Ethan woke to cold air and the metallic tang of blood.
For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was. The floor beneath him felt rough, cool—tile? His arms were sticky. When he looked down, his shirt was streaked with red, already drying into a dark crust across his chest.
His first thought was absurdly calm.I died.
The next thought was panic.
He sat up fast, heart hammering as his head spun. The hallway around him was dim; dawn hadn't even touched the blinds yet. His alarm clock, glowing faintly from his room, read 6:12 A.M. Two hours lost. Or gained. He couldn't tell.
"Okay," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Either I'm dead, or I got hit by a truck in my sleep."
He slapped his own cheek. Hard.
"Ow."
Another slap, just to be sure.
"Still ow. Okay. Not dead."
His reflection stared back from the dark window at the end of the hall—pale, shaken, with dried blood under his nose. He looked like someone who'd fought a war in his dreams and lost. The memory of that impossible moment flooded back—the quake that wasn't an earthquake, the way the world had sung to him, the pattern of light that had filled his mind until it almost split apart.
And then… the words.
He whispered them without thinking."What was that code again?"
It came back like an echo from a place deeper than thought:
/open_character_panel
The instant the phrase left his mouth, the world responded.
His voice didn't sound like his own—it fractured, multiplied, became a thousand tones speaking in perfect harmony. Every syllable rippled through the air, vibrating the walls, the floor, even the atoms around him. The lights flickered once, as if electricity itself was listening.
Reality answered.
A faint shimmer formed in the air before him—lines of blue light drawing themselves out of nothing, folding into shape like a hologram written by invisible hands. The sound was a low, resonant hum, the same note he'd heard in his dream, the heartbeat of the universe itself.
And then, hovering in front of his wide eyes, letters began to appear.
[CHARACTER PANEL INITIALIZING...]
Ethan froze, blood rushing in his ears. The light from the panel reflected across his face, pale and terrified—and completely awake.
The light expanded, forming a perfect rectangle that hovered just above eye level.Ethan blinked, half-expecting his exhausted brain to collapse under another hallucination. But it stayed there—solid, vibrant, real. The letters sharpened until they glowed with faint gold edges.
[CHARACTER PANEL ONLINE] Analyzing Host... Biometric Scan: Complete Cognitive Pattern: Linked Dominant Species Baseline: Homo sapiens (Human) Detected Genome: Homo superior (Mutant) Calibrating Standard Metrics...
Ethan's breath hitched. The panel moved when he moved, like it was anchored to his focus. His pulse drummed in his ears as new text faded into view.
[CHARACTER PROFILE] Name: Ethan Vale Race: Homo superior Age: 18 Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 lbs Blood Type: O+ Occupation: Student (Midtown High) Status: Conscious / Stable Energy: 3.0 / 3.0
His mouth went dry. It wasn't just basic stats—it was him, down to the decimal. Even his heart rate, blinking softly in the corner, matched the racing beat in his chest.
Then, a new section unfolded beneath it.
[ATTRIBUTES] (10 = Human Baseline Average) Strength: 10.1 Agility: 9.8 Endurance: 10.0 Intelligence: 12.0 Willpower: 10.5 Perception: 10.3 Charisma: 10.0 Luck: 10.0 Available Points: 0.0
He read it twice, lips moving silently."Wait… twelve? My intelligence is… above average?"
He laughed once, shaky and disbelieving."Figures. All those sleepless nights doing Connors's lab reports are finally paying off."
He tried to scroll—or think—down, and to his surprise, the panel obeyed.
[NOTES] System calibration complete. Baseline: Human. Detected Variation: Mutant Genome (Homo superior). Anomaly detected: Cognitive resonance exposure. Potential for further expansion. Warning: Energy reserves limited. Current Rate of Allocation: 0.5 stat points per Earth day (max). Overuse will result in neural fatigue, unconsciousness, or death.
Ethan stared at the words mutant genome and death for a long moment before muttering,"Great. Even the universe comes with a fine-print warranty."
He ran a hand through his hair, blood still dry against his temple. The world outside his window was starting to lighten—the first edge of sunrise creeping across the skyline—but he couldn't look away from the glowing window before him.
He should have been terrified. Maybe he was.But beneath the fear, something else stirred—a pull, a question, the kind that defined him long before tonight.
How far does this go?
The panel flickered softly, waiting.
Ethan reread the glowing panel, eyes scanning every line again just to make sure he hadn't imagined it.
Race: Homo superior (Mutant)
The word hit him like a hammer.
Mutant.
He blinked once. Twice. His throat tightened.
"No, no, no…" he whispered, backing up until his shoulder hit the doorframe. "That can't be right. I'm not— I can't be…"
His pulse began to race.Images flooded his mind — news clips of anti-mutant protests, terrified faces shouting through fences, headlines about hate crimes, politicians arguing about registration. He remembered the burning images from that summer in D.C., the mutant boy dragged out of a bus for looking wrong.
His breath came faster.The sound of it filled the hallway."Not me… not me…"
His vision tunneled. The edges of the glowing panel blurred and bled together until all he could see was red.
Then the panel changed.
[WARNING: VITAL SIGNS CRITICAL] [Heart Rate: 182 BPM and rising] [Emergency Activation Protocol: ENGAGED] [Stabilization Subroutine Initializing...]
The words flickered violently, but Ethan didn't notice. His body was trembling too hard, his chest locked in that cold, tight pressure that told him he was losing control. His hearing went sharp and distant all at once. The world sounded far away, like he was drowning under invisible waves.
He slid down the wall, gasping, fingers clutching at his shirt. His head spun. His heart hurt.
And then—Ringtone.
A bright, familiar chime cut through the storm.
It was the one he'd set for her.
Susan.
The tone sliced through the panic like a lifeline. The world slammed back into focus—the floor under him, the sting of air in his lungs, the phone buzzing from his desk. He blinked, breath coming in ragged pulls as he forced his shaking legs to move.
"Come on, come on—" he muttered, scrambling across the floor. His hand hit the desk edge, knocking a stack of papers onto the carpet, but he didn't care. The phone kept ringing. That steady rhythm, that sound of normal.
He grabbed it, still shaking, thumb hovering over the green icon.
"Dr. Storm," he whispered hoarsely, half-laughing, half-crying. "You have no idea how perfect your timing is."