They say the world changed a hundred years ago when the first person caught fire and didn't die. A factory worker in Osaka sneezed and turned into a human flamethrower. That's how it started—quirks, powers, gifts, whatever flavor of ego boost you wanna call it. Suddenly, being born normal was the new disability.
It's 2123 now. Supers are everywhere. We've got rankings, sponsors, reality shows—hell, we have cereal mascots based on Pro Heroes. The government got tired of vigilantes messing up traffic flow, so now they license people like they're Pokémon trainers. Pass the Pro-Test—get a fancy title and a retirement plan. Fail? Enjoy working retail with the rest of the giftless masses.
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"Leonardo Maddox Lambert! If you're not standing in front of me in THREE MINUTES, your ass is grass, do you hear me?!" There it is. The banshee battle cry of doom, ringing through the house louder than our smoke alarm.
"Shut UP! I'm up, I'm up!" Groaning, I rolled over in my very comfortable cocoon of a bed—Tempur Breeze™ with red satin sheets, you'd love it—and jumped to the floor with a loud, and deliberate, THUD! I stretched my arms wide, joints cracking in protest.
A quick glance at the mirror sitting in the corner of my room revealed my luscious good looks: Golden hair that sparkled in the morning sun rays. Baby blue eyes that would make any 1930's German jealous, and pearly whites that should come with a warning label. I'm hot, don't worry about it.
I threw on a pair of good 'ol blue jeans, a green shirt with just the word 'Grass' written on it in bold font, and slipped on my beloved Eruption-brand sneakers. Eruption is the guy. #5 hero on the Pro Roster, and somehow still underrated. Yes, I have the collector's edition socks, and the alarm clock that yells "BURNNN BRIGHT" at 7AM. …No, I am not seeking help.
I gave the poster hanging above my door frame a crisp high-five and made my way downstairs to see what the warden wanted, but not before glancing at the slightly crumpled paper in the trash can.
Based on your past performance, we regret to inform you…
I shook my head and slapped my cheeks, forcing the rest of the words out of my mind.
"Are you stupid? Do you know what time it is?" The owner of the shrill voice asked. My mother. She met me at the base of the stairs, arms crossed over her pink apron. Her love language was yelling, no one was brave enough to tell her it wasn't healthy.
"Uhhh… does it matter? It's Saturday." I pushed past her gently. She smelled like burnt toast and frustration.
Dad was already at the table, newspaper in hand, like he hadn't just heard a Category 5 yelling match upstairs. His bald head was particularly shiny this morning, like warm butter had been smeared across it.
"Of course it matters! You have the Pro-Test today!" Mom's voice chased me into the kitchen like a heat-seeking missile.
Ah. Right. That.
"Oh. Was that today?" I muttered, glancing down inside our fridge. I pulled out a jug of milk and began unscrewing the cap.
She yanked the jug before it hit my lips, slamming it right back in the fridge. "You're not getting out of this. You have powers. You're gonna get paid for them."
I groaned and threw my hands up in the air. "Dad?"
He frowned before he spoke, his fingers drumming slowly against the kitchen table. "Leo, someone in our family has always-"
"I know, I know!" I cut him off, finishing his mantra for him, "You lost your leg. Steph didn't inherit any powers. Therefore it falls on me."
"Don't take that tone with your father," Mom snapped. "He made sacrifices—"
"I didn't ask him to go pro!" I shot back, louder than I meant to. "Sorry, but you guys are always doing this. Ever since I was fifteen! You guys always act like I owe the world something just because I pulled triple-sevens on Gene-Lottery."
"That's life," Dad said, his tone was calm, but sharp. "This test is bigger than your wants. You're blessed with my powers, son. And that means you have more of a shot than anyone, just take it seriously. We don't need a repeat of last year."
"You think I don't get that?" I spat. "What if I don't want to be a hero? What if, I don't know, I wanted to live a slightly normal life?"
"Leo—" Mom started.
"I'm over it." I muttered, stepping outside and letting the door slam shut behind me.
The air felt good—too good for how annoyed I was. Across the street, our neighbor Mrs. Hutchinson was watering her plants like she hadn't heard a family meltdown. A couple of kids zipped by on hoverboards, shouting something about a Pro sighting. I shoved my hands in my pockets and let out a deep sigh.
"Leo?"
"If you're here to guilt trip me too, I legitimately might throw myself into traffic." I turned my head to see my older sister, Steph, opening the door. She was still in her pajamas, clutching a steaming mug that read World's Okayest Older Sister.
"Did you actually forget the Pro-Test was today, or were you just hoping it'd mysteriously get canceled?"
"Would you be mad if I said it was mostly the second one?"
She stepped outside and let the door close softly behind her. "Not mad. Just mildly disappointed. Like when Papa John's gave us ranch instead of garlic sauce last week."
I snorted, the tension in my shoulders easing. "That is the worst."
She took a sip of her drink before speaking. "You could try being a bit more happy. Some people would kill to have powers, you know."
I winced at that last part. C'mon Leo, be respectful of your big sis' feelings here. "Yeah yeah, I know. You're right. I just… why? Why do I have to go and play the hero? I'd rather watch."
She was quiet for a second before turning her attention to a hero flying through the sky—Wingman, I think. "Because," she started, moving forward to loop her arm through mine. "As long as you've been alive, you're the first one to make sure someone is okay. And, hey," she flashed me a smile. "If you fail, you have nothing to worry about."
Huh.
I scoffed, "Wow. Super comforting. I'm soooo confident right now."
"I try."
We began to walk toward the end of the block, where a sleek, black transport van was seemingly waiting for me. I cringed. It was obviously government-issued, not subtle in the slightest. The van doors hissed open to reveal a big bored-looking guy in a black suit and tie. "Leonardo Lambert?"
"That's him!" Steph said, pushing me forward. "You've got this, Windy."
"Stop calling me that!" I groaned, stepping in the van. The door hissed shut behind me. I sank into the seat next to the guy who looked like he was about to piss himself. Red hair. Freckles for days. He was gripping the edge of the seat like it owed him money.
"Uh… hi?" I said.
He immediately jumped. "Oh! H-hello there!" His voice was a mixture of a shriek and a whisper, with just a hint of southern-drawl. "Are, um, are you here for the Pro-Test too…?"
I stared at him, dumbfounded. "No, I just enjoy getting in strangers' vans on a Saturday. What candy did they offer you?" His face went pale before I cracked a grin. "I'm just messin with you, dude. Duh, I'm here for the test." I held out my hand. "Name's Leo."
"H-harvey," he took my hand tentatively, almost like he'd never shaken hands before. "Harvey Hackett."
"Harvey, huh? Nice to meet you. You look like you're gonna pass out, or puke. I'd rather the first option."
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at the floorboard as he let out a nervous laugh. "Probably. I don't do well with… Uh, all this. People, pressure, et cetera."
"You forgot 'imminent death.' Might wanna add that to your bingo card."
"Y-you're joking, right?"
"I mean, mostly." I leaned back with a shrug. "Statistically, one in every hundred hopefuls ends up in the hospital. You're probably fine."
Harvey made a noise that could only be described as a dying balloon.
"Look," I said, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. Worst case, you black out during the first evaluation and get carried off heroically on a stretcher. Better story for your memoir."
"That's… not comforting."
"That's 'Leo Brand Comfort.' No refunds."
As the van rumbled to life, I took a glance out the window. We passed by the Pro-Hero Victuals fast food chain—Knead a Hero?, where each meal came with a fancy little hologram sticker. Blegh. An electric car zoomed by with the speed I only wished this van was going. As I watched it leave, I noticed a billboard above a bus stop:
Think You've Got What It Takes? Join the Ranks. Be a Real Hero.
An ad for the Pro-Test. Underneath it was an ominously hanging 'doomsday' clock.
3:41:07 until evaluation start time
Just as I was about to crack a joke, a soft bzzt! came from my pocket. I pulled out my phone—sleek, thin, and matte black with glowing green edges. The whole thing lit up the moment my fingers tapped against the surface, projecting a floating hologram. A new text notification sat there, taunting me.
Kira: bet u trip walking in. pls eat shit in front of cams so i can see pls. 💀
I rolled my eyes and quickly thumbed back a reply on the projected keys.
Me: already fell 4 u, cant afford another injury
The typing dots popped up instantly.
Kira: blocked.
Harvey tilted his head. "Friend?"
"Uhh, sure. Something like that." I tucked the phone safely back in my pocket.
A pause. Then Harvey's eyes drifted down to my sneakers—and immediately lit up like Christmas morning. "Wait. No way. Are those the limited-run Eruption-brand kicks?! The 'Crimson Heat' edition?"
I perked up. "Ohhh, you've got taste."
"I've been trying to get those for months! They sold out in six seconds!"
"Got lucky in a restock drop," I said, smirking. "Also might've threatened someone on an auction site. Legally."
Harvey snorted despite himself. "You a fan?"
"Fan? Dude, I basically have a shrine. Got the socks, the collector figure, the body pillow—"
He choked.
"Kidding. Mostly."
Harvey grinned, all the fear momentarily replaced by glowing enthusiasm. He pulled out his phone—an older and more bulkier model—and started flipping through pictures. "Check this out. I cosplayed as Eruption at my middle school dance once. Burned a hole in the gym wall doing the pose. They made me clean it up during the slow songs."
"Worthy sacrifice," I said solemnly.
"Did you catch his fight last week? Water-Hazard tried to drown the whole arena—"
"And Eruption evaporated the flood in one shot. 'Cause a true hero burns—"
"—brightest when faced with adversity!" We finished in perfect unison.
We blinked at each other.
Then busted out laughing like idiots.
"Okay," I admitted. "I wasn't expecting to find another Eruption groupie today. Especially not in this kidnapper van."
"I mean, where else would we be?" Harvey said, gesturing at the cramped interior. "Nothing screams 'bright future' like stale air"
I snorted. "Looks like we found your confidence sweet spot: shared fandoms and mild trauma."
"Hey, whatever works."
A silence settled in for a beat—comfortable this time. I glanced at him again.
"Y'know, you're not as shaky when you're being a nerd."
Harvey tilted his head. "You think so?"
"Don't get cocky. You're still radiating 'about to hurl.' Just, uh, a bit less."
"Progress," he said proudly, throwing his hands up like he'd just won an Oscar.
That's when the van lurched—hard.
"W-what the hell?!" Harvey screeched, unceremoniously upside down in his seat.
"Ow…" I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck before cracking it. "That better not have been part of the tes—"
RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT.
Gunfire.
I inched towards the door and carefully pulled it open. The bald dude from earlier lay sprawled on the pavement, the entire left half of his body missing.
"Oh my God…" Harvey pulled himself up beside me, hand covering his mouth. "What the hell happened?"
I went to answer, but then screams cut me off. I snapped my head in their direction and that's where I saw them. Kids, elderly, and teenagers all scrambling for cover, ducking behind flipped cars and benches. Some of them happened to be dragging others. It looked like one girl even had a broken arm. And at the far end of the street? Two dangerous looking dudes.
One of them was shirtless, his red skin carved up with jagged garnet markings that looked like someone gave him a bad tattoo. The lines pulsed like they were alive—glowing brighter each time he whipped one of those energy spheres at a building or a fleeing civilian. They bounced like super-powered dodgeballs, exploding on contact. His spiky black hair looked like it had been styled with a bottle of rage and too much hair spray, and the cocky way he moved said he was loving every second of this.
Right beside him? A walking nightmare. Average height and draped in a tattered black trench coat. And one of those old plague doctor things with the long beak and lenses that made it look like he was watching the world through night-vision goggles. He didn't walk, he flickered from victim to victim like a ghost.
"Huh. Welp, those are definitely villains."
"V-villains?!" Harvey quickly covered his mouth with both hands like he was about to hurl, but he swallowed it down. "This was supposed to be a trip to the Pro-Test! Not whatever this is!"
I stared at him, then back at everything happening outside, then back at Harvey. "They need our help." I said flatly.
"Are you crazy?!"
"Depends on who you ask. But honestly," I sighed, Steph's words finding their way back into my brain. "I have to make sure they're okay."
"Wait! Do you have a plan?"
I paused, halfway out of the van. "...Kinda."
"That's really not comforting!"
I flashed him a grin. "What did I say about 'Leo Brand Comfort'? Can you fight?"
He hesitated, hands digging into his red hair. Then, finally, he nodded. "I mean, I'm strong. I think, anyways. At least, not when I'm panicking."
"Panic later then. Let's do this."
Across the street, the red-marked guy raised his hand, another ball of energy charging in his palm. But before he could even think about doing anything with it, I inhaled. The wind around him shifted, the energy in his palm fizzling out.
I turned back to Harvey. "See that girl with the broken arm?"
He nodded.
"Get her somewhere safe, and then u-turn your ass back to help me."
"Wait, I- What're you gonna do until then?"
I let out a nervous chuckle as I rose to my feet. "I'm gonna try to deal with two uber-bad dudes."
Harvey gave me a horrified stare. "You're gonna…? Wait! Leo—"
Sorry buddy. I was already moving, sliding behind a flipped-over burger stand—rest in peace to the food, ouch—and took a second to breathe.
Okay, Leo. Nut up or shut up. I know you just wanted to watch heroes, but you don't have a choice right now.
With a deep breath, a gust of wind pushed me upward, launching me into the air. I twisted my body and landed hard on top of a crushed Kia Soul.
Big Red perked up the sound I was making. He did not look happy.
"Yo! Time of the Month-Man!" I called, waving my hands to get his attention. "Dude, you throw those things like you don't want to hit anything!"
Without warning, a ball of energy got launched straight at my face. I raised my hand and swiped the air in a horizontal motion. A sudden burst of wind slammed into the sphere, sending it straight into a nearby hydrant. Water exploded up into the air, catching the light in a shimmering rainbow.
"Surprise," I said, pointing finger-guns in his direction. "I'm not just a pretty face, loser." Hah! The look on his face. Priceless.
I lifted both arms, my fingers twisting and moving like I was leading my own solo orchestra. Another gust swept toward him, sending him to the pavement with a snarl. I let out the heartiest laugh I'd ever laughed.
Was I enjoying this? Was I enjoying burning bright, just like my hero?
"Pay attention, kid."
Huh?
A gloved hand clamped over my mouth. Cold. Smelly. This guy definitely skips showers. Another arm hooked around my torso, and suddenly I wasn't on the car anymore. The world flickered out of view, like someone changed the genre of Reality from a comedy to a horror movie.
"What the—" OW! My back met pavement like it had a personal grudge. The air left my lungs like it was my final breath.
"Clocks ticking, Hero." A voice rasped from beside my ear. I tried twisting free, but the dude was quick as hell. One hand slammed into my chest, pinning me down like a fly in a web.
Up close, the mask was somehow worse than I could have ever imagined. Spider-webbed lenses and a black beak dripping something I really hoped was just water. Near my ribs, something glinted. A knife? Needle? Glorified toothpick of doom?
Wind burst from my chest like a centralized bomb, launching Mr. Plague Doc off me like he was a flea in a dog bath. I flew too, straight into a parked car, rolled over the hood and crashed to the ground in a heap of "ow."
The good doctor landed like some sort of possessed ballerina, not even winded. Why should I be surprised? Of course he didn't have the human decency to be unconscious. He tilted his head, like he was questioning whether to kill me yet or not.
"Let's see what you're made of." Thennnn… poof. Gone again, just like a stereotypical anime dad.
Awesome. Can't wait.