Gwen's forehead nearly slammed into her chemistry notes.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the scent of ethanol and melted plastic from the Bunsen burners filled the air. She blinked rapidly, trying to stay present, but the chemical equations in front of her swam together like jellyfish. Her pencil drooped from her fingers, only to be snapped upright by instinct as she caught herself nodding off. Around her, classmates scribbled answers or chatted quietly.
"Stacy," Mr. Langdon said flatly from the front. "You planning on contributing today or taking a nap?"
"Sorry," Gwen said quickly, trying to sit up straighter.
"Maybe next time, fewer late-night experiments."
The class chuckled. Gwen flushed.
She jolted upright as the bell rang, hiding a wince. Her hand clutched the side of her head, and she quickly forced a yawn, stretching to cover the fact that she'd almost fallen asleep for the third time that morning.
Miles nudged her with his elbow as they walked out of class.
"You good? You look like you got hit by a book."
"Didn't sleep much," Gwen mumbled. "Working on a side project."
He squinted. "What kind of project eats your entire sleep schedule?"
"The brilliant kind," she said with a forced smile.
Miles didn't look convinced, but he didn't push.
Across campus, Luffy sprawled flat on the bleachers during PE. Coach Marks yelled for him to get up. Luffy rolled to his feet, pretending to stretch.
"I'm fine! Just... deep-breathing technique," he shouted back.
The second the coach turned away, Luffy pulled an energy bar from his sock and devoured it in two bites.
That evening at Field Alpha, Gwen stared at her portable diagnostic scanner. Blood samples. Pulse rates. Vitals. All elevated, but not in a dangerous way — just... intense.
"We're running like engines," she muttered.
Luffy sat on the edge of a crate, drinking his third bottle of water. "Good engines or scary engines?"
"Both."
She flipped the display to show comparative data. "Your metabolic rate's 2.3 times baseline. Mine's nearly 2.1. It explains the hunger, the lack of fatigue, the bursts of clarity — and why we crash without warning."
Luffy scratched his head. "So what you're saying is... we're microwaves. Always hot, always running."
Gwen gave him a flat look. "That's not even remotely scientific."
"Still accurate."
She rolled her eyes. "We need a food and energy plan."
They brainstormed a schedule: daily intake goals, emergency glucose caches, pre- and post-patrol nutrition. Gwen sketched a prototype for a collapsible hydration pouch built into their suits' lining. Luffy tested rapid-absorb gel packs that could be squeezed from a forearm band mid-run.
"If we ever get caught because we fainted from hunger, I'm quitting hero work," Gwen muttered.
Luffy nodded solemnly. "Deal."
At school the next day, Gwen hid a labeled food stash in the chem lab storage locker: "Project Metabolism - Do Not Touch."
Luffy stuffed his emergency bars in a shoebox marked "Science Fair: Digestive Response Materials."
"Think this'll fool anyone?" he asked.
"No. But it might make them too confused to question it."
The next mission prep included an upgrade to their fake sleep systems. Gwen installed a low-volume breathing loop synced with a weighted dummy. She synced it to a looping alarm Gwen could trigger remotely. Luffy tried a similar setup — until Celia nearly walked in after hearing his dummy snoring like a cartoon villain.
"I forgot to turn the volume down!" he hissed later.
"You're lucky she didn't poke it and find out it was just a hoodie with hot water bottles."
"To be fair," Luffy said, "it was a very convincing hoodie."
But even with all their careful planning, mistakes crept in.
One night, after a rooftop patrol, Gwen mistimed her re-entry.
As she quietly unlocked the window, she froze at the sound of her father's voice.
"Gwen?"
Her breath caught. She paused just outside the window, heartbeat racing.
"Thought you were asleep."
She swallowed, then called back hoarsely. "Bathroom. I couldn't sleep."
There was a pause.
"Don't stay up too late. Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah. Got it."
She exhaled slowly, slipping back inside and locking the window behind her.
Her hands trembled slightly as she leaned against the wall, heart still thudding in her chest. That had been way too close. One more question from her dad, one more second of hesitation, and everything could've unraveled. She padded quietly to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and stared at her reflection.
"Get it together," she whispered.
The truth sat heavy behind her eyes — they were balancing on a knife's edge, and she couldn't afford a single slip.
The next day, she noted it in her journal: "First near-catch. Can't afford another. Tighten window timing. Recalibrate audio decoys."
At Field Alpha that night, Gwen and Luffy slumped side-by-side on the concrete.
The hum of their field lights cast long shadows across the floor. Gwen stared up at the exposed beams, breathing deeply through her nose.
"We keep doing this," she murmured. "Wearing masks, dodging cameras, lying to the people who trust us. It's exhausting."
Luffy looked over at her. "Yeah. But... it's also worth it. Every person we help. Every fight we avoid. That's what the mask is for."
She smiled faintly. "Since when did you get philosophical?"
"Since I started skipping sleep and surviving on peanut bars. Makes a man reflective."
Their suits were peeled halfway down, both of them red-faced and exhausted.
Luffy chewed a cube of compressed nutrients. Gwen slowly sipped water from her hydration line.
"We're not breaking," Gwen said. "Just bending really far."
Luffy grinned. "Then let's not snap."
They bumped fists gently, then leaned back to rest — just for a moment.
Outside, Brooklyn pulsed with distant noise. But in the depths of Field Alpha, it was silent.
For now, at least.