United States — Federal Peculiarity Assessment Facility (FPAF)
Revan's Age: 15 years
The sky was still orange when Revan sliced through the clouds, flying calmly toward the government facility located on the outskirts of Denver. He wore casual clothes reinforced with fabric from his father's company — light, durable, and nothing flashy. He made a point of not wearing any uniform. Not yet.
It was the day of the quadrennial peculiarity test — a requirement for all American citizens with any registered ability. Unlike Japan, which was stricter about the use of powers in public, the U.S. allowed more freedom of expression. Flying, manipulating elements, running at superhuman speed — all of that was everyday life in major cities. However, everyone, without exception, had to undergo control and classification tests every four years to keep their registration updated and to ensure the government was aware of any changes in threat level or capability.
I had already been registered as a child — but at that time, the extent of my powers was uncertain. Now, at fifteen, with absurdly refined control, it was impossible to hide what I was.
As I landed in front of the main entrance, a few employees looked at me with curiosity. I was too young to be there alone. But a single name was enough:
"Revan Whitmore. Primary registration. Mandatory retest."
That was all it took for the protocols to accelerate.
The American peculiarity classification system was divided into seven main levels:
Class 0: No manifestation (registered as an unactivated genetic carrier)
Class 1: Basic level, minor physical or sensory changes
Class 2: Useful peculiarities, but limited to short range or small impact
Class 3: Intermediate level, capable of influencing the environment or others
Class 4: Powerful peculiarities with moderate destructive potential
Class 5: High-impact abilities requiring monitoring and special license
Apex Class: Maximum level. Reserved for individuals with multiple abilities of global reach, mass destruction, or reality manipulation. Rare. Extremely regulated.
Up until that moment, there were only nine people classified as Apex across the entire United States. All adults. All with decades of experience.
The tests began at 8 a.m.
First was the strength test. Revan lifted a 300-ton titanium platform with one hand. No visible effort.
Then, speed. A 3,000-kilometer track designed for supersonic testing. He crossed it in less than 0.7 seconds. Repeated it in reverse, just to prove a point.
Endurance? I withstood bursts of heat, cold, and impact that would obliterate tanks. Not a scratch.
Thermal vision? Surgical precision. I managed to melt only the outer edge of a steel ring without affecting the central stone, from meters away.
Hearing? I repeated whispered phrases spoken inside lead-lined underground vaults.
Intellect? I completed logic, math, linguistics, and engineering tests so advanced that even the simulators couldn't grade them in real time. The cognition algorithms crashed.
And then… the evaluators went silent. They looked at one another, unsure what to do with the results. One of the directors, an older man in a dark suit with stern eyes, stepped forward.
"Revan Whitmore. Based on your results, we hereby confirm… you are now officially classified as Apex Class."
The silence that followed was absolute. The man cleared his throat before continuing:
"The youngest in the nation's history — and possibly the world — to receive this designation. Your data will be sent to the Federal Division of Advanced Peculiarities. You will receive visits. Trainers. Offers. And invitations you may accept or refuse. But know this: from today on, you will be watched. Protected. And feared. This is the responsibility that comes with your power."
I remained silent for a few seconds. Thinking. The weight of the classification didn't surprise me. I already knew. The world was simply catching up to what I had felt since childhood.
"I don't want to be controlled," he said calmly. "And I don't want to be part of any force, government, or program… unless I choose to."
The director stared at him.
"That will be respected… for now."
That night, Revan flew home in silence.
Above the clouds. Faster than sound. The first piece had been moved.
Now the world knew that something… or someone… was forming.
And no one knew what to expect.