The classroom was surprisingly old-school.
Polished floors. Rows of matte desks bolted into position. High-tech equipment lined the walls—projectors, scanners, even a few holo-stations—but the arrangement felt deliberate, almost nostalgic. Three tidy rows. A chalkboard—not a holo-board—stood behind the teacher's desk. And there, standing straight and sharp in a sleek black-and-gray suit, was the instructor.
"Names are unnecessary," he said, motioning them in with crisp movements. "You'll refer to me by my hero title. I am Spoton. Take a seat. The system has already assigned placements."
Michael—Disrupt—scanned the room as he walked in with Kaleb—Amplify—at his side. A list blinked against the wall, assigning names and rows. Michael sighed with quiet relief when he saw his seat was against the wall, middle row, right next to Kaleb.
They settled in just as Sunstrike and his group swaggered into the room. Sunstrike shot a passing glare at Michael, but didn't say anything—yet.
Once the last of the sixteen students sat down, Spoton clapped his hands sharply.
"Alright. Welcome to Heroic History and Society. This isn't your average class. I'm not here to give you easy grades or tell you stories. My job is to make sure you understand what it means to be an Awakened. "
He tapped the board twice with his finger, and a marker on his desk suddenly levitated, hovering upright like a soldier standing at attention.
"First," Spoton continued, "get out a sheet of paper. Yes, paper. You're writing this down. Memory strengthens when the hand moves."
Michael groaned quietly and pulled a lined sheet from the drawer in his desk.
"Paper? On the first day?" he muttered to Kaleb.
Kaleb grinned. "Old-school intensity. I kinda like it."
Michael shook his head with a faint smile and grabbed a pen.
Spoton took a breath. "Now. Let's begin with the root of all of this—the event that changed our world forever. Something called the Twelfth Disaster."
He paused, letting the room settle.
"No one knows why it's called that. There are no records of a first through eleventh disaster, though many speculate those numbers came from secret pre-collapse documents or theories lost to time. What we do know is this—three hundred thirty-five years ago, a strange purple smoke swept across North America."
He raised his hand, and the floating marker sprang to life, sketching a DNA strand in vivid purple across the chalkboard in perfect detail, no human touch required. It split into two branches.
"This smoke didn't poison us. It changed us."
The room was quiet. Everyone watched the marker draw—no projector, no hologram. Just telekinesis. Controlled. Precise.
"It took two generations before the changes became permanent. Americans—at least 40% of them—developed two new genetic markers. Two new sequences of DNA that changed the fabric of who we are."
He pointed to the first strand.
"The first is called the Singular Anomalous Sequence—or SAS. This is the part of your DNA that generates your ability. Your power. Whether that's fire manipulation, gravity redirection, teleportation, or even amplifying abilties"—he nodded subtly toward Kaleb—"this sequence is what makes it possible."
The marker now traced fiery, wavy lines through the strand's middle, highlighting its unpredictable structure.
"SAS varies wildly. No two are identical. Some are strong. Some are subtle. Some don't even activate until years after birth. We still discover new abilities every day. You're not science fiction—you're evolution on fast-forward."
He pointed to the second DNA sketch.
"This one," he said, "is the Reactive Evolutionary Response Encoding—RERE. Think of it as your body's upgrade package. It enhances your physicality: speed, strength, endurance, reaction time, stamina… and yes, you've all noticed by now—you heal faster than normal humans. Some of you may have cuts that close in hours. Others, in minutes. It varies."
The marker shifted and began drawing small diagrams—muscle fibers regenerating, bones hardening, hearts pumping at high rates.
Spoton looked around the room. "Now here's the important part. Some of you have powerful abilities but weak physical stats. Others have excellent RERE encoding but underwhelming powers. And a few of you—very few—are what we call dual-tier elites."
Sunstrike sat back smugly.
Spoton didn't even glance at him.
"But make no mistake," he said. "This doesn't make you better. It just makes you a bigger target."
A hand shot up.
It was a girl from the back row—tall, lean, dark-skinned, with cybernetic lines glowing beneath her sleeves. Her hero name was "Sync."
"So," she asked, "why did it only affect Americans? I mean… why not the rest of the world?"
Spoton nodded. "Good question. The smoke never made it past our borders. Some theorize it was contained by natural geography, or that it dissipated before reaching other continents. Others believe it was intentional. We still don't know."
Another hand—this time a short, heavy boy in the front row. "What about people who weren't affected? The other sixty percent?"
Spoton's expression shifted subtly. "Some were resistant. Others simply didn't carry the right epigenetic traits. They remained human—normal, if you will. And that… caused problems."
Michael leaned forward a bit, listening closely now.
Spoton's voice grew more solemn. "When the first fully Awakened generation rose, society was split. Factions formed. Fear spread. Normal humans felt threatened. Awakened individuals were hunted. Cities collapsed. America nearly destroyed itself."
He let the silence hang, just for a second.
"But then… came the Awakened Concord. A union of powerful Awakened leaders who believed coexistence was possible. They formed the World Council. And in time, order returned."
He walked slowly across the front of the class.
"From the Council came the Hero Core—a place to guide gifted individuals, teach them to use their abilities with discipline, restraint, and purpose. Not everyone trusted us. Many still don't. And I'm sure some of you know what it's like to be judged for what you are."
Kaleb shifted slightly.
Michael glanced his way, then raised a hand.
Spoton nodded. "Disrupt?"
Michael cleared his throat. "So we train here… to become heroes. But if it's really about peace and helping people… why all the ranking? The performance scores? Why make it a competition?"
A few students looked up at that.
Spoton didn't flinch. "A fair question. The answer is simple: because real life is a competition. Resources. Missions. Responsibility. People want heroes they can trust. And trust… is earned through results."
Michael didn't argue—but the look in his eyes said he wasn't satisfied.
Spoton moved on. "We are not perfect. We are not gods. But we are the future. And this world—however flawed—needs us. The question is: what kind of hero will you be?"
The class sat in thoughtful silence.
---
The late morning sun blazed down on the open-air training grounds behind Hero Core Tower, casting long shadows over the sleek metallic field. The place was massive—easily the size of four football fields—and fully equipped with punch dummies, sparring arenas, obstacle tracks, combat tunnels, and advanced robotic challenge units. Surrounding the main field were large stadium-like bleachers, empty for now, but ready for future evaluations or live tests.
A hulking figure stood at the center of the grounds, his dark red and black uniform stretching tightly over layers of pure muscle. His biceps bulged like watermelons, veins visible even under the fabric. A whistle hung around his neck and dark aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, though everyone could feel the heat of his stare.
He cracked his neck once—loud enough for it to echo.
"Listen up, worms!" the man bellowed, his voice like a slap of thunder across the metal field. "I'm not your schoolteacher, and this ain't your morning yoga. You can call me Steelgut—because I've taken missiles to the chest and walked away laughing. You're not in orientation anymore, kiddos. This is where the training gets real."
The students, still catching their breath from the last lecture tour, straightened up in formation.
"We're starting with warmups. Think you're tough? Think again."
He barked out orders.
"Three laps around the whole field! Let's MOVE!"
Sixteen costumed newbies took off, stumbling at first, but quickly finding their pace. Sunstrike ran ahead early, his fiery aura sizzling slightly around his head like heatwaves. Michael, in his Disrupt costume—jet black with crimson linings and reinforced gloves—ran beside Kaleb, known as Amplify, who wore his standard tech-lined blue suit with circuit patterns running across it.
"Push it!" Steelgut shouted, running alongside them, barely breaking a sweat.
After laps came punch drills. Massive steel bags dropped from cranes, and the students wailed on them with everything they had.
Disrupt's palm smashes cracked the steel frames. Amplify boosted Balloon, whose blows sent bags flying like wrecking balls.
Then push-ups. Then combat rolls. Then rope climbs. All under Steelgut's booming voice.
Finally, after a full hour, Steelgut clapped his hands.
"That's enough! You've sweated, now let's see if you can fight."
He walked across the center field where
combat drones rose from underground platforms. Matte black, humanoid, agile—each programmed to dodge, attack, and adapt.
"You're in teams of two. You'll have twenty seconds to destroy as many of these bots as you can. We're testing synchronization, combat ability, and damage output. If you can't work together, you'll fail together."
"Pick your partners. Clock's ticking."
The newbies quickly paired off.
Michael turned to Kaleb with a nod.
"Obviously," Kaleb smirked.
The rest shuffled into place:
Sync and Balloon
Sunstrike and Ript
Flashzone and Sparkler
Barrier and Shadowsmith
Glide and Clickshot
Jawline and Freezegrip
Duskcoat and Tremblor
Disrupt and Amplify
---
Challenge Begins
TEAM: Glide & Clickshot
Their turn began.
"Let's make it pretty!" Glide called as she dashed into the air, narrowly missing the claw of a charging robot.
Clickshot smirked and pointed two fingers at the robot, letting out a click-pop! that blasted its head clean off. One down.
Glide corkscrewed mid-air and sliced through a robot's midsection using sharpened metal wings attached to her suit. Two down.
Clickshot spun and landed another precise burst, knocking back a third, then used both hands to send a double shot into its chest before it could recover.
Four down.
But then came the fifth—heavier, reinforced armor. Clickshot fired but it ricocheted.
"Out of time!" the instructor bellowed.
Glide landed next to him, panting. "Could've got one more."
Clickshot cracked his knuckles. "Next time."
---
TEAM: Jawline & freezegrip
"Go!" the instructor barked.
Jawline sprinted forward and clotheslined the first robot with a forearm coated in stone. It crumpled like paper.
"Left!" Freezegrip shouted.
A robot lunged toward her—she grabbed its wrist mid-air and crack!—ice spread across its arm, up its torso, until the bot froze completely.
Jawline stepped in and broke it with one punch. Two down.
They teamed up again—Freezegrip diving between two more bots to place hands on their legs. Frost spread but not fast enough.
Jawline landed a powerful uppercut on one, knocking it into the other. That left one more robot half-frozen and twitching.
Three down.
"Time!" barked the instructor.
"Three?" Jawline scoffed, wiping his jaw. "Weak."
"Coordination, not carnage," Freezegrip said coolly.
---
TEAM: Duskcoat & Tremblor
When the fight started, Duskcoat vanished.
Literally.
Tremblor grinned. "All right then."
She slammed her foot into the ground. BOOM!
The whole arena rippled, and two robots lost balance.
That's when Duskcoat reappeared behind one—his coat forming shadowy tendrils that wrapped around its joints and pulled it down. He kicked the other in the back as it flailed, sending it into a glitching heap.
Two down.
Tremblor leapt and landed with both feet. Another seismic wave.
A third robot short-circuited.
Duskcoat tricked the fourth with a phantom illusion of himself—causing it to swing at empty air. Then he swept in with twin shadow blades and decapitated it.
One last bot lunged at Tremblor, who responded with a rising uppercut that echoed like thunder, sending the robot crashing into the ceiling.
Five down.
They regrouped.
"Effective," Duskcoat said softly.
"Damn right," Tremblor smirked. "We're underrated."
Team: Sync and Balloon
Sync darted forward in a series of blinks—blip, blip, blip—like she was teleporting, appearing behind robots mid-swing. Her dashes were linear but lightning fast. Balloon tanked every bot that tried to counter, absorbing their blows without flinching. When Sync finished a dash, Balloon bulldozed forward like a walking wall. They destroyed three before time ran out.
Team: Flashzone and Sparkler
The two overconfident girls flashed smiles as they stepped up. "Showtime," Flashzone said, raising her arms.
A blinding flare erupted—robots recoiled, optics fried. Sparkler capitalized, firing volleys of explosive bursts from her palms like artillery. The field lit up with color and fire, and five robots dropped fast. They high-fived at the buzzer.
Team: Barrier and Shadowsmith
Barrier immediately shielded their zone. A dome encased the team in light. Shadowsmith dissolved into the ground, reappearing behind robots. His shadow blades cut through circuits, while his bindings rooted enemies in place. When the barrier dropped, four were down.
Team: Sunstrike and Ript
Sunstrike ignited his fist with an orb so bright it looked like a mini sun. "Let's show 'em real power," he barked.
He launched the orb at a group of bots. It exploded—melting circuits midair. He punched another robot in the chest, blowing a hole clean through. Ript followed with bone-crushing punches using his high-tech gauntlets, lifting a robot and hurling it through another. Six robots fell.
Sunstrike smirked arrogantly as the team stepped off the field.
Team: Disrupt and Amplify
Finally, Michael and Kaleb stepped forward. The robots reset.
Kaleb placed a hand on Michael's back.
"Amplifying now."
Michael exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. His body vibrated subtly—energy surging through his muscles.
"Let's work," he said.
The buzzer sounded.
Michael sprinted forward, faster than anyone expected. The first robot lunged—Michael dodged, sidestepped, then slammed his palm into its core.
Crack!
It exploded.
The second swung from behind. He twisted, dropped low, palmed its knee joint—Snap—the leg shattered. He drove a rising palm into its head.
Two more approached. Kaleb boosted Michael's durability. Michael took one blow straight to the chest, barely flinching, then grabbed the bot's arm and crushed its elbow joint. He flipped it into the other, landing and planting both palms into their chests—BOOM.
The final two rushed together. Michael jumped over one, spinning midair. As he landed behind them, he reached out, cracked the knee of one, and sent the other flying with a palm-thrust that broke through its steel chassis like paper.
Six robots. Tied with Sunstrike and Ript.
As the buzzer rang, silence followed. The students gawked.
Steelgut nodded. "Nice. Looks like we got some heavy hitters."
---
Aftermath
Sunstrike narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched. As everyone dispersed, he walked past Michael, letting his shoulder hit his.
"Congrats, golden boy. Tied with the best. Must feel real good, huh?" he sneered.
Michael turned calmly. "We're all heroes. What's the point of competing like it's a game?"
"You think you're some righteous savior just because you scored highest in the heroics exam?" Sunstrike shot back. "Second highest in strength, second overall. Big whoop. You don't get to lecture me."
Kaleb stepped forward, hand on Michael's arm.
"Back off."
Sunstrike scoffed, "Whatever. You're both pathetic."
Michael stood his ground. "You're not supposed to bully your own classmates. That's not strength. That's weakness with a loud mouth."
Before it could escalate further, a loud whistle cut through the tension.
Steelgut stepped between them. "Save it. Take that energy to the battlefield, not the locker room."
Sunstrike glared, then turned, storming off.
---
Later That Night
The dorm rooms were modern—sleek beds, glowing wall panels, voice-activated lights. Michael tossed his duffel on his bed. Kaleb sat on the edge of his.
"Long day," Kaleb said.
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then:
"Why are we being trained to destroy?" he asked. "I mean… robots or not… shouldn't we be learning to save them? Defend people, stop disasters? This all feels so… violent."
Kaleb looked at him, contemplative. "You're not wrong. But maybe they're preparing us for the worst-case scenario. I mean, if we can't stop something peacefully, we still need to win."
Michael nodded slowly, not fully convinced.
Outside, the city lights shimmered. Inside, silence settled between the two—an unspoken sense that something deeper was brewing beneath the surface of Hero Core.
And Disrupt could feel it.