Sweet Omnissiah

Ever heard of Moore's Law?

Essentially, the number of transistors in a dense integrated circuit doubles in 24 months. In non-tech geek terms, the capability and speed of computers doubles every 2 years. As far as I knew, the theory itself was fairly accurate. Which was why I was having so much trouble.

2011 was a different time. Everything was underdeveloped and less tech orientated. A time when people still knew what it felt like to touch grass. On the downside, everything was slow. Agonizingly so.

Using my first two paychecks, I went straight to the internet to find the best computer parts available. Expensive as it was, I picked up an Intel Core i7-3770K. Arguably the best CPU available. The multi-core benchmark showed off some serious numbers compared to its counterparts. Thankfully, Tony Stark's existence boosted this particular market. In my original world, this specific processor hadn't been released till mid-2012. Stark Industries pushed its competitors to be better, resulting in a 3-year lead in computational development. The guy really affected the world on a global scale.

Everything else I used was about the same. The CPU, GPU, RAM, and Motherboard were top-of-the-line. Pretty good hardware for what was on the market. Good enough to outpace those old techies in the Pentagon. Unlike popular opinion, the government didn't actually have the best technology in the world. My dad used to work for the State Department. They were still using Excel 2003 until 2021, when they switched him to...the 2014 version. If you thought poor people were stingy, trust me, the government wasn't spending money unless there was an absolute confirmable positive for doing so. It was just easier keeping the same old systems rather than changing everything yearly. The number of updates they'd have to do was something I wouldn't wish on any logistics department.

Then again, if this was the MCU, I wouldn't be surprised if the government had alien tech just lying around.

All and all, everything wasn't too expensive. Totalling just under 2,000 dollars, an investment well spent.

Being able to memorize information with a touch was a godsend. Something that was more evident as time passed. I went from knowing nothing about computers to building my own with just a few minutes of research. If I ever lost these powers going back to learning things the hard way was going to be a rough experience.

My hands fiddled with certain components; being delicate was key here. While a single mistake wasn't too costly, this project interlocked and worked with multiple parts. If one thing failed, it would lead to a cascading effect of subpar performance.

The casing itself was pretty basic. Dull gray with no special lighting or stickers. If I was going to modify this thing later on, the less it stuck out, the better it would turn out for me. The snoopy types would hopefully overlook it.

The last part clicked in place, and the graphics card fit snugly into the fairly small pc. I checked the cable management to make sure everything was easy to reach before fitting the casing on and screwing a few nails in.

Plugging in the adapter, I waited as electricity ran through the brand-new Corsair AX1200i power supply. I watched in bubbling excitement as a glowing white ring flashed around the power button, signalling that it was up and running. With a click, white turned to gold, and the custom LEDs worked as intended.

And just like that, I had an identity to finalize. I had about six to nine different ways I could do this, but the simplest would probably yield the best results. First up was research. Any public figure that worked in the branch of Social Security or adjacent. That included specific divisions. Public Assistance, Unemployment Compensation, and Old-Age Insurance, to name a few. Thankfully I wasn't doing anything malicious. Targeting those specific sectors made me feel scummy, but it was necessary.

SolarWinds was an interesting company. It managed to keep up with Stark Industries in terms of software development. Their Orion product was their golden egg. A centralized monitoring tool that identifies problems in an organization's computer network. Surprisingly, they also had a pretty big contract with the US government. One of the few companies that were able to keep good relations with that Goliath of an entity even with Stark Industries' involvement. Sadly for them, their biggest asset was about to become their greatest weakness.

Unlike in the library, I actually cared a lot more if I got caught this time. Not only did I have a good living situation going on, but I was doing this from my home. Getting caught now would mean a whole lot more than it did when I used an anonymous computer at a random library. The infamous techniques of hacking in movies are almost all fabricated by people who had no idea what they were doing. No hacker worth their salt would hide themselves using a VPN from a company that catalogues their data. Why pay for a VPN when the same IP addresses were sold repeatedly to tons of users and spammers? It literally renders those IP's useless because they get blacklisted immediately. What I was doing would minimize traceability to a near-zero possibility. At least make it hard enough to miss me in favour of a few duplicates.

What do I mean by that?

Listen closely.

Orion allowed for a deep system dive because of the requirements the software itself utilized. It basically gave you administrative access to the whole computer. Instead of directly gaining control of a government employee's network, I could take control of a device and spring off an attack using other devices in conjunction. Which was why I was currently gaining access to a mobile phone in Ghana, using that connection to get into a server in China, and then repeating the process until the origin of my hack became so obscure that looking for it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Effectively casting a hidden veil on myself via a chained connection.

'Can't the government just go after each device and owner?'

No, not really. Forget how much time prosecuting that many people would take and look at the bigger picture. Real-world problems lead to real-world limitations. Countries still had their own jurisdictions and laws. The United States couldn't just trample over them for a single hacker. North Korea was a prime example. Even though the country was responsible for numerous cyber attacks, we couldn't just go over there and put Kim Jong-Il in cuffs.

Oh yeah, Kim Jong-Il, not Kim Jong Un. The old man hadn't quite kicked the bucket yet.

'I wonder if I could take his son to Disneyland?'

Getting back to the point, a competent hacker would write a small script that automates vulnerability checking. It would report straight back which and what device had weaknesses in their defences, cutting down your effort and time by a huge margin.

LFI Local and RFI Remote File Inclusions. A successful C99 shell injection into a server through a malconfigured website. A few more steps later, and I had backdoor access to a chain of 12 different devices around the world. Covering my tracks for the greatest in-and-out play of the century.

Using several of these devices, primarily the ones at the end of the chain, I sent out 37 emails to federal employees before I got a hit. A guy from New Mexico was apparently very enthusiastic about the '18-year-olds in his area'. Granted, it was still pretty early in the tech era. Not that it made it any better, but I'd let him off the hook for that slip-up.

Having access to his computer gave me shit loads of information. Most important was the update for the Orion software. Something I was going to copy and edit with a few lines of my own code.

With the newly altered product, I forwarded an email to over 1,500 federal employees, only stopping when Google's fraud precautions stepped in. That was smart on their part, but it couldn't stop me. This was a tricky process. Not only did I have to alter someone else's code, but I had to make sure none of this got back to me. I might have made it sound easy, but I was relying heavily on my power for this. All the terminology whispered into my brain via my power acted as a crutch to help walk me through this process.

Hacking 101, thank you for making it through my TED Talk.

Time flew by. In two weeks, I was able to successfully weed myself into their systems. It was non-stop work added to my already arduous job. My only respite was my running sessions. Someone my size shouldn't have been able to go through the physical stress, but when you could run for a near-infinite amount of time, there really wasn't an excuse not to lose weight.

Superpowers were a bitch like that.

Trust the process.

Keeping up with my diet was the hardest part. I was burning so many calories that I almost needed to eat more than I normally would to balance out the nutrition loss. Losing weight was good, but there were unhealthy ways to get lean, some of which were arguably worse than being obese.

Days passed by in a flash, and my goals were speeding up the boring moments in life. Having something to work towards distracted me enough that it turned boring into fun. A complete invasion into their systems on an administrative level, and I was set with a fully functional SSN. I was finally an American again.

"Gentek. Geeentek." I tested how well the word rolled off my tongue. A popular company from one of my favourite franchises, Prototype. Mostly because the protagonist and I both shared the same name. You'd think I would've been ecstatic when I first found out.

I was, for a time. Probably would still be if I hadn't always been made fun of for it.

Alex Mercer.

It was a cool name, but bullies in High School always found a way to hit you at your lowest point. Take something you should be proud of and, twist it, use it against you.

My old tormentors would say Mercer and I were a great comparison. We both could break concrete with our mass.

Haha…so funny…

My only enjoyment from those memories is knowing those guys peaked in High School. I shrugged off the bad thoughts, turning back to my dilemma. I stared at the screen, a bit puzzled. A list of names I either came up with or got from different forms of media. I could potentially go with Gentek, but I felt like it limited me too much with the genetic connotation. A few familiar Marvel names popped up in my head. Horizon Labs, Oscorp, Atreus... It didn't feel right. As popular as those companies were, non gave me that awe factor.

The best way to find a name was to look for a goal. Something I was trying to achieve and strive toward. Stark Industries was a family-built company. They had a history, a legacy.

I didn't have either. I wasn't here by choice but by circumstance. I was here…to help.

To save.

To protect.

A group that shielded people. Nurtured the future.

The guy my powers were based on, wasn't he Greek?

Maybe…Praetor? Granted, it was Roman, but it still had a good translation. Sounded pretty cool, to boot.

Maybe I should try something more English. Something a bit more patriotic. To defend… in the face of insurmountable odds.

Tough decisions.

It took a while, longer than I'd like to admit. I finally settled on something and set out to make a logo. Funnily enough, that process was miles shorter than coming up with the name.

"Ahhhh." With a tired sigh, I jumped on my bed. Job, hack, workout, hack, sleep. That is the routine of my life. I was pushing myself. I could feel it every day. Almost like an itching sensation right under my skin. Every time I used my powers, I opted to hack and exercise, nothing else. Saving everything for when I had my life figured out. Something was wrong. I could feel a wall, a pool of energy welling from within me whenever I reached out for power. I tried my best to ignore it as I fell asleep.

My last few thoughts are images of a battle. Good vs Evil. The fate of the world on the line.

A 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵 like no other.

My computer was blinking in the background. Five lights flashed before my configured inactivity feature activated.

Just before the monitor shut off, a flicker of a roughly sketched-out drawing could be seen.

𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗮 in bold black text. Surrounding the word was a symbol, following along with the Greek theme.

Ω

An upside-down cauldron. A reminder of my powers.

Alexandria. Defender of Mankind. To do that, I'd need to be fearless, confident, and unyielding. Literally everything I wasn't.

You know what they say.

Fake it till you make it.

*.*.*.*

His fingers grasped the tie and shook it left to right. On long shifts like these, the material could suffocate at times. It was important to look classy, especially in his line of work.

A small ball jumped around, hitting various squares. Some draped in black, others in red. The only singularities were two coloured green. Each square was separated by small metal panels. Everything sat on a circular board that spun at fast speeds.

As the platform slowed to a halt, the white Ivorine ball bounced a couple more times before landing on a red square. The number 19 is written on top of the segment.

"Winning number is 19 red gentlemen. No winners this round; unlucky. The house is nearly full; I'll give you 30 seconds to place your next bets."

Craig projected as much enthusiasm as he could with his voice. Sure, It was drowned out by the anger of the people around him, but it was a good attempt. The long shifts were really starting to drain him.

"C-Can I join?" Craig turned to the new voice. He was a big guy. Not just vertically but horizontally too. The newcomer wore a pair of large faded jeans and black dress shoes. His shirt was plain. An ordinary gray T-shirt.

With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Craig responded.

"Of Course, sir. Be as quick as you can; you might run out of time." He tried to speed up the sad-looking guy. This establishment had strict rules for dealers. Craig had to hit a certain amount of spins to keep his job. It was stressful. While he didn't like being involved in an industry that preyed on the weak minds of fools, morals didn't pay the bills.

"No more bets. Good luck, everyone." He found that term funny. In training, Craig had been taught phrases to use on customers. 'Good luck' was a way of reinforcing the idea that the ball was in their court. That they had a chance to win. Utter lies.

The only way you win at Roulette is by owning the casino. You'd lose whether it took five minutes or 20.

Eventually, they all lost.

"Winning number is 8 black…c-congratulations e-everyone." Craig stuttered out. He looked at the hitting odds and saw three wins. The first guy hit a column and low grid bet. Nothing fancy, a ratio with a 2:1 and 1:1 payout. The second guy, a regular customer, was a little more creative. Six connected numbers vertically. A double street. 5:1 odds. The third…the new guy.

Craig took a moment to stare at the stack of chips sitting on the number 8. A max bet is 2,500. The limit was placed so that the casino didn't lose too much on a single lucky hit.

35:1. Ridiculous odds, but ultimately pointless. He's seen a handful of those this week already. He'd chuck it into the coincidence pile and leave it at that.

"Here you go." Craig pushes the chips to their respective new holders, two of which decided to cut their losses and leave the table.

Leaving a group of sore losers moaning again and the last big winner placing another straight-up bet.

Craig's eyebrows twitched in astonishment.

Some guys just didn't know when to quit while they were ahead. He'd be lying if he said watching the more arrogant ones lose wasn't appealing.

"Alright gentlemen, start your bets…"

*.*.*.*

"Excuse me, sir? Could you repeat that for me?" An incredulous voice questioned through the other end of the phone.

"Yes, I'd like to rent it out for the month. Longer If possible." I confirmed. I almost tripped as I carried stacks of papers around my apartment. My phone was being stabilized by my shoulder and the side of my head.

"Well…it's certainly possible, Mr. Mercer. I'll have a conversation with my supervisor. Could you stay on hold?"

"Of course, I'll be on the line." I finally reached my garbage bin, where I shoved all the lottery tickets I held.

It was a ritual my father practiced. Whenever we went out, he'd always buy a lottery ticket. He let me pick a few numbers for fun. Always talked about fantastical trips he'd take our family when we finally won big.

I missed him.

When I was out shopping for warm clothes for the approaching winter, I decided to buy a ticket to commemorate the good times we shared. But, just as I walked into the ticket booth, a power took hold.

There truly was something poetic about loving the fact you had abilities and hating them for being so unfair.

Luck wasn't a superpower. Or at least, it really shouldn't be. It was broken beyond belief.

The Shaker ability did have its drawbacks. I could still lose, and it couldn't affect reality. If I were to go to a gas station that, for whatever reason, didn't have any winning tickets, I literally couldn't win. However, the power would help me pick out winning tickets for fairly low odds. Making it fairly pointless as those were only a couple of dollars a pop.

I tried buying a jackpot lottery, but even my power couldn't bridge the gap of that insanely small chance of winning. One in three hundred million was no joke.

"—can you hear me?"

"Y-Yes, clear as day, Ms…R-Rosenberg, right?" I winced at my forgetfulness.

"That's correct. I've been told we can go through with the arrangement, be aware the monthly rate would total 42,000. The warehouse itself is 2,556 ft. The reference number will be attached to the email I sent you. We already have your card on file, so don't worry about that."

"Oh, that was easy. Thank you for everything!"

"No problem. I'll be coming to inspect the place at the end of the month. Consecutively as well, if you choose to extend your lease."

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you agai—" Annnd she hung up. Fair enough, dealing with customers was a tough job.

I put my brand-new iPhone 4 into my back pocket before picking up my car keys from the kitchen table.

The warehouse space was essential. Now that I had it, it was time to get Alexandria up and running.

I headed down to the apartment complex. Almost skipping along each step in excitement. Don't get me wrong, I was still the poster boy for diabetes, but the past two months of jogging have really turned my life around. It was only the beginning. I only had around six months left before shit hit the fan. I need to be ready.

My hand brushed against glass as I closed the front entrance behind me. Pulling out my car keys from my pocket, I clicked a button, and two sharp chirps echoed from the parking space.

Gull-wing doors opened upwards as I hopped into my dream car.

A 1983 Delorean DMC 12. Nostalgia really was a powerful thing. The 62,000 price tag had me questioning my priorities. Thankfully, while my probability power couldn't win me the lottery, it did great at casinos.

Until I was kicked out…and blacklisted…

It's almost like the universe was cucking me on purpose.

It was alright; I still ended up walking away with a little over 700,000. I'm not ashamed to say I cried the first time the number hit my bank account. It's going to hurt like hell when I have to pay taxes on it.

As for the car, it was vintage and fairly broken. The car's performance wasn't anything to write off about, either.

But I could fix her.

Copium aside, I paid the 10 toll fee before carefully cruising my vehicle into the Queens Midtown Tunnel. The warehouse was fairly close. A smooth 21-minute drive.

A few miles later, I parked my car across the street from a church.

𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬

With a creak, the church's double doors swung open.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

A kind man greeted me at the door. His eyes were hazel, warm and welcoming. It contrasted nicely with his pastor attire.

"I'm sorry to disturb you. I've rented out the gymnasium. My phone says it's somewhere around here…."

"Oh! You're Alex, right?" His smile was so genuine.

"Yep, that's me." He ushered me forward with a hand and guided me inside. I looked around in wonder at the interior of the place. The stained glass had pictures of biblical events and various angels. The way light cut through gave it an ethereal look.

We approached the back of the church, where a door led us down into the basement.

Entering my new workplace, I took note of the flaking paint and obvious water damage dealt to the walls. The dusty concrete floor contrasted well with the awkward-looking support beams.

I could work with this. The space itself was huge, almost like an expansive hidden base. By the time I was done with this place, it would put the Batcave to shame.

"On Sundays, we have service from 7:00 in the morning to 3:30 in the afternoon. Please try and be as quiet as possible. I know you didn't pay for that inconvenience, but it costs nothing to be kind to others."

"Don't worry about it. I'll probably go out for a run during that time anyway. Thanks for the heads up." The guy was too nice to hate.

"That sounds great. My name is John Maddox, by the way. If you are staying here for a time, we should get to know each other." He puts his hand forward.

"It's nice to meet you, Pastor Maddox. If you're anything to go by, I'll definitely have a great time." With a smile of my own, I reached forward to give him a firm handshake.

With that out of the way, the Pastor left me to my own devices. I pulled out my phone and dialled up the first person on the list of contacts I had created.

"Hello? How can I help you?"

"Hi, is this Kaxton Industries?"

"Yes, sir, that would be us."

"I was just wondering what kind of furnaces you had..."

*.*.*.*

𝘊𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘎

A metal blade deflected off the forcefield. Golden hexagons appeared over my forearm before slowly fading away.

The field test was a bust. Having powers was cool, but not being able to control them was becoming a problem. Every time I dismissed an ability, another took its place before I could cut myself. Asking Pastor Maddox to let me stab him didn't seem like a great idea either.

'Just let me cut you with this knife! I promise it'll be alright!'

I'd sound completely unhinged.

Technically I could hand over samples of my work and data to the FDA. I just knew having evidence and recordings to prove it would make the process that much faster.

Not that getting FDA approval was a fast process by any means.

By contacting five different companies, I got most of the equipment I needed for some of the projects I was brainstorming. A whopping 110,000 was spent in the span of an hour. Thankfully the basement door was large enough to fit most of them through. Anything that didn't fit was brought in parts and assembled by myself.

In four days, I'd gotten myself situated in a good spot. I spent another few grand on advertisements for Tiktok. I made sure to utilize most of it in YouTube ads. The age demographic was the perfect range for what I was looking for. The website traffic exploded by 129%, an insane metric, all things considered. The app was trending somewhere in the Top 800 on the App Store.

Frustrated with the slow progress, I placed the kitchen knife down on my workbench.

I felt a few Tinker powers appear in the back of my mind. I let them pass and kept the most recent ones I'd picked up.

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺 and 𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦. Two abilities that have already helped me revolutionize immediate medical care.

The first project I went to work on was medicinal applications. When it came to pharmaceuticals, there were only so many avenues I could go into that wouldn't be filled with competition and low market shares. Which was why I was adapting a treatment that was highly debated and defective, Floseal. With a bit of research, I stumbled upon it. Created at Oxford by a prodigy named Nathanial Essex. Floseal uses an animal enzyme called thrombin to signal the body's response to blood loss via fibrin production, which is how tissue regenerates. Technically it's supposed to stop people from bleeding out, saving countless lives in dangerous situations. The only problem was the process by which thrombin was created, namely by using animal or human tissue. Add the fact the product requires preparation before use, and it quickly became evident why it had no real-life human application. The FDA sure as hell wasn't approving it for the general population based on the need for thrombin production alone.

My creation, Medi-gel, sought to do the same thing but with none of the red tape. An algae-based hemostatic bio-polymer gel. The flood of knowledge my two specializations gave me was astounding. 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺 and 𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦 were powers that synergized to an alarming degree.

And trust me, I do mean alarming.

Trying to come up with non-weapon-based inventions was an arduous task. I don't know why but all my technology-based powers were geared toward combat. Trying to create Medi-gel with just a specialization in 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺 was impossible. My powers would rather have me make incredibly strong acids or bombs. It also had a peculiar fascination with drugs, all of which the FDA would throw into an incinerator. Combining the two specializations was where I hit the jackpot.

Using the components sodium alginate, poly-N-acetyl-D-glucosamine, and some other long words I don't know how to pronounce, I created a gel-like substance that closed wounds in less than 12 seconds.

I dismissed 𝘔𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦 and allowed another specialization to join my power set. 𝘓𝘰𝘸-𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 manipulation, specifically and most importantly, ultrasound.

Medi-gel started off as a strong adhesive that held wounds together while also promoting healing. But what if your medical staff needed to perform surgery on the affected area? Well, Gel was a great medium for ultrasonic frequencies. The hospitals could use a certain ultrasound frequency to soften the substance and unbind the grip it had on human tissue. The plant-based aspect of my design also made it eco-friendly and completely safe for human use.

However, this was all theoretical. I knew that, technically, it should perform the way I wanted, but it was hard to figure out what worked if I couldn't hurt myself to test it.

I took my chances with fate and moved packets of airtight sealed Medi-gel into a big cardboard box. I chucked all my data and hypotheses in while I wrote the address of the FDA office on the side of the package. Getting approved for a harmless product would still take two to three weeks at a minimum and 8 months at the high end. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

I carried the box to the end of the room and placed it there for when I decided to drive back home. I could stop by a post office on my way.

Another power came to me. I pulled for it, taking a moment to let the information flood my brain.

𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. There was some potential with this one. I could finally use the electric furnace I bought.

It took a few hours of driving around from one place to the next, buying sacks of sand, soda ash, and limestone.

When melted at 1700 Celsius or 3090 Fahrenheit, those components form a non-crystalline solid. Glass.

But it would have to wait a few days.

I wasn't prepared. I needed more material…a lot more material…

*.*.*.*

A white vapour swirled around the vacuum chamber. Safe from the outside environment. When melted into a gaseous state, Rubidium reacts violently when exposed to air, imploding instantaneously.

My gray eyes flickered gold. The iris's fractured, punctured by streaks of cold blue. It leaked out and spread.

Mist wafted from my eyelids. The atoms in the air came to a standstill. Their kinetic energy sapped from them. I felt the power behind my eyes, waiting to be released, unrestrained from my hold.

And I let go.

"AAHHHHH!"

Two beams of blue shot forth from my eyes. Perfectly cylindrical and controlled. The freeze rays hit the vacuum chamber and dropped the temperature within the instrument to absolute zero. The atoms of Rubidium collapsed into the lowest quantum state.

I was creating a Bose-Einstein condensate, a superfluid. Its matter was so dense that light passing through it was slowed. Normally, the speed of light reaches 186,000 miles per second. I planned to drop it to just a snail's pace.

𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 was interesting. As with 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, on its own, the specialization was limited and very offensively orientated. But when combined with several powers, the possibilities were endless.

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘖𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘴, and 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 combined to break the laws of physics.

Generally, the speed of light is constant in a vacuum, a basic aspect of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, but light slows down in a medium like glass based on its wavelength. That's why light diffracts into rainbow colours as it passes through a glass prism. By infusing the sub-atomic particle into the glass during the creation process, I could create the reverse effect of FTL.

I walked to the furnace with the portable vacuum chamber in my arms, my eyes still misty with the remnants of supercooled air.

I poured the contents into the mould within the furnace and waited for the materials to cool down to room temperature.

After minutes of high tension, I grabbed a pair of metal tongs and reached into the furnace to pull out the finished product.

Slowly, tentatively, I popped out a jet-black piece of glass from a rectangular mould. With the fragment in my hand, I held it toward the lights in the room to see if I had been successful.

Pure black. No light passed through.

"Alex!" I stumbled and threw the piece into the air. Comically, I tried my best to catch it before it shattered on the floor.

"Y-Yes! Is everything ok?" I asked, clutching it tightly in my arms as if it were a baby.

"Oh, thank God you're alright." Pastor Maddox sighed in relief. He had busted down the basement door, holding his cross in his hand in fright.

"Um, could I ask why I wouldn't be?"

"You were shouting, Alex. It sounded like you were in pain."

Oh yea, that would do it. Feeling your eyes freeze wasn't a pleasant experience.

"I'm s-sorry about that, didn't mean to startle you. I just finished a project of mine. May have been a bit too excited, haha…." I chuckled awkwardly at my attempt to lie.

He looked at me with a quirked eyebrow. He did not seem convinced.

"I don't want to intrude, but may I ask…what is this project?"

"Oh, uhhh, I call it slow glass. Not really that creative, but the name fits its qualities."

"…I don't want to seem dull, but how does glass become 'slow'?" He asked quizzically.

"When you put it like that, it does seem a bit stupid." I rubbed the back of my neck with an embarrassed wince while he chuckled at me.

"It's meant to keep images for long periods of time. For example, let's say you leave it out on the beach. If the light from the sun passes through, the glass will slow down the light particles and keep the image on the glass for longer than it otherwise would be. You could have an image of Mount Fuji as your bedroom window that would last an entire year. Pictures from your phone don't compare. With this, the view wouldn't be any different from someone who actually lives in Japan. The realism would be unmatched." I rambled. I cut down the difficult physics that went into it. Trying to explain complex atomic interactions to the average person was a pointless endeavor. I would know. I was once an average person too.

Superpowers, what can I say.

"I am not going to lie to you. That seems hard to believe. It's extraordinary to think about." Pastor Maddox whispered while staring at the glass in my hand.

"I know, the idea sounds pretty out there. Keeping light trapped for a year seems crazy even to me." I admit. While we've talked a hand full of times over the past few weeks, Pastor Maddox didn't really know anything about me. It's hard to imagine the random guy who jogs for hours at a time and spends days moving around equipment in your basement was some super genius.

"Interesting. So how do you intend to start selling products with such a long production time?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" I had no clue what he was talking about.

"Well, if the image lasts a year, wouldn't that mean it takes a year for the light to pass through from one end of the glass to the other? Wouldn't you have to lay them outside for that long for the image to start coming through?"

"…..shit."

*.*.*.*

There was one key difference between me and natural scientists. Bruce Banner and Tony Stark had spent years perfecting their craft. They weren't smart at birth; both focused on studying and learning all they could. Whether it was to escape the clutches of their abusive parent or trying to gain attention from a neglectful father. Either way, they knew their respective fields inside out.

I was an idiot. Relying on my powers to fill in the blanks of my subpar knowledge. Clearly, It wasn't working. I got stuck with the Medi-gel by not taking into account testing. And now I've done the same thing with Slow Glass.

Being super smart means absolutely jack shit if I was still a dumbass.

"All that wasted time." I mumbled into my hands. After Pastor Maddox's enlightening comment, I went home to mope. I was on borrowed time. I was already in my second month of renting out the place and had around 200,000 to 300,000 left. I couldn't make anything for the future that wouldn't just drain my finances to nothing. I had ideas, but the majority of the things my powers recommended were either costly, in the millions, or outrageously illegal. The type of illegal that I couldn't get away with without someone noticing. I was in between a rock and a hard place.

"What am I going to do?" I asked no one in particular. I hoped that maybe, in some cliche movie trope, the universe would send me a sign.

Nothing but silence welcomed me.

Realizing that I'd find no help from the One Above All, I decided to tinker for a bit in my bedroom. I had taken a few materials and small machines to my apartment for when I wanted to build something small. Spending most of my time in the warehouse didn't give me enough time to use anything here.

I sat down at my desk and waited for the power to come to me. One entered my view, 𝘚𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘤 technology. I took a moment to skim through its information before dismissing it with a shrug. Tectonic weaponry was interesting but ultimately too widespread in terms of damage to use on Earth. Other applications were a lot more safe, but I didn't have the tools at the moment.

As one power left, another came forward.

A specialization in 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. Interesting…

I always wondered how heroes were able to respond to threats. Stark had his AI, Captain America had S.H.I. intelligence support, and the big hitters like the Hulk just attracted trouble. But at the lower levels? Guys like Spider-Man?

The answer came to me alongside a flood of knowledge. Police scanners. Radio receivers that scan different channels to pick up conversations. There was nothing special about them. There are actually hundreds of police scanners for sale on Amazon. In the good old US of A, listening in on police frequencies isn't inherently illegal.

After finally finding something fairly easy to work on, I sat down and fiddled with my phone. Using a screwdriver with a pin-sized drive tip, I removed the screws at the bottom of my iPhone 4 and popped off the glassy white case. Attaching wires to the logic board, I ran them through to my computer by crimping the wire ends into a USB port. This wouldn't be necessary if I had an Android. Apple hates giving their customers access to their phone's internal workings, and the phone itself doesn't have an FM/AM tuner built in.

I've been brainwashed since birth to buy Apple products. Forgive my idiocy.

Using my PC, I coded very simple software. I could've used my powers to become a coding nerd again, but I'd be repeating the same mistakes that led me here in the first place. All those hours in the library hadn't been for nothing. I still had several books memorized. Everything I needed was already in my head.

Finishing up my software, I removed all the wires. I used everything at my disposal to create the smallest receiver, transductor, and tuner I could. I skipped a few steps by connecting them all to my phone's speaker and a power source. As long as my phone was charging, the battery drain wouldn't be too taxing.

I fixed the phone back into place, closing the case with a satisfying click and screwing everything in place. Using the oh-so-familiar Lightning cable, I connected the phone to my PC.

'Trust this Computer?' The pop-up appeared.

I chose 'Trust' and waited patiently for my software to recognize the connected device.

With a crackle, my phone speaker blazed out various bits of white noise before going completely silent.

Buzz

"-ed a 'bus' immediately; I repeat, Officer Morrisey is down!"

The air around me grew tense as I listened to the officer's transmission. Several conversations took place before I finally got a name.

Williamsburgh Savings Bank Tower, that's all I needed to know.

Quickly, I changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a hoodie. Rustling through my shopping bag, I pulled out an all-white mask. It covered my whole face, leaving only two eyes in place for my eyes.

I've seen the Bank Tower before on one of my modified running routes. It was a little less than two hours away from home.

I busted open my apartment door, jumped down multiple flights of stairs, and scared my neighbours before rushing out to the street. I could faintly hear ringing metal from a distance.

I took a runner's stance, focusing on drawing in an ability to get me there fast.

Time slowed, and I watched as a pidgin floated in the sky, its wings seemingly frozen. A kid, no older than 12, reaching for a balloon, both not moving an inch. A lady had tripped, her Starbucks coffee tipped over, and the contents stilled in the air. The world stopped. No noise. No spectacles. No distractions.

Push off.

The world blurred. I controlled my tempo, ignoring the environment and dodging ongoing traffic. I flashed passed so quickly that all people registered was a gust of wind. Half a minute later, I skidded to a halt. Time picked back up to normal speed, and I was witness to mayhem.

Five cop cars lined up in front of the bank to form a perimeter wall between the officers and the incoming rain of bullets. I could see how hopeless the situation was. The police were forced to duck and cover to avoid the alternative, death. Off to the side, I could see a female officer with blonde hair holding onto a man that looked like he was one step away from the doors of death. If I had to take a wild guess, she was the one I heard through the radio receiver.

Soon enough, I realized the reason the cops were so outmatched. Someway somehow, the robbers had gotten themselves a mounted machine gun. It was absolutely shredding through cars and defences. Comic Book shenanigans I presume.

One moment I stood, analyzing the situation from afar, and in the next, I felt my hand grip the face of a man as I crossed the distance within milliseconds.

My momentum carried me into the bank, robber in tow. I let go of his masked face and watched as he flew into a wall, knocking his head and passing out from the force.

"Frankie!" A startled shout. I observed my surroundings and took into account the various variables.

Three outside, providing cover fire and precious time.

"Hey! Get the fuck on the ground!"

Nine in the main hall, backup for if the first line of defence falls.

"Did you hear him?! We're gonna fill you with holes, dumbass!"

Probably more at the vault. I'll figure it out later.

"Jackson, go check on Frankie. I'll kil-"his head snapped to the side, body lifting into the air before landing in a heap at the other end of the bank.

All around the room, triggers were pulled as terrified men unloaded everything they could in my direction.

I zoomed around the bank hall. Switching between accelerating and decelerating instantly. The huge limitation of this power was in organic interaction. Anytime I exceeded a specific speed, I couldn't harm a living being, let alone touch them without bouncing off.

I felt several thuds impacting my body. Bullets sheared through my clothes like paper.

Bullets moved at around 1700 mph. I was moving nowhere near that speed, thanks to the arbitrary limitation.

Positive side? I had two active powers. The other made me invincible so long as I moved at less than half my potential max velocity. One power's limitation helped me reach the others' requirements. Power synergy. I had min-maxed my build before rushing into trouble. Big brain moves.

I backhanded someone else. His head hit the floor and burst open like a watermelon. My mind froze. I could feel my heart rate picking up. I doubted my stamina was the reason why.

I avoided thinking about it, shrugging off the terrible feeling rising in my chest. The more I ran, the more I could distract myself. But every punch, slap, and kick reinforced the images of brutality. At some point, I could barely think straight.

A leg splintered, an arm broke in two, and a ribcage bruised. With every hit, I got better. More controlled and less devastating. That didn't fix it. It didn't change anything.

I stopped moving. Collapsing to the floor while clutching my stomach. I could feel my eyes watering, my throat closing up. The walls came in on me as I faced the reality of my actions.

Children. They could've had children. A wife, family and friends. A whole life filled with aspects other than crime. What if they were put into a tough situation? Needed money to help their loved ones afford meds? Expensive as hell cancer treatment? Now what?

I had taken their futures from them. No justice system. No pleading their case in court or bargaining for a lower sentence so they could readjust to normal society. Nothing. They wouldn't be saying anything to anyone ever again.

Dead men tell no tales.

*.*.*.*

"Stay with me Morrisey! Don't you dare close your eyes!" Justine couldn't control herself from getting emotional. She never could handle stressful situations well. Ironic that she became a cop in NYC, of all places.

"Could you stop shouting? I'd like to die in peace, thank you very much." She could hear him chuckle weakly at his terrible attempt at a joke.

Justine could see the uncertainty in his eyes. At this point, the blood had completely soaked his shirt and was pooling around her hand. Even still, she kept the pressure on the bullet wound and hoped to God that the ambulances got here in time.

"What the hell…?"

Justine turned to the other officer who had spoken up, just to realize he wasn't the only one distracted.

"What are you doing!? Cover fire before we get… huh?"

It was only at the end of her sentence that she realized that there was a significant lack of gunshots in the air.

Looking back at the bank, she was able to catch a glimpse of a blur in the shape of a person. Displaced air and the sound of rapid steps were the only things to verify that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. The robbers outside had strangely disappeared.

"Ok, let's move it people! Push in! You see anything move, shoot till it drops." The captain ordered.

Justine opted to stay back for obvious reasons. The robbers were so confident in their big guns that they had let any potential captives leave the bank. Pride comes before the fall.

"Mmm…"

"Hey. Didn't I tell you not to close your eyes?" It was only a matter of time. It had been too long, and there was no sign of an ambulance.

"Don't look at me like that. Mitchell might get jealous if he catches his partner tearing up over another guy." Justine tried her best to smile. It was hard not to feel happy around Morrisey. He just had that type of aura around him.

"Uhh, I don't mean to intrude, but you look like you need help."

With a reaction that spoke of years of experience, Justine pulled out her pistol with her unoccupied hand and aimed it at the newcomer.

"Who the hell are you?"

The first thing she noticed was the bullet holes. Clothes that had been ripped up and chewed out. Through them, she could see his skin. Her hand gripped her gun firmly, eyes fixated on the lack of blood or visible damage.

"C-Could you not look at me like that? I didn't mean to go walking around looking like a stripper." His stutter aside, there was something…off about his voice. It was calm, disarming, and light. But when he spoke, there was a deep vibration that played out. It thrummed with…power, she guessed. It was hard placing her finger on the correct word. All she knew was that her body was shaking. Her instincts were telling her she was in danger. And that man was the cause.

"He needs help, right? I think I can do som—"

"One more step forward, and I'll add a few more holes." Justine watched him put his hands up in a disarming gesture. He locked eyes with me, attempting to calm me down with eye contact. After a tense moment, he realized I wouldn't let him anywhere near us. He closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

And then he 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥.

"Why does everyone have to make things difficult?"

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as she turned to see him sitting on top of her car while twirling a gun with his fingers.

Her gun.

"…what?" She went back and forth between staring at her hand and her gun.

"…give it back."

"…how about no? Did you really think I'd just hand it over if you asked nicely?" He asked.

"I'll arrest you."

"Wow, we've got a Darwin Award winner right here ladies and gentlemen."

"Haha, I like this guy." A pained voice chuckled out. Justine panicked, going back to her real problem. Mystery man could wait for now.

Justine heard footsteps approaching. The masked man was standing above them both. His hidden visage and tall stature planted a seed of fear in her heart.

His eyes. They flickered, golden light spreading, flooding his eyes like overflowing rivers in the Earth.

Smoke-like energy flowed out of his body before a pulse shot out in a spherical area around him.

Justine tensed up as golden light bathed her, flowing past and hitting everything in their vicinity before dissipating into the air.

"That's alright, I guess. Wish it had a bit more range but can't have ever-"

"What did you do?" In shock, I turned to Morrisey. The colour in his face had returned. I saw him stare in awe as his question hung in the air.

"Huh? Oh, I uhh healed you."

"…just like that?"

"It was between healing you or hitting you with a variety of eldritch blasts. I assumed you wouldn't appreciate the latter."

"You'd assume right. Ughh." With a grunt, Morrisey stood. Justine used her body to compensate for his lack of balance, helping him up.

"Well, my work here is done; I'll, uhh, leave this right here." He placed my gun on the car hood before walking away.

"Hey! Who are you!" Justine couldn't let him go without an answer. She had too many questions and nothing to go off of.

He tilted his head to the side to look back at me. The way his eyes glowed still unnerved me to a degree.

"...Barry Allen. The fastest man alive." With a gust of wind, we watched him disappear far from view.

"Huh…I get he was joking, but he might not be wrong about that last part."

With a sigh, she pulled Morrisey along with her. She was reaching her breaking point with all of his jokes.

"let's just get you to a hospital."

"Or he might not be! Don't speedsters always have an arch nemesis that's faster? I swear that's a comic book thing."

"Morrisey."

"I'm like 90% sure. No idea who Barry Allen is though. I doubt he gave us his real name."

"Morrisey."

"A superhero! Do you know how cool that is? My nephew is gonna lose his mind when I tell him."

"Morrisey, so help me God. I'll put a bullet in you and finish what those thieves started."

"HAHAhaha…please don't."

*.*.*.*

I passed by the Brooklyn Bridge.

What was that? The 9th time? It took me three minutes to run around the entirety of New York City without breaking the sound barrier. After the first lap, I just kept going. Anything to get me back in a good headspace.

Was it working?

No, not at all.

Regret was a strange emotion. I know that logically, I shouldn't feel bad for hurting criminals. Especially when they had recklessly shot at people. But they were humans too. Did I have the right to judge everyone who decided to do harm? What would that make me?

I wasn't an idiot. Killing one murderer didn't make two. Anyone with an ounce of critical thinking could come to that conclusion. One person kills for their own gain, the other to save lives. I sure as hell wasn't going to listen to Batman's ideology. The guy was as insane as the psychopaths he fought. There's a reason why every evil version of him ended up committing genocidal acts. He was unhinged, to begin with.

Superman goes bad? Almost always becomes a fascist dictator who, like it or not, brings crime to an all-time low. He was a terrible person, child murderer, and all-around evil guy, but that doesn't make the other things meaningless. They weren't mutually exclusive.

Batman goes nuts? The damn Multiverse ends.

Yet somehow, it just makes him seem so much more badass.

I swivelled to the left. Rushing at a child, I embraced her in my arms and moved her away before she was hit by a bus. My figure blurred before anyone could question me. I had been saving people across the perimeter of the city while going through my existential hero crises. A way to balance my conscience with good deeds. It did little to settle my heavy heart.

Before I could react, a piece of the sidewalk burst open. My foot was caught in the groove, and I skidded across the road like a ragdoll.

"Damn, I guess I can't criticize speedsters for making mistakes anymore." I ruffled my hair, pieces of small rocks falling out. Impenetrable skin made scraping across the floor at hundreds of miles an hour a mild annoyance.

"It is often those without abilities who are most critical of their use."

My head whipped to the voice. Absent-mindedly I took note of the changed scenery. The streets and familiar brick-layered housing were replaced by wooden floors and artistic walls. Old weapons from medieval eras spread out across the room. A legacy that spoke of the inhabitants of this place.

"While I admire your fascination with my residence, I'm more intrigued by your shocked expression. Have we met before, Mr. Mercer?" While she worded it in a way that seemed disarming, the tone was nothing else but demanding.

"You…n-no, we haven't met." I was sweating bullets. I was in deep shit, and I knew it.

"Intriguing. Very Intriguing. Well, then, I suppose it's time for my introduction." A lady of indescriptive age approached me. Hands behind her back, and a sense of power surrounding her. With each step she took, I felt an ever-increasing sense of foreboding.

"Welcome to the Sanctum Sanctorum. My name is the Ancient One." With a twist of her hand, sparks emerged on the table. A circle appeared, moving along the wooden bench and leaving behind a teapot and cups before vanishing.

"Sit. We have something to discuss."

'I'm royally screwed.'