Characters reference Donald Trump as Don Rump
Scene rated a hard 14 or 16+
The laboratory was painfully quiet—too quiet for a place meant to hold something dangerous. The only sounds were the faint electric hum of overhead lights and the sharp, jittery scratching of pens. A row of white-coated researchers pressed close to the one-way glass, shoulders nearly touching, breath fogging the transparent wall as they stared into the containment room.
Inside, the room was blindingly white. Tiles, ceiling, walls—everything washed in surgical brightness that made the space feel less like a room and more like a void. The only imperfection was the torn bed shoved into the corner, its sheets mangled as if someone had taken out their frustration on the fabric.
Alex sat in the exact center of the floor, legs crossed neatly like a child told to "sit still." Her hands rested in her lap, fingers gently curled. Her eyelids lowered without strain. Her breathing moved only the thinnest fabric of her oversized gown—a ragged, uneven thing that hung crooked off her shoulder. It brushed the tile every time she exhaled.
The cameras, stationed in each corner with their tiny red lights, watched without blinking. The researchers watched the cameras. And the cameras watched her.
A younger lab worker stepped closer until his forehead almost touched the glass. His hand shook as he scribbled notes.
"…What is she doing?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
No one answered at first. They stared, waiting for even a twitch in Alex's posture. Nothing. She sat like a paused statue.
Finally one murmured, "Resting, maybe?" His eyes didn't leave her face.
"She's too still," another muttered, shifting her weight and hugging her clipboard to her chest. Her knuckles whitened. "We should… check on her."
"No." The man beside her shot her a panicked look. "The… others are coming."
She turned to him sharply. "What others?"
They began walking down the hallway, whispers bouncing off steel walls.
"Inferno. Winthrop. Heather Tate. Calvin." He swallowed. "And Dr. Monroe. They're having a meeting. About her."
"And why weren't we told?!"
"Because we're data. Not decision-makers."
They reached the tall steel door at the end of the corridor. Voices flared behind it—quick, heated bursts of argument. The workers hesitated, exchanged nervous glances, and waited for the shouting to soften.
When it did, they slipped quietly inside.
Dr. Monroe's office had been rearranged for the occasion. The usual mess of screens and scientific data had been replaced with a giant monitor displaying a photo of Monroe shaking hands with President Joe Biden, both grinning stiffly.
Two leather couches faced each other across a polished coffee table. Heather Tate occupied one couch, her shoulders slumped, swirling her drink in a way that said she desperately needed it. She blew out a long breath before downing the rest.
Across from her sat Inferno. Perfect posture, chin up, expression carved from granite. He didn't spare a glance at the drinks. His cape folded neatly around him, unmoving.
Winthrop stood just slightly behind him, tapping his dry-erase marker against the tiny board in his hand.
Calvin strolled out from the back of the room with the casual swish of someone who knew he owned the place. A fresh bottle of wine dangled from his fingers before he placed it gracefully on the table.
"My dad will be late," Calvin said pleasantly, dropping onto the couch beside Heather. "Or, perhaps, he won't come at all."
Heather lifted her head. "Why not?"
Calvin twirled the rim of his wineglass thoughtfully, eyes sliding toward Inferno. "He had another meeting with the President."
Inferno's lip curled in a dry, mocking smirk. "How quaint."
Calvin took a slow sip. "Inferno… we wanted to talk about expanding the Nine. Making it the Ten."
Heather adjusted herself, noticing Inferno's shoulders stiffen. "This new addition would help us reach younger audiences." She forced a tiny smile. "We're considering a theme park."
Inferno raised one finger.
Heather stopped speaking immediately.
He let out a humorless, quiet laugh. "A theme park. A f***ing theme park." He nudged Winthrop.
Winthrop lifted his sign: Inferno funny ha ha ha.
Inferno leaned forward slightly, voice low and edged with something ancient. "I made this team. I trained the world's best. I cleaned up every disaster you idiots created. I don't need additions—especially not children. I don't give a F*** about theme parks or kids laughing. They can F***ing all die. I won't save them."
He leaned back, jaw flexing. "And neither will the others."
Calvin set his glass down slowly. "Inferno… this new addition isn't like Warrior Girl. Or your first recruit." He nodded toward Alex's file. "She's something new. Something engineered. She may not be your addition—but she'll be your new right-hand."
The air froze.
Inferno didn't react outwardly. But the temperature of the room seemed to drop.
Winthrop lifted his board again: No one can replace me, Cal.
Calvin leaned forward, voice lowering into a threat disguised as diplomacy. "If you refuse, I'll tell the world what you are. We're restructuring command. The heroes report to you—you report to us. Understand?"
Inferno's eyes widened a fraction. Fire rippled beneath his calm surface.
He nodded once.
"Good." Heather clapped her hands lightly, pouring another drink. "Now… Winthrop." She slid a folder across the table. "He has lost 555 points."
Inferno opened the folder. His expression hardened as he scanned page after page of carnage.
Heather shrugged. "He killed over 3,000 people last week."
"These are innocents," Inferno growled.
"That's why we need regulation," Calvin replied.
"And how exactly—"
"You kill him," Calvin said simply. "Justice. The world wants it."
Winthrop tilted his head at Inferno, waiting.
Inferno exhaled deeply. He removed his cape and let it fall to the floor. His hands rose to his head, squeezing until thick, black blood dripped between his fingers. His breathing grew ragged.
Then—
A knock.
Calvin didn't even look away. "Come in."
The lab workers shuffled in, pale.
"Sir… she's ready."
Calvin stood, straightening his collar. "Let's go."
The group walked through the hall. Winthrop stuck close to Inferno's right side, rubbing his broken arm lightly, eyes wide and jittery.
They arrived at the containment wing—and halted.
Dr. Monroe waited there with an enormous smile plastered on his face.
Beside him stood President Don Rump, guarded heavily.
"Ah!" Monroe stepped forward, patting Inferno's back like they were old friends. "The man of the hour."
Inferno's eyes narrowed. "We've met. At the Charlie Kirk memorial."
Don attempted a polite smile. "Good to see you again."
Winthrop strolled past him, lifting his sign: Inferno hates you.
He returned to Inferno's side like nothing happened.
"Alright," Monroe said in a flourish. "It's time."
He placed his hand on the scanner. The lock disengaged with a heavy click. The door slid open.
"After years of work…" Monroe gestured dramatically. "Alex Compton. The first super kid."
Everyone stepped inside.
Alex hadn't moved an inch from earlier—cross-legged, hands resting gently, gown draped loosely around her thin frame. Her head bowed slightly, as if listening to something the rest of them couldn't hear.
"She's a weapon," Monroe said proudly. "Strength, speed, telekinesis, warping—"
President Rump stepped forward, crouching down to her level. His face tightened with worry. "She's too calm. That's concerning."
He leaned in and reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed her shoulder—
Her eyes snapped open.
Red—violent, burning—flooded her irises.
Her back arched. Energy crackled beneath her skin like lightning tearing through muscle.
She thrust her hand forward—
A shockwave exploded from her palm.
The President flew across the room, hitting the far wall with a sickening crack. His breath punched out of him.
Guards drew weapons instantly.
"Get back!" Monroe shouted, dragging the President toward the door.
Gunfire filled the room.
A bullet hit Alex square in the eye.
The metal shattered into dust.
She tilted her head, expression blank.
Winthrop stepped in front of her, both palms raised. "Hey—hey—just relax—"
Her hand shot out, gripping his arm.
Winthrop gritted his teeth, trying to push back. Muscles bulged. His knees trembled. She didn't move an inch.
Monroe leaned close to the President. "Imagine kids this strong… they'll protect us from the monsters…"
CRACK.
Alex snapped Winthrop's arm cleanly in half.
She hurled him across the room like a ragdoll. He hit the observation glass so hard the "unbreakable" material spider-webbed. Guards beneath him were crushed under the impact.
Gasps filled the hallway as people stumbled back.
Inferno stormed in.
His expression was not rage—just cold, ancient resolve.
He grabbed Alex, arms locking around her torso, and with a brutal twist, tore her completely apart.
Blood splashed across the white room.
He dropped each half onto the floor and walked out as if nothing happened, cape dragging behind him.
Winthrop staggered upright, cradling his broken arm, hobbling after him.
"There," Inferno muttered. "Done. That's why we don't need f***ing kid supes."
He kept walking.
Monroe hurried after him. "Inferno—wait. Winthrop can redeem himself. He can track down Connor. Bring him back alive. The others? Dead." Monroe leaned in. "Be careful. Connor's friends… they have weapons designed to detain heroes."
Inferno stopped.
"…What?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"They already harmed one—Vortex."
Inferno's jaw clenched. His breathing hardened.
In a flash, he launched himself down the hallway and vanished.
President Rump stood trembling at the observation window.
Inside the containment room, Alex's two halves twitched.
Her fingers curled.
Her spine straightened.
Her body began pulling itself back together.
The President's voice shook. "What… what is she doing…?"
Calvin didn't look away.
"That," he said softly, "is the one thing Monroe forgot to mention."
He smiled faintly.
"She has regeneration."