
Michael's hands trembled as he unzipped his backpack. The revolver felt cold and alien in his grip, but he held it high, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Everyone sit down! Now!"
The room fell silent. Some students froze, their faces pale, while others ducked under tables. A teacher stepped forward cautiously, hands raised. "Michael," she said, her voice calm, "put the gun down. We can talk."
"No!" Michael shouted, his voice shaking. "You don't get to talk to me now. None of you cared before—why should I listen to you now?"
Outside the school, a crowd of police officers and onlookers had gathered. Patrol cars blocked the entrance, their lights casting blue and red flashes against the building's facade. Captain Renee Park, a no-nonsense officer with years of negotiation experience, leaned over the hood of her car, studying the situation report.
"What do we know?" she asked.
One of her deputies handed her a file. "Michael Jenkins. Seventeen. No prior criminal record, but he's had disciplinary issues. Reports of bullying over the years, but nothing escalated to this level until today."
Captain Park sighed, rubbing her temple. "And he's still in the cafeteria?"
"Yes," the deputy confirmed. "He's got about twenty students and two teachers in there. No injuries reported yet, but he's waving the gun around."
"What about breaching?" Park asked.
"We're prepping a team, but there's a risk he'll panic and fire if we go in too aggressively."
Park nodded grimly. "Keep him talking. We need more time."
Tony approached the police line, his demeanor calm but focused. He spotted Jay standing with a group of worried parents, her face pale.
"Tony," she said, running to him. "What are you—?"
"I'm going in," he said, his voice firm. "I can help."
Before she could argue, Tony strode toward Captain Park. "I can end this without anyone getting hurt."
Park raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"
"Someone who can talk to him," Tony said. "Let me try. If I fail, you still have your breach team."
Park hesitated. "This isn't a movie, pal. If he fires that gun, it's on all of us."
Tony met her gaze, his voice steady. "If you go in now, people will get hurt. Let me stop that from happening."
After a long pause, Park relented. "You've got five minutes."
Tony entered the cafeteria slowly, his hands raised. The air was heavy with tension, the students huddled under tables, their eyes wide with fear. Michael turned, the revolver shaking in his hand.
"Who the hell are you?" Michael demanded.
"I'm just here to talk," Tony said calmly, taking a step closer. "Michael, right? I know you don't want to hurt anyone."
"Don't come any closer!" Michael shouted, his voice cracking. "You don't know anything about me!"
"You're right," Tony said, stopping in his tracks. "But I do know what it's like to feel invisible. To feel like no one sees you or cares."
Michael's eyes darted around the room. "They don't care. They never cared."
"I care," Tony said softly. "And I see you, Michael. I see someone who's hurting. But this? This won't fix it. It'll only make it worse."
Michael's grip on the gun faltered. "I just... I just wanted them to understand what it's like."
Tony took another step forward. "And they will. I promise. But not like this. Put the gun down, Michael. Let me help you."
Tears streamed down Michael's face as he slowly lowered the revolver. Tony stepped forward and gently took it from his hand, his movements deliberate and calm.
"It's over," Tony said, his voice steady. "You're not alone anymore."
As police officers rushed in to secure the scene, Tony led Michael toward the door, shielding him from the chaotic scene. Captain Park watched, her expression a mix of disbelief and relief.
"Not bad," she said as Tony approached.
Tony gave her a small nod before turning back to check on the students. Jay ran to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "You did it," she whispered.
Tony sighed, his heart finally slowing. "Yeah. We did."