Chapter 1: The Kidnapping of Ann-a (Yes, That's Her Real Name)
Ann-a was kidnapped on a Tuesday. Statistically, most kidnappings happen on weekends, but Ann-a never did care for statistics. She preferred to defy expectations, which is exactly what she was doing when Interpol's finest—three agents, two clipboards, and one very confused Uber driver—showed up at the playground and spirited her away in a van that smelled suspiciously like stale coffee and broken promises.
Dinah Stealth, a.k.a. Livepool, watched the whole thing unfold from the world's most uncomfortable government-issued surveillance chair. She wasn't invited, of course. She was being "detained for questioning," which is bureaucrat-speak for "we don't know what to do with you, so we're going to make you listen to us drone on about national security until you beg for mercy or a sudoku puzzle, whichever comes first."
She was forced to listen to the live feed of Ann-a's abduction, courtesy of the government's state-of-the-art eavesdropping technology (which, to be honest, sounded like it was powered by potato batteries and a WiFi hotspot from 2007). The agents on the ground were so painfully incompetent, Dinah considered using her powers to teleport herself into the van just to show them how a real kidnapping should be done. But restraint is a virtue, and besides, she didn't want to get her shoes dirty.
The government, in their infinite wisdom, handed Dinah a "Hit List" as thick as a Russian novel. "For your consideration," they said, as if they were offering her a dessert menu and not a list of people they'd like her to, you know, erase from existence. "You're quite powerful, Ms. Stealth. We'd appreciate your cooperation."
Dinah smiled the way a cat smiles at a goldfish. "I'll consider it," she said, which is Dinah-speak for "I'd rather eat glass."
They tried to threaten her, but threatening Dinah Stealth is like trying to out-snark a British sitcom. She'd heard it all before. "If you don't comply, we'll make your life very difficult," they said, as if her life wasn't already a masterclass in government-imposed inconvenience.
Meanwhile, the world outside kept spinning, blissfully unaware that a child had been kidnapped, a woman was being blackmailed, and existence itself was hanging by a thread—one that Dinah could snip with the flick of a wrist. She could end it all. She could save it all. She could do anything, really, except get anyone to listen.
And just when they thought they had her boxed in, Dinah considered taking her high-low clearance level—which, for the record, is both the highest and lowest security clearance in existence (don't ask, it's a government thing)—and blowing a whistle so massive it would flip the entire damn world on its head. If you ever thought anything was true, it isn't. Congratulations, now you're caught up.
But that's the thing about being Dinah Stealth. You don't need the world to notice you. You just need them to regret it when they finally do.
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and waited for the next move. Because if the government wanted her to play their game, they were about to find out she'd already memorized the rulebook—and rewritten the ending.