The world stayed frozen. A pigeon was suspended in mid-air, its wings locked in a downward beat. A bead of sweat hung off the tip of Silver Streak's nose. Elias stared at the digital clock. The red numbers—7:42 AM—didn't blink.
'What is this?'
Elias took a breath, but the air felt thick, like he was inhaling water. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that seemed to be the only thing moving in the universe. Then, as quickly as it had seized, the world slammed back into motion. The pigeon flapped away, the crowd cheered, and the pharmacy clock flicked to 7:43.
His head throbbed, a sharp spike of pain driving behind his eyes. Elias didn't stay to watch the hero sign autographs. He turned around and started walking, but not toward the school. He couldn't sit in a classroom today. He couldn't listen to teachers drone on about "civic duty" and "heroic sacrifice" while his skin felt like it was crawling off his bones.
Elias headed back toward the outskirts, where the skyline looked jagged and broken. This was the 'Restoration Zone'—the neighborhood the heroes had leveled two years ago during a brawl with a Tier-4 villain. The media called it a victory. Elias called it a graveyard.
He pushed open the door to his apartment. The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and the faint, lingering scent of his mother's floral perfume that refused to evaporate. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the worn-out sofa, staring at the ceiling.
His eyes drifted to the corner of the room where the plaster was a slightly different shade of white. That was the hole. A hero named Aegis had thrown a villain through their roof during the "Great Stand." Aegis hadn't checked to see who was inside. He hadn't stayed to help. He had just flown back into the sky to catch the next punch for the cameras. By the time Elias had dug his mother out from under the bricks, her hands were already cold.
'They said it was an accident. They said it was for the greater good.'
The anger started as a low simmer in his gut, moving upward until his chest felt like it was filled with hot coals. Elias looked at the television, a bulky, older model he'd scavenged to replace the one smashed in the fight.
"They aren't heroes," Elias whispered to the empty, quiet room. "They're just monsters with better PR."
He stared at the TV, imagining it shattering. He wanted to see the news anchors go silent. He wanted to see the golden icons fall.
The TV didn't shatter. Instead, it hummed. A high-pitched whine began to vibrate in Elias's skull. Lines of green code and flickering static started dancing across the glass, but the TV wasn't even plugged in. The power had been cut two days ago because the bills had piled up.
'How is it on?'
Elias reached out a hand, his fingers trembling. Before he could touch the plastic frame, the screen turned a blinding white. Data streams, encrypted files, and city blueprints began to scroll past at a speed no human eye could track. But he saw all of it. He understood all of it. He could feel the local mesh network, the neighbor's devices, the city's power grid—it was all sitting in his brain like a map he had designed himself.
The darkness behind his eyes wasn't empty anymore. It was glowing with the pulse of the city's digital heartbeat.