Dying isn't as peaceful as people think.
One minute, I was alive—walking home, minding my own business—and the next, there was the screech of tires, the blinding glare of headlights, and then nothing. No pain, no memories. Just an endless void.
Or so I thought.
When I came to—or whatever you'd call it—I wasn't in the void anymore. It was something else entirely. Colors swirled around me in impossible patterns, pulsing and twisting like they had a heartbeat of their own. I wasn't standing, but I wasn't floating either. I just… was. Existing in a place that defied any logic I'd known before.
"Alex Matthews," a voice boomed, shattering the stillness. It wasn't loud in the way a shout might be; it was deeper, heavier, like it was digging into my very soul. "You have died. But your story is not yet over."
I spun—or tried to, anyway—but I couldn't see where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Who's there?" I shouted, the words shaky and thin compared to the overwhelming presence around me.
A figure emerged from the shifting colors, pulling itself together piece by piece. It wasn't human—not really. It glowed too brightly, its form constantly shifting, as though it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. And yet, it radiated power, the kind of power that made every part of me instinctively want to drop to my knees.
"I offer you a second chance," it said, ignoring my question entirely. "A new life, in a world far from your own."
"A second chance?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why? Why me?"
The figure tilted its head, almost as if it were amused. "Because you intrigue me," it said simply, as if that explained anything. "But understand this: this chance comes with a price. You will face dangers you cannot yet comprehend. The life you are stepping into is one of conflict and chaos."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. This couldn't be real. And yet, here I was, standing—or whatever—in front of some glowing god-like being offering me a do-over. "What kind of life?" I asked cautiously.
"The choice is yours," it replied. "You may select the world you wish to inhabit. And I will grant you three gifts to aid you."
I didn't hesitate. If this was real—if I could actually choose—I knew exactly where I wanted to go. "The Boys," I said firmly. "I want to go to the world of The Boys."
The figure didn't react immediately. Its form flickered, the glowing colors around it pulsing faster. "A dangerous choice," it said finally. "You seek power in a world that devours it. Very well. Speak your gifts."
I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "I want control over lightning—complete mastery, with no weaknesses. I want heightened awareness of my surroundings, so I can see what others can't. And… strength. Enough strength to stand against anyone."
The figure nodded slowly, its form stabilizing for a brief moment. "Your desires are granted," it said. Then, with a sudden flicker, its tone shifted—softer, almost playful. "However, even the divine must ensure balance. You will not enter this world as a blank slate. To survive, you must belong. And so, I have given you a history."
"A history?" I echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You will learn in time," it replied, its voice already fading. "But remember: power invites conflict. Use it wisely."
Before I could ask anything else, the swirling colors around me exploded into blinding light. I felt myself being pulled apart, stretched and twisted, and then—
I woke up gasping.
Rain pelted my face, cold and relentless, dragging me back to consciousness. I was lying on my back, sprawled on the wet pavement of an alley. The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and garbage, and a flickering neon sign overhead cast everything in a sickly yellow glow.
Groaning, I sat up, my body aching but... strong. Stronger than it had ever been. I glanced down at my hands, and my breath caught in my throat. Sparks danced across my fingers—tiny, crackling tendrils of blue electricity that twisted and flickered in the rain.
"It wasn't a dream," I muttered, staring at my hands. Slowly, I raised one of them, focusing on the energy coursing through me, and a bolt of lightning shot out, slamming into a nearby dumpster. The impact echoed through the alley, leaving the metal smoking.
I didn't have time to process what had just happened before a wave of… something washed over me. Memories. They weren't mine, but they felt real—like someone had stitched them into my brain. I was a Supe. That's what the memories said. A failed experiment created by Vought, erased from their records when I went rogue. I'd been hiding ever since, keeping my head down to avoid their radar.
But none of it was real. I knew that. I wasn't a Supe. I wasn't from this world. And yet, the memories felt so vivid, so genuine, it was hard not to believe them.
Before I could make sense of any of it, I heard footsteps. Two men stepped into the alley, their postures tense and their eyes locked on me. One of them was stocky, his fists clenched like he was ready for a fight. The other was taller and leaner, with glowing red eyes that marked him as a Supe.
"Well, well," the Supe said, a smirk spreading across his face. "Looks like we found our runaway."
I stood slowly, my heart pounding as sparks flared around my hands again. "I don't want any trouble," I said, though the electricity crackling at my fingertips probably told a different story.
"Tough luck," he replied, cracking his knuckles. "Because trouble wants you."
The shorter guy lunged first, but I felt it coming before he moved. My awareness flared, and everything slowed down. I stepped to the side, letting him stumble past me, and delivered a quick punch to his side. Electricity surged through my fist as it connected, and he crumpled to the ground with a grunt.
The Supe froze, his confidence faltering as he glanced between me and his unconscious friend. "What the hell are you?" he hissed.
I didn't answer. Instead, I raised my hand and let the electricity flare brighter, lighting up the alley in a crackling blue glow. "Walk away," I said, my voice low and steady.
He hesitated for a moment before turning and bolting, leaving his friend behind.
I let out a shaky breath, the sparks on my hands fading as the adrenaline began to wear off. The fight had been quick, but it left me with a sinking realization: this world was just as dangerous as I'd imagined. Power wasn't just a tool here—it was a target. And I'd just painted a very big one on my back.