Watcher's POV :
I have seen countless worlds across the multiverse. In each one, Earth chooses its champions—heroes born of purpose, accident, or desperation—to stand against annihilation. But not here. Not in this universe.
This world isn't ready for a universal, let alone multiversal, crisis. And yet, something is stirring. Not a prophecy. Not fate. Just... misfits. Strangers to greatness, trying something they never dared in their own timelines: working together.
I've watched heroes rise, fall, and rise again. But these? These are anomalies. Their actions ripple in ways I cannot yet see.
And so, I watch. As their story begins.
"I just... can't do this anymore, Alex."
Her voice was quiet but firm. Too firm for someone who'd just kissed him two days ago and laughed with him over a shared milkshake. Alex blinked, trying to process.
"What are you saying?" he asked, though the sinking in his chest already knew.
Jenna avoided his eyes. "Look, it's not personal. You're sweet. But I can't keep pretending this is working."
"Pretending?" His voice cracked. He hated that.
"You don't get it. You never do," she said, crossing her arms. "Everyone else is doing things. Going places. You're just... stuck."
He shook his head. "Because I can't afford to take you to expensive places or buy stupid gifts?"
Her silence was the answer.
A black sports bike rumbled nearby. Alex turned in time to see Dylan Braddock—letterman jacket, smug grin, and the kind of haircut only rich kids could afford—pull up to the curb.
Jenna glanced at him and then back at Alex, guilt flickering across her face. "I didn't plan this, okay?"
"But you're going with him?" Alex said, his voice sharper now.
Dylan swung a leg off the bike like he was stepping out of a movie scene. "Aw, c'mon, Alex. Don't be like that," he said, sliding his hand into Jenna's. "She just upgraded."
Jenna winced, but didn't pull away.
Dylan leaned in close as they turned to leave, flashing that perfect, punchable smile. "Next time, maybe save up for something nicer than gas station chocolates, bro."
Alex stood frozen as they walked off, Dylan laughing too loudly, Jenna not looking back.
The heat built behind Alex's eyes—not tears, not yet, but close. He swallowed it down, clenching his jaw until it ached. He turned and stormed over to his old beat-up bicycle chained near the school fence.
No destination. No plan. Just raw energy and nowhere to put it.
He pedaled.
Hard.
Faster than he ever had, like speed could erase humiliation, like wind could scrub away failure. He cut through neighborhoods, past fast food joints and gas stations, onto side streets he'd never cared to name. His legs burned, but he didn't stop.
By the time his breathing evened out, the sun was halfway down and the sky had turned a strange orange-grey. He coasted to a stop, finally registering the world around him.
Crumbling concrete. Bent fences. The low buzz of flies.
He'd ridden past the edge of the city, into the industrial dump zone. Mounds of twisted metal, trashed electronics, and broken furniture rose around him like dead monuments.
Alex sighed, resting his foot on the ground, finally catching his breath."What am I even doing?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Then—movement.
Not far ahead, someone was digging through a pile of old metal and shattered appliances. But not like a scavenger. This kid—because he was definitely a kid, maybe Alex's age—was moving with purpose. Fast, twitchy, muttering to himself like he was decoding a message only he could hear.
Alex squinted. The boy wore a patched-up hoodie, gloves with the fingers cut off, and combat boots two sizes too big. His jeans were caked in dirt, but there were wires looped around his belt like accessories. Too clean to be homeless, too weird to be normal.
Curious—and a little cautious—Alex walked his bike closer."Uh... hey?" he called out. "You lose a robot in there or something?"
The boy instantly snapped up, eyes wide.
"Shhh!" he hissed, holding a finger to his lips. "Don't be loud. They're listening."
Alex blinked. "Who's listening?"
The boy glanced around, then motioned him forward with exaggerated caution. "You didn't hear this from me, okay? I'm not even supposed to be here today. But... there's talk. Whisper-level clearance stuff."
Alex stared. "What?"
The boy leaned in like they were in a spy movie. "There's a rumor. Something buried out here—old tech, off-books, not on any grid. Government blacksite junk. And maybe... maybe something that can make a person—" he looked around again, voice dropping to a whisper— "superhuman."
Alex stepped back half a foot, eyebrows raised. "What are you, a child?"
"I'm thirteen and a half," the boy snapped, clearly offended. "And I've done more field research than half the internet. Also, you're the one who followed me, so who's the real creep here?"
Alex opened his mouth to reply—then shut it. Fair point.
The boy stood up, brushing grime off his knees, then looked Alex up and down like he was trying to decide whether he could be trusted. "You don't look like one of them."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "One of who?"
"The gatekeepers. The ones who keep the world stupid," the boy muttered. "You looked mad. Like the kind of mad that makes you ask questions. That's good. You should be asking more questions."
Alex shook his head, half amused, half unsettled. "I just got dumped, man. I'm not exactly in the mood for alien conspiracies."
The boy grinned. "Oh, good. Because it's not aliens. Probably. C'mon. Help me dig. If I'm right, you'll want to see this."
Alex hesitated. Every rational part of his brain screamed to walk away.
But something about the kid—the fire in his eyes, the absolute conviction—made it hard to turn around.
And maybe, just maybe... he didn't want to be rational anymore.