CHAPTER 2: UNCONTROLLED
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INT. REZ'S BEDROOM – MORNING
Sunlight cut through the blinds, painting thin stripes across Rez's face. He hadn't slept. His phone sat on the nightstand, dark screen, the unknown number still burned into his memory.
Meet me. Tomorrow. Midnight. Come alone.
A knock on his door.
ELENA (O.S.): Rez? You awake?
He pulled the blanket up, hiding his hoodie—still on from last night, still smelling like alley dust.
REZ: Yeah. Coming.
He waited until her footsteps faded, then grabbed clean clothes and changed fast. In the bathroom mirror, he lifted his shirt. The crown mark pulsed faintly, calm for now. Three weeks old and already the center of his life.
He pressed his fingers against it. Warm. Alive.
REZ: (whispered) What are you?
No answer. There never was.
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EXT. MARKET DISTRICT – AFTERNOON
The streets were crowded—weekend shoppers, food carts, a man playing saxophone for loose change. Rez moved through it all like a ghost, hood up, hands in pockets, eyes scanning without meaning to scan.
He'd been doing that since last night. Watching. Checking. Waiting for someone to recognize him.
You're not as invisible as you think.
The words looped in his head. Who was L? How had they seen him? The alley was dark. He'd been masked. It didn't make sense.
He stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light. Beside him, a kid pointed at a billboard—some superhero movie advertisement, bright colors, fake hero posing fake heroically.
KID: Mom, look! Spider-Man!
MOM: That's not Spider-Man, honey. That's a movie.
KID: But he's cool!
Rez looked away. The name stung. Not because he cared about trademarks—but because he didn't even have a real name yet. Spider-Guy was a joke he'd told himself. A placeholder until he figured out what he was actually doing.
The light changed. He crossed.
Behind him, a figure lingered at a newsstand, watching. Rez didn't notice.
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EXT. ABANDONED PARKING GARAGE – DUSK
Rez found the place on his third try—a half-collapsed structure near the old railway lines, forgotten by everyone except drifters and kids looking for trouble. Tonight, it was empty.
He stood in the center of the top floor, open sky above, concrete walls around. A dozen water bottles lined a ledge ten yards away.
Focus. Visualize. Control.
He raised his hand. The crown mark warmed. Energy gathered in his palm, visible as faint gold light beneath his skin.
REZ: One thread. Just one.
He flicked his wrist.
A strand shot out—too thick, too fast. It hit the first bottle and kept going, punching through, slamming into the wall beyond. Concrete chipped. The bottle exploded.
Rez lowered his hand, breathing hard.
REZ: Okay. Too much.
He tried again. This time, the thread was too thin—it snapped mid-flight, dissolving into sparks. The bottle didn't move.
Again. Too wide. Missed completely.
Again. Hit the bottle but carried it, dragging it off the ledge.
Again. Again. Again.
Thirty minutes later, he sat on the concrete, surrounded by shattered plastic and puddles of water. His hands glowed faintly, residual energy flickering like dying embers. His chest ached. The crown mark pulsed irregularly—fast, then slow, like a heartbeat learning a new rhythm.
REZ: (to himself) This is useless. I'm useless.
He threw a piece of broken bottle across the roof. It clattered into darkness.
You made it worse. You always make it worse.
The woman's face. The fear in her eyes. She'd needed help, and he'd given her a collapsing building.
REZ: I can't do this.
He said it aloud. It felt true.
Then his crown flared—sharp, hot, warning—and he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Rez was on his feet instantly, threads sparking at his palms. Someone was coming up the ramp. One person. Slow. Deliberate.
VOICE (O.S.): Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be unconscious.
A woman emerged from the shadows. Mid-thirties. Dark jacket. Short hair. No mask, no costume—just civilian clothes and an expression that said I've seen worse than you.
She stopped ten feet away, hands visible, posture non-threatening.
REZ: Who are you?
WOMAN: Someone who saw you last night. Someone who's been watching longer than that.
Rez's threads brightened.
WOMAN: You're gonna burn yourself out if you keep that up. Crown energy doesn't like being forced.
He froze.
REZ: How do you know about— (he stopped himself)
WOMAN: The crown? Because I've seen it before. Not yours. Someone else's. A long time ago.
She took a slow step closer.
WOMAN: My name is Grace. I'm not here to recruit you or report you or experiment on you. I'm here because you need information. And I need to know if you're worth the risk.
REZ: Risk of what?
GRACE: Of existing. Of being noticed by people who won't approach you this gently.
She pulled something from her pocket—a phone. She tapped it, turned the screen toward him.
News footage. The alley. His alley. The collapsed fire escape. A headline: "MYSTERIOUS FIGURE CAUSES MIDTOWN DAMAGE"
GRACE: No one got your face. But someone got this.
She zoomed in. A single frame, blurred—but visible. Pale-gold light. A figure in a hoodie.
GRACE: You're not invisible, Rez. Not anymore.
REZ: How do you know my name?
GRACE: I'm good at my job. And my job, right now, is deciding whether to introduce you to my brother.
REZ: Your brother?
GRACE: He's louder than me. Less subtle. But he's also the reason I'm here instead of someone else. He thinks you're worth saving. I'm... gathering data.
Rez stared at her. Every instinct screamed run, hide, don't trust. But she knew his name. She knew about the crown. She'd been watching.
REZ: What do you want?
GRACE: Right now? Just to talk. Tomorrow, same time, same place. Bring questions. I'll bring answers.
She turned, walking back toward the stairs.
REZ: Wait—why should I trust you?
Grace paused. Looked back.
GRACE: You shouldn't. Not yet. But you should trust that you can't do this alone. I've seen the alternative. It doesn't end well.
She disappeared into shadow.
Rez stood alone on the rooftop, surrounded by shattered water bottles, his crown pulsing unevenly, the weight of her words settling into his chest.
It doesn't end well.
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INT. REZ'S APARTMENT – NIGHT
Dinner was quiet. Elena and Dani traded glances over the table—the kind of looks parents think kids don't notice. Rez pushed food around his plate, not eating.
DANI: You okay, honey?
REZ: Fine. Just tired.
ELENA: You've been tired a lot lately.
REZ: School's busy.
DANI: School's been busy since September. It's March.
Rez didn't answer.
Elena set down her fork.
ELENA: Rez. Look at me.
He looked.
ELENA: Whatever's going on—and don't tell me nothing, because we're not blind—you can talk to us. That's not a trap. That's not a lecture coming. It's just... we're here.
Rez felt the crown mark pulse. Warm. Steady. Like it was listening.
REZ: I know.
DANI: But?
REZ: No but. Just... I know.
Dani and Elena exchanged another look. This one said drop it. For now.
Later, in his room, Rez sat on his bed and stared at his phone. The unknown number. Grace's words. The footage of the alley.
He typed:
Tomorrow. Same place. I'll be there.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Unknown Number:
Good. Bring an open mind. And maybe a jacket. It's cold on rooftops.
Rez almost smiled. Almost.
He put the phone down and pressed his hand to his chest. The crown mark flickered—once, twice—then steadied.
You're not invisible.
No. But maybe he didn't have to be alone.
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FADE OUT.