Chapter Text
He looked like an asteroid that day when he was falling. Maybe a shooting star—that’s a stretch.
You were standing on gravelly ground.
He looked like a falling crash-out if we’re honest.
The smoke from the explosion had almost entirely dissipated with the wind by the time the heavy metal collided with the gravel.
Hesitation.
The sun had just started rising. Maybe you’d be able to save whoever’s inside.
But you recognized this heavy metal. Mecha Man. This might be the first time you’ve ever saved anyone.
But you’ll take it and hope he won't perceive you. He’s sure to be knocked out in there if he had let the suit crash down like this.
The time is wasting. The sun had already shone enough light for you to do something super.
After all, you’re practically useless without light. It’s what you’re born with.
The heavy metal—the mech suit. It is still producing smoke. He’ll suffocate in there.
Focus.
It’ll just be a random gust of beautiful glowing if you’re not able to hone it into something that’ll allow you to lift heavy metal.
It starts to twinkle before trickling down your palms. It flows from every pore, and it’s in the air, shapeless and free.
And it’s reforming the crash in your path.
Your feet are heavy as you approach the metal, unsure what to expect from the hero inside it.
You fail the first few attempts to try and pry open the mech. You succeeded after a while.
The assumptions you’ve made in your head are confirmed when you’re met with the unconscious Mecha Man.
He looks exhausted. What was he doing exactly to be like this so early in the morning? He’s dying.
He’ll die. Mecha Man will die again, just like before, but you’ll save him. You’ll save this one.
Because he’s a hero and the world needs him. And also because your degree—as rotten as it’s gotten from what you’ve been doing—it demands justice.
He looked so vulnerable like this, but still so strong.
Your power started to surge, probably from the nerves that came from being so close to a hero.
Focus.
The glowing light pierced through his skin and mended him back from the pieces he’s been reduced to.
Instead of dying a death like this, maybe he’d just be put in a coma and survive.
You won’t cure him awake—too afraid he’d catch you. You’re still a criminal.
But you were carried away, healing him. He opened his eyes, and you froze when he groggily tried to process the sight of you. He simply couldn’t when the weight of exhaustion beats him.
He could only smell you. The smell that came with the glowing that pulsed from your body.
His eyes were very small; he couldn’t open them fully, but it was open enough to get a blurred image of you in his head.
“You—“ His mouth opens, but whatever words he manages to force out are drowned by the wail of approaching sirens.
That’s terrifying in a way.
The smoke from the crash has already attracted first responders in the area.
Of course, they’ll come. The smoke persisted.
You have to go now. Leave him there; he’s not going to die.
He’ll be fine. You won’t regret this, probably. But imagine if he catches you after he’s recovered and has come back to the field.
That would be embarrassing. But you’re confident he’d never cross paths with you again.
You’re also confident he’d never think of this moment again, too; he’s knocked out.
He wouldn’t remember you, you thought.
This was from a long time ago, before your Jeremy had been corrupted and bittered.
You were studying together in a well-lit library when he began to wander and allowed himself to be consumed by his dreams once more.
Something he loved to do with only you.
“I know it sounds huge, but I mean it.” This was a time when he still had that light in his eyes that was enough to take away your grievances at the time.
You had this incredulous look on your face, but it was mostly there for teasing. You believed him enough to bet your whole life on him.
“And exactly how do you plan to make a drug like that?”
Pause.
“That’s fantasy, Jeremy.” You spoke nonchalantly; you wouldn’t consider it dismissive.
He looks at you as if you’ve offended his entire bloodline. But his embrace behind you holds no hostility. He is gentle, and he is just as he always is with you.
“I know it sounds crazy right now, but… I want to create something that truly changes the world,” he said.
Jeremy was a man with ambition.
The little pauses between every time you spoke to each other were for the sake of dragging out the intimacy of being together.
“When I think of the future, you’re always in it. That’s why I want to try.” He’s a sweet boy.
He punctuates his promises to you and the world with short kisses on the back of your head. His affections had always been the sweetest kind, one that’ll attract ants. Attract roaches.
And this had always been something that’d exhilarate you, encouraging the minute twinkling of your powers to an uproar.
“Let’s make sure we ace the exams first before planning for the world, yeah?”
He doesn’t bother to quell his excitement, boyishly grinning when he takes his seat next to you.
The tips of your fingers excreting that same glowing he loved to take from you, the giddiness of being young and in love was liberating. You are Jeremy’s angel.
You were a natural healer; the course of Medical Sciences was an easy fit for you. You could only imagine now how you’d function in an actual hospital.
He has that weird look on his face again, and the glowing pulses to his direction, easing the headaches he’d never admit he had when you studied together like this.
Your hand would rest on his arm, and you’d never think he’d ever pushed your warmth away.
The glowing from your palms could never break anyone. You always believed you were a healer.
It’s numbing to the senses. The lab gown you wore that wasn’t only stained by villainy and corruption, now also lost its pristine whiteness when ashes from the blast stuck to it.
You were caught in the middle of your outrage.
Jeremy ran away. He ran away with his ambitions between his legs.
The dust irritated your sensitive nose, eyes were teary from the pressure of grief and loss.
You’ve ruined Jeremy and his promises, shutting down his little drug ring—his little clandestine laboratory.
He’s gotten sick since then, and he’s never the same.
The explosion had been big enough to attract the attention of heroes in the area. No—heroes in charge. The hero right in front of you definitely did not come from somewhere close by.
The way the air around her stunted when she landed told you enough. She rushed here.
You were easily surrounded; you couldn’t move yourself out of there and escape. You stood in the middle of disarray. Support heroes had already rushed into the lab and moved in to minimize the growling smoke.
You stood still, shell-shocked and processing with your leaky hands raised to your sight. You look like a wet cat. You were the smallest you have ever been at this very moment.
“Hands where I can see them.” She says, pointedly at you, and you follow.
The guilt is in your eyes, gently wavering over your bubbling insides. She could see you struggling to contain your own powers. The glowing continued to pulse, but the bearer was shaken in a way that was unstable and unfit for the weight of such powers.
She’s patient and observant, you notice. She doesn’t immediately tackle you upon realizing you weren’t intending to be a real threat.
The shame of being seen like this forces your head down, unable to find the face of such a heroic figure. Her velvety voice. The strength from her stature. She’s strong.
You pause. How were you going to explain this to the standing hero in front of you?
Her strength is clear when she presents herself, eyes sharp when they stay on you, you alone with the explosion you’ve caused.
There was nobody else here. Amidst your anger and your grief, you wanted to find the scraps of your loyalty at least one last time to protect Jeremy.
“There is nobody else here. Anyone left couldn’t have survived that—“
“Did you do this?” She cuts you off with a question, and the accusation in her voice forces you to meet her face. The desperation knotting around your shoulders is clear.
“This isn’t what I wanted!” Your voice lacked spine, stuttering every enunciation from taking breaths every word.
“I didn’t know I could do this.”
You surrendered your hands to the blonde hero, seeing the glowing leak from your palms as if she hadn’t seen it leaking everywhere else on your skin.
You are able to get a better look at her now; the red jewel on her chest and her blue mask were what you registered first.
“Please—” The grief caught up to you, and your lips were trembling when your eyes were dry.
The only proof of your misery was the redness swell that stayed when the tears evaporated.
But the hero doesn’t heed your grief; you seem to be unstable. She’s objectively scanning what’s left of what you’ve ruined.
You know the conversation ended when she looked away from you, a huff of air from her peachy lips punctuating that moment.
“Do not touch anything. Do not step in any liquid. Every surface here, the walls, the floor, the debris, is coated in chemical residues. Be careful, team.”
She spoke through you—blue eyes past you and speaking to the two support heroes surrounding, who hadn't yet grasped the gravity of the situation in the laboratory.
Your eyes widened at her objectivity, watching her reach for her comms unit in her ear.
You have to set aside your grief and your tears for now and look around you. There are innocent people close to what ruined what was once an innocent Jeremy.
If they get close enough, it’ll ruin them too.
You prided yourself on being a healer, but allowing these heroes to get close to what could potentially lead them to ruin will ultimately fail you.
“We may have a potential phosphine gas—“
“No!” An outburst smaller than the damage you’ve done to the place pulls her attention back to you.
Your leaking palms did not matter when you pulled on her arms, not aggressive in nature but definitely desperate.
She could’ve used her strength to defer you, but was able to take a pause when she couldn’t sense hostility from you, who was the cause of the blast.
“This isn’t the meth lab that you think this is.” You started, taking whatever reins you could to find your spine. She might not listen if you sounded so unsure.
“Actually, no—this—this isn’t a meth lab at all.”
Now you sound more competent, unlike the puddle you were earlier. You could see her brows move behind her mask, crinkling as she finds reason to actually listen to you now rather than just see past you.
“There are chemicals here—mixed substances that will incapacitate anyone exposed within minutes.” You managed to let out without stuttering, but were let down when one of the supporting heroes on the site spoke over you: “The current diagnostics register a 98% match for a standard meth lab profile.”
The blonde hero’s gaze wavered from you to the observing hero behind you.
You turned around hurriedly, pulling your leaky hands off the hero. The glowing from your palms, hastily thrusting in the direction of the voice speaking over you.
The visual display of raw power was sudden, separating the heroes from the substances—a small, desperate barrier of glowing that looked pathetic in size but was able to stop them in their tracks.
The two supporting heroes reacted instantly and aggressively. They were seasoned responders, trained to neutralize threats, not listen to civilian input, especially not from the apparent source of the blast.
“Hey!” One hero shouted, shifting his weight away from the power that was still unfamiliar to him. "What the hell are you doing? Stand down!"
That ruined the spine you worked hard to summon, so you could try and look reasonable when you tried to warn them. “You have to listen—please listen to me!”
You couldn’t see what had happened; they looked behind you and settled themselves.
The hero who just scolded you had his lips straightened reluctantly. You can only assume that the blonde hero had pacified them from behind you.
You slowly turned to find out, her eyes still sharp and guarded. Her arm extended in their direction as she calmly spoke, “It’s fine,” before turning her full attention back at you.
“The current diagnostics register a 98% match for a standard meth lab profile.” She calmly reiterated what was uttered by the supporter hero before asking, “What point do you have that contradicts that assessment?”
You were dumbfounded only for a moment when you were unsure how to explain such a nuanced substance.
“If you—" You pause. "That isn’t something you can compare with phosphine gas. I’m not trying to scare you, but it will kill you.”
Another pause—gathering your words through your salivated tongue.
“I’ll explain everything, and I’ll cooperate." You inhale. "Just please let me be the one to deal with—this.”
You could see her actually considering your words. But mostly looking like she was leaning away from you.
“Please, I’m not—“ You stopped yourself. You couldn't just plead. You needed to appeal to her sense of duty, especially when you seemed to lose her in conversation when you got too emotional for reason and sense.
You forced yourself to spit the words out.
“I’m not trying to fool you. You'll get full cooperation, a clean scene, and a perp who minimizes the risk for your team.”
The offer of full cooperation and risk mitigation was a language she understood perfectly. You hoped it did. You were speaking to appease based on what you think she’ll like to hear.
She wasn’t doing anything, unspeaking and unmoving as she stared you down in thought.
You were about to just mentally shrink from even trying to talk your way into trying to control this, but were soothed when she eventually raised her hand and spoke, “Okay.”
It wasn't a gesture of acceptance, but one of command.
She didn't lower her hand; she pivoted slightly, keeping you within her peripheral vision as she reached for the comms in her ear again.
“Okay, new plan: the subject on site is handling the cleanup. Nobody approaches the lab for now.”
The expression behind her mask was unreadable, but the lean away was gone. She was assessing you not as the criminal that you are, but as a temporary solution for this.
You didn’t know the thoughts that ran through her head; she only had a straight face.
And you were a helpless loser.
"You have a window," she stated, her voice low and even. "You contain the hazard. I keep my team off your back.”
She leans down to your level, feeling her height over you. Her face is right across you now, the blue in her eyes obvious when she narrowly looks at you pointedly.
“But if the situation escalates, we’ll intervene.” You nod at that.
Pause.
You reluctantly turned away from her piercing blue eyes, back to the two support heroes that were inches away from the aether-like liquid. Close enough, but save for that pathetic little wall between them and the substance.
Hesitation. Reluctance. Your arm raised to your front, fingers roughly pointed at the aether.
And you take.
It’s a very slow process, still weak from the explosion you’ve caused, and struggling to perform when watched. The aether is fragile, shuddering when you try to absorb the shapelessness of it.
“It’s a very slow process,” you whispered meekly.
It’s done very quietly, and you do your best not to move so suddenly. You were surrounded by heroes; you do not want to be jumped.
But you turn your head to the blonde hero that seemed to lead this case of yours–instinctively searching for affirmation.
Which she gives–softening her gaze when she observes you. “It’s fine.”
You didn’t want to see her see you; you fixed your head back to the direction of your raised arm. Another wave of silence and pause passes by.
Till the blonde hero lets out a measured sigh and speaks, her voice straight and smooth from behind you. “You’ve mentioned something about it killing us; could you tell us more about it?”
Quiet. “It’s complicated–” “You said you’d explain everything.” “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
You sigh at the short and hasty exchange. You took time to gather your words, wanting to be as clear as you could with what you know. “This substance is unable to regulate itself. It’s still unfinished.”
You turn to the blonde hero behind you, searching her face for satisfaction after such a muted explanation. But she looked expectant, instead searching for more answers in the way you take the substance into yourself.
She didn’t look at all satisfied, which kept you talking. “I’m saying it’s unpredictable–like my powers.” Pause. “I’m not sure how to say it without it sounding like a sob story.”
“So I’m trying to be as unemotional as I can about it,” you finish awkwardly, lacking a better word to describe your lack of depth in answering.
She nods, seemingly understanding the sentiment. You sensed the shift a few moments back; it’s a bit more obvious now how less intimidating she is with you. She didn’t need to be overly firm or conduct herself as the hero she is when you were being cooperative.
You were a helpless loser.
And the blonde hero always had a soft spot for helpless losers.
“Fair enough,” she conceded, her tone losing its operational edge and settling into something a bit more administrative. She nods to herself again, more functional–more like she had just crystallized the choices she was making in her head.
You felt the impulse to turn and see her face again, curious. The glowing started to pulse a little stronger after you’ve practically inhaled what was left in this rubble. The last of the aether-like substance had crept into your palm, leaving the scene looking more like an abandoned wreck of a laboratory rather than the story of what happened.
It’s quiet now, you’re unsure.
A brief, faint beep cut through the silence. “Readings are clear. Saturation levels dropping to baseline zero, all quadrants. Air quality index is green across the board.”
You glance back at the blonde hero behind you, once more seeking her affirmation after hearing the same support hero talking over you from earlier–confirming the lab’s stability.
“That was a hell of a party trick,” the other hero annotated.
She hums, nonchalantly bobbing her head responsively before stepping closer to you.
“I’m Blonde Blazer,” she sounds more official. “I work over at Superhero Dispatch Network.”
“We’ll need a full debriefing on that substance you just absorbed,” she continued. “The SDN site is secure. We can get you checked out medically for those hands. Finish up here, and we’ll move you there.”
She paused, looking at your leaking palms again. It made you self-conscious, your eyes following after hers and looking down at your own hands too.
You could sense a support hero approaching you calmly, cuffs in hand. You were just about to comply and hold up your wrists when Blonde Blazer pushes them back to your chest.
“That won’t be necessary, I’ll take her there myself,” she said, not looking at you, a calm expression on her face as she spoke with the supporting hero.
You looked at her reluctantly, but you ultimately complied, still not wanting to be jumped.
She singled you out and led you inside SDN. Entering the building was overstimulating—not by nature, but by context. You had just been taken here fresh after blasting your clandestine lab into rubble, ushered into a place filled with heroes and an air of commanding righteousness.
Everything was washed in blue, white, and gray beneath the harsh overhead lights, save for the occasional rays of warm sun that passed through the glass—until you stepped into her office.
The Blonde Blazer didn’t seem so strong and intimidating when she sat across from you now, her office table taking the space between you. It’s a different kind of stature you’re faced with.
You were forced to pour out even the ugly and emotional aspects of what you know now—and what you could know tomorrow. The prospect of dissonance within your own power lingered, unresolved. But most of what you’ve mentioned is something the blonde hero had already deduced from your short interaction.
Your last loyalty to Jeremy was claiming the project as your own, taking the responsibility with it, and acknowledging the aether-like substances in that lab were built from your power. The bastard ran from you.
You’ve only been signing papers, making statements—mostly just confirming what she’d already set out in writing for reports.
You had expected to be cuffed and sent to a holding cell, confusion setting in when you instead were led past it upon entering the SDN building.
“Alright. Let’s formalize this before we move on to other matters I want to discuss with you.”
She’s very organized, settling her papers down when she speaks to you straight with her pen in hand and her gaze on you; unbroken yet devoid of judgment. Flat and normal.
"We have a lot of gaps in our incident report," she continued, tapping the pen lightly on the desk blotter. "Specifically regarding the nature of the substance and your interaction with it."
She paused, making eye contact.
"I need a complete, linear rundown of the project," Blonde Blazer instructed, getting straight to the point.
There’s a clear conflict behind your eyes; she can find traces of it in the way you glance around as if thinking, even though your thoughts are already fixed on the points she needs to hear from your mouth. It’s not hard to read you.
You keep pausing on yourself, not allowing the words to set themselves free.
She leaned back in her chair slightly, letting out a measured exhale.
“You mentioned it was ‘complicated’ out there. Well, we deal with ‘complicated’ every day here. So feel free to get into the messy details. They’re just data points now—data points we need to move forward with this report, and with the other matters I wanted to discuss.”
She pointedly avoided calling it a ‘sob story’ the way you did earlier.
The administrative posture she took felt like a cage being built around you. Which doesn’t make sense, considering you are in a cage even without it. You’re still a criminal.
You sigh–you sink into yourself only for a short moment before adjusting yourself, preparing to relive the entire ordeal. You needed to cooperate fully; that was the deal.
And you did, pouring out what you could from a leaking memory puddle in your head. She starts to take note of every element you mention–chemical and emotional.
It’s a very rough and bumpy explanation–but still an explanation Blonde Blazer would take.
It was rough because, in truth, you had never truly done anything beyond being the blueprint for the substance. It’s Jeremy’s dream and ambition.
“Jeremy We thought we could make a miracle serum. It’s his a dream we had growing up.”
Sigh.
“We were wrong,” you state flatly. “It wasn’t a cure. It was poison, and Jeremy was the first to be stricken by its unpredictable effects.”
“He got sick—cursed to die chasing his delusional goals. It was irreversible. All I can do is stabilize him, keep him alive a little longer, but I can’t fix what’s already done.”
Your reluctance to keep talking is hard to watch. She could tell there were many more you were leaving out. But on her end, she’s getting most of her questions answered, so she’s not pushing you too much. She’ll only take what she needs.
“Basically, it started from us making a miracle serum to making a miracle cure for his curse.” You ended your piece flatly.
The Blonde Blazer listened to your flat confession, absorbing your statements and processing them efficiently. She didn’t even look up from where her pen was, which was making small annotations on a notepad.
But that was probably more for your benefit; her gaze—her perception of you—wouldn’t deter you from saying more.
It was only when you’ve gone quiet that she pauses her writing and meets your eyes.
“Okay,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “So it really wasn’t a meth lab. Mhm. I got that.”
She closes her notepad entirely, standing up as she gathers the papers on her desk for the incident report.
“I have everything I need to close the lab incident report,” she seemed satisfied. You only watch as she turns from you to put the papers away. “Thank you.”
You didn’t look around much, still thinking of what’s to come after this. You’re probably going to jail. You’ll probably be cuffed and sent to their holding cell downstairs once this is over.
The click of the drawer locking shut snapped you out of your thoughts, eyes back on Blazer as she turned back around with another file in her hands.
She gently places the new and thicker folder closer to your side of the desk. You look up at her questioningly before she sits back down, resting her arms on the table.
“The incident is officially resolved—Now we need to talk about you.” She gestures for you to open the file yourself, and you do just that.
The words hadn’t been processed yet; you only read out the words in big writing.
“Phoenix Program?” Your voice is small and unsure, reading the paper out loud.
“The system has standard procedures for variables such as yourself. But it usually involves containment.” Her words were sharp but not harsh, only truthful.
She looked you over as you continued to read through the paperwork, her gaze calculating.
When you look like you’ve read enough, she gently nudges a pen into your hand.
“It’s a chance. Here in SDN, we have a program that rehabilitates villains such as yourself to reenter society to use your powers for a better—more constructive use.”
“The Phoenix Program.”
You were quiet.
“You don’t have to decide now–” “Thank you, Blonde Blazer.” That catches her off guard, but she welcomes your acceptance with a smile.
“Just fill this up and sign. I’ll gather the rest of the paperwork–for your identification.”
The Phoenix Program. This is escape. You’d be crazy not to take it; signing this paper would mean leaving Jeremy and his dreams forever.
With shaky hands and leaky palms, you take the pen and sign.
"Welcome to the Phoenix Program."