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Here's the next dose!
Enjoy~
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MBH #18 - Anya?
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"Anya Corazon. Why?"
Before Alex could scramble to invent a believable excuse, a piece of chalk snapped sharply at the front of the room.
"Mr. Spencer. Miss Corazon," Mr. Harrison's stern voice cut through the classroom, instantly drawing the eyes of every student. "Unless you are debating the socioeconomic impacts of the Cold War, I suggest you save the whispering for the hallway."
"Sorry, Mr. Harrison," Anya said quickly, shrinking down in her seat slightly.
"Sorry," Alex echoed, turning forward.
A low, grating chorus of laughter broke out behind them. A group of guys in varsity jackets were bumping shoulders and sneering, clearly amused by the scolding.
The sound made Alex's blood boil. He was already on edge, trying to suppress the panic of sitting inches away from a superhuman anomaly, and their petty high school mocking was the last thing he had patience for right now. He shot a brief, icy glare over his shoulder, committing their faces to memory. I don't have time for you idiots today. But I'll remember this.
For the next twenty minutes, Alex sat completely rigid. He didn't look at Anya. He barely breathed. The second the bell rang, dismissing the class, he grabbed his bag and bolted.
He kept his head down, weaving through the crowded hallway until he pushed through the heavy doors of the boys' restroom. He locked himself in the last stall, dropping his backpack onto the tile floor.
His hands were actually shaking slightly as he reached into his jacket. He pulled out the Titanian scanner, staring at the blank interface.
"Silky," he whispered urgently. "Show me the scan."
The Titanian scanner hummed, projecting a rotating, skeletal hologram of Anya Corazon in the dim light of the stall.
"Scan retrieved," Silky reported. "Target identified as an enhanced human—a mutate. I am detecting a localized, high-density bio-exoskeleton waiting to deploy, along with dormant enhancements to her strength, speed, and agility parameters."
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "So she's a walking tank."
"An incredibly agile walking tank, Boss, and the enhancement appears to be mystical in nature." Silky corrected.
Alex swallowed hard. Magic. That didn't make any sense. He remembered her name from some old wiki page, but he had expected radioactive DNA, not mystical energy. It was a terrifying reminder that his scattered memories of movies and comics weren't going to be enough to survive here.
"Furthermore, her energy signature is anomalous," Silky continued relentlessly. "It is not a standard mutation. I am also detecting that your heart rate has elevated to 130 beats per minute. Should I initiate a calming protocol?"
"No, Silky. Just... turn it off," Alex muttered.
The blue light died, leaving the place quiet. Shoving the heavy scanner back into his jacket, Alex let his head thunk back against the tiled wall. He shut his eyes, forcing air into his lungs until his heart stopped hammering against his ribs.
His fingers brushed against something else in his pocket. He pulled it out.
The Santa card.
He had carried it every single day since Christmas, yet it still looked freshly printed. No frayed edges, no sweat stains, not even a crease. It was a quiet, impossible piece of magic just sitting in the palm of his hand.
He stared at the familiar scrawl: "Be yourself, don't try to become anyone and do what you want."
Looking at the ink, he could almost hear the old man's voice echoing the parting promise that wasn't written down: "Have faith, everything will be alright."
A bitter laugh scraped his throat. Alright? He stared up at the water-stained ceiling. He was just one kid trying to survive in a world run by shadow agencies, alien gods, and impending mutant wars. Tomorrow, some street-level freak could blow up a bank and snap his neck in the crossfire. The sheer scale of it made his stomach drop.
He was a nobody. A speck of dust in this chaotic universe.
His hands clenched into tight fists. His nails bit into his palms.
And then, he felt it. The low, steady hum vibrating beneath his skin. It wasn't just adrenaline; it was the raw, awakened energy coursing through his veins. A heavy, physical reminder that he wasn't just a helpless bystander anymore.
He let out a long exhale, the panic finally giving way to a cold, iron resolve. 'I'm not waiting around for a hero to save me,' he decided, his breathing leveling out.
'And I'm sure as hell not waiting for a villain to kill me. I just need to be stronger than I was yesterday.'
He pocketed the card, shoved the stall door open, and walked over to the sinks. He cranked the faucet and splashed freezing water over his face and neck. The icy shock cleared the last of the fog from his brain. Beneath the biting cold, the familiar hum of his own energy pushed back—a steady, internal warmth anchoring him to the floor.
Alex gripped the edges of the porcelain sink, water dripping from his chin as he met his own gaze in the mirror.
He was done fearing.
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Alex slipped back into his seat just as Ms. Kate Smith started the next lecture. He kept his eyes glued to the front chalkboard, his posture rigid but calm.
A piece of folded notebook paper nudged his elbow, followed by a quiet whisper. "Hey. Are you alright?"
He didn't look at her.
"Don't mind Trent and those guys," Anya continued, her voice soft, trying to be reassuring. "They're just idiots looking for a reaction."
Alex didn't turn his head. He took a slow breath, stepping back mentally to simply witness the interaction without letting his emotions dictate his response. 'I'm not the panicked kid from history class anymore', he reminded himself.
"I'm alright," he said. His voice was completely flat, a dead-end tone making it crystal clear the conversation was over.
Anya hesitated, pulling her hand back. The rest of the lectures passed in a heavy, impenetrable silence.
When the final bell rang, Alex was already moving. He didn't shove his hands into his pockets. He didn't drop his chin. Every time the old habit tried to force him into a nervous hunch, the raw power thrumming in his veins flared up—a low, grounding heat that reminded him exactly what he was capable of.
The energy made him feel physically heavier, solid enough to break the tide. He navigated the crowded corridor with a slow, deliberate rhythm. When a rushing senior clipped his shoulder near the exit, Alex didn't even stumble. The impact just grounded him further, the older kid bouncing off his dense, awakened muscles, left behind a muttered curse.
Alex kept his gaze locked forward, cutting a clean path right out the front doors.
He stepped out into the biting wind, his boots grinding to a halt on the concrete sidewalk. Slowly, he turned around and stared up at the large, faded letters arching over the entrance: Midtown High School.
A bitter chill swept over the courtyard. Midtown. The name didn't just carry weight; it bled danger. In his fragmented, past-life memories, this place wasn't just a high school. It was ground zero for Spider-Man. And where the spider went, a parade of rogues, mad scientists, and city-leveling psychopaths inevitably followed.
It was an absolute death trap.
But as Alex stared up at the faded letters, the raw energy thrumming in his veins pushed back against the cold. A month ago, this realization would have sent him into a blind panic. Now, he didn't even flinch. Instead, his mind started calculating the angles. Midtown was a massive, chaotic hub. It was the perfect blind spot. He could use the sheer noise of the crowd to gather data and monitor anomalies completely under the radar.
But surviving the inevitable crossfire meant he couldn't just rely on a Titanian scanner hidden in his jacket. He needed to forge his foundation. He had to drag the latent power humming in his blood to the surface and turn it into an active, lethal defense.
"Earth to Alex?"
The voice snapped Alex out of his tactical planning. He blinked, the cold calculation in his eyes vanishing instantly behind a carefully constructed, unreadable mask as he looked down.
Anya Corazon was standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She lowered her hand, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"You were totally zoned out," she said, raising a dark eyebrow. "Are you by any chance thinking of switching schools?"
Alex shifted his weight. His boots stayed planted firmly on the concrete, his new internal energy anchoring him in place. "Why?"
"Huh? Well, I just thought..." Anya trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the school behind them. "You know. Being kind of an outcast, and getting caught in the crosshairs from time to time... I figured you might be plotting an escape route."
An escape route. If you only knew, Alex thought. But outwardly, he kept his expression completely deadpan.
"The term is about to end, and we're going to graduate soon," he said, his voice flat and perfectly steady. "There's no need to worry about me. Bye."
Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned and walked away. He moved with that same deliberate, heavy stride, merging seamlessly into the chaotic sea of students without ever looking back.
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Anya stood by the gate, her brow furrowing as she watched Alex's jacket disappear into the crowd. She crossed her arms, a genuine look of bewilderment crossing her features.
"Strange," she muttered to herself, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Something is definitely off about him today."
"Tell me about it."
Anya blinked, turning to see a tall, athletic guy standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the brick pillar of the gate. He tossed a set of keys in his hand, watching the exact spot where Alex had vanished.
"I'm Charles. Cheryl is my middle name, but it's what everyone calls me. Cheryl Mason," he said, offering an easygoing, confident grin. "Track captain. I'm practically Alex's only friend around here, and even I think he's been acting weird lately."
Anya shifted her weight, studying him. "He just completely shut down. One minute we were talking fine, and the next he looked at me like I was a ghost."
Cheryl let out a heavy sigh, his smile fading into something a bit more sympathetic. He shoved his keys into his varsity jacket pocket. "Don't take it personally. It's probably just the timing. Christmas break just ended, and we had that whole 'Parents' Week' assembly thing."
Anya frowned, not quite following. "And?"
"He's an orphan," Cheryl said quietly, dropping his voice a fraction as if sharing a secret. "His parents died in a plane crash a long time ago. He lives with his uncle, who travels a lot for work. Holidays and school family events... they usually mess him up for a while. He puts up his walls and shuts everyone out."
Anya's breath caught slightly. The puzzle pieces clicked together in her mind, forming a completely different picture. The tense posture, the blank stare, the sudden need to run away from the crowd. It wasn't him acting sketchy or suspicious; it was just a kid throwing up armor because he was hurting.
"Oh," Anya murmured, her lingering irritation washing away, replaced by a sharp pang of guilt. "So he's like this a lot? I just thought he was the quiet, dreamy introvert type when we talked this morning."
"He is," Cheryl chuckled, pushing off the brick pillar. "But right now, he's just the 'leave me alone' type. Give him a few days. He'll thaw out." Cheryl gave her a wave and jogged off toward the parking lot.
"Right," Anya said softly, looking back down the empty sidewalk. "A few days."
Anya stood there for another moment. The orphan excuse made perfect sense, so why did her instincts keep screaming at her? Why did the icy, dead-eyed look he had shot at that group of students earlier feel less like a grieving kid, and more like something incredibly dangerous?
Anya boarded her bus and immediately headed for the back. Taking the last empty seat just as the air brakes hissed, she slung her backpack onto her lap, tuning out the loud chatter of the students around her.
She pulled the zipper of her bag down just far enough to slip her hand inside. Her fingers brushed past her school supplies, coming to rest against the sleek, dark fabric of a folded mask.
A small, unbidden smile touched the corner of her mouth as her thumb traced the material. She could feel the dormant power humming beneath her skin—a sheer, impossible strength just waiting to be let off the leash.
But as she zipped the bag shut and looked out at the sprawling, chaotic city of Chicago waiting for her, the smile faltered. The reality of what she was about to do sank in. She had the power, but as she watched the city roll by, a quiet, terrifying question echoed in her head: Am I actually ready for this?