Jace woke slowly, a hazy sense of disorientation clinging to him like sleep dust. Sunlight, filtering weakly through his blinds, painted stripes across his face. He stretched, muscles protesting with a dull ache even the special pain relievers hadn't fully erased. Reaching for his new phone, he instinctively checked for notifications. And froze.
His lock screen was flooded. Messages, missed calls, social media alerts blinking furiously. Confusion morphed into a cold spike of panic as he unlocked the phone. Someone was trending. Or rather, something. Memes. So many memes. "Bridge Hero" was all over the place. "Double Decker Dynamo." "Door Ripper Supreme." "Bus-tling Biceps." "Justice for Bus Door (and Double Decker Buses Everywhere!)" Each one depicting a slightly different, often ludicrous, take on the bridge incident. One showed a stick figure with comically oversized biceps labeled "Hero" pulling a ridiculously tall double-decker bus uphill and ripping its door off. Another was a photoshopped image of Atlas holding the world, except the world was a double-decker bus and he was using one hand to casually tear off its door. A new meme format emerged: "Double Decker Door Rip Challenge" – people filming themselves struggling to open regular doors with exaggerated effort. They were everywhere, these anonymous tributes to the figure who saved the double-decker bus, its door, and now inspired bizarre online challenges.
His heart hammered against his ribs. He was exposed. They’d found him. CDE would be furious. He scrolled frantically through the messages, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach. “Dude, did you see that Bridge Hero video?!” “Who was that guy on the bridge?!” “OMG DOUBLE DECKER BUS SAVER AND DOOR RIPPER IS REAL?!” Mixed in with the hero worship and double-decker bus/door-ripping jokes, though, skepticism remained, now battling against a rising tide of genuine awe. "Okay, bus pulling a double decker is nuts, door rip is insane. Still gotta be fake, right? Right?" "Guys, seriously, it's a double decker! Physics says NO. But... the video... " However, the believers were getting louder, more insistent. "For anyone saying fake, explain the door rip on a double decker bus. Explain it! #EnhancedHumansAreReal" "Double decker bus. Door ripped. Case closed. He's real."
He scrambled out of bed, his head a mess of panicked thoughts, and searched for a news outlet. Finally, he found a local news website. There it was. The bridge collapse. And then… the double-decker bus. The video, shaky and pixelated, showed him – a blurry figure – somehow hauling the massive double-decker bus backwards with incredible force, dragging it away from the collapsing edge and back onto solid ground. The crowd cheering was even louder in this version, more visceral. Then, the video clearly showed him approach the mangled emergency exit door of the double-decker bus. In a quick, almost brutal motion, his hands blurred, and the heavy metal door sheared off its hinges with a sickening tear, crumpling like foil and revealing the terrified faces of the passengers within. Then, it showed the bus passengers, on both levels of the double-decker, already emerging, blinking in the sunlight, helped down by uniformed officers. The door ripping, in this version, was undeniable, visceral, and frankly, kind of terrifyingly impressive.
He watched it again, his brow furrowed, and finally read the accompanying news article properly. The headline screamed: “Mystery Hero Pulls Double-Decker Bus Back from Bridge Collapse, Rips Door Open – Reckless Driver Blamed for Tragedy!” The article detailed the bridge collapse as an ‘unfortunate structural failure, exacerbated by a tragic traffic accident.’ It stated that a ‘reckless driver, later identified as David Miller, had tragically lost their life after losing control of their vehicle and careening into the bridge support, causing the initial damage that led to the double-decker bus dangling precariously.’ The focus was firmly on the ‘reckless driver’ as the cause of the tragedy, and the ‘Mystery Hero’ as the silver lining, the one bright spot in an otherwise unfortunate incident.
He watched it again, his brow furrowed. The chaotic aftermath, the collapsed section of the bridge… it was all presented as an ‘unfortunate structural failure’ and the fault of a deceased reckless driver. No mention of the two men in black causing havoc, no armoured truck, no fight. Nothing about CDE. It was just… a heroic rescue, complete with impossible strength, door-ripping theatrics on a double-decker bus, and a convenient scapegoat in the form of David Miller. CDE's spin was getting… elaborate, and increasingly, unbelievably audacious.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
A slow dawning realization replaced his panic. Manipulation, CDE. They’d cleaned it up. Erased their own disastrous involvement, sanitised the story, blamed a convenient deceased party. They were playing the narrative, controlling the story, and they were masters at it. Too good. And a little… terrifying.
He showered quickly, the hot water doing little to soothe the lingering unease. It was Saturday. Leo. He needed to talk to Leo. He politely knocked the door Silence. He tried the bell. Still nothing. Peeking through the window, he saw the house was empty. Leo and his parents must be out.He debated calling, but something told him it wasn’t worth it.
His next thought? His mom.
He rarely got to surprise her at work, and after everything lately, showing up at Pantheon Technologies might actually make her happy. Maybe he could grab some takeout and—
BZZT.
His phone vibrated. Unknown number. A single, blunt message, no greeting, no pleasantries, just: “ 137 Forgeway Street, Red Oven Pizzeria. Be there in 15 minutes.”CDE. Straight to the point, just like Axel
Red Oven Pizzeria was located in an old industrial district, tucked between abandoned warehouses and rusting storage yards. Known for it greasy absurdly cheap pizza, sticky tables, tattered surroundings it was the perfect place for anonymity. He sighed, the thought of seeing his mom receding. Duty called, or rather, ordered.
Red Oven Pizzeria was predictably deserted at this hour. He walked in, the aroma of cheap tomato sauce thick in the air. A lone figure behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag, barely glanced up. As Jace hesitated, a hand gestured subtly from a darkened corner of the restaurant. He walked towards it, past empty booths and flickering neon signs, until he reached a door at the back. Hesitantly, he entered, stacks of pizza boxes lined one wall, flour dust coated the stainless steel surfaces, and the air smelled faintly of yeast and cleaning fluid the room was just a room just as he was about to open the door to leave the room shuddered violently. The floor beneath his feet dropped away with stomach-lurching speed. The chatter of the 'pizza employees' above abruptly cut off as the entire space plummeted downwards with a rush of air and a muffled grinding sound.
He opened the door onto a brightly lit, humming corridor. Before he could even take in his surroundings, before he could admire the clean, almost sterile lines of the underground facility, two figures blurred into motion, slamming into him from either side.
Pain exploded in his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, disoriented, catching a glimpse of black, armored figures, moving with impossible speed and precision. Enhanced tech. They were in suits, just like the robber, only these were… different. More streamlined, more menacing.
“Useless footwork!” one of them snarled, his voice distorted by a modulator in his helmet. “Predictable telegraphing!”
A fist, encased in metal, slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back. “Defense like paper!” the other one roared, his movements a whirlwind of controlled aggression. “You call that power? Control is power! Control!”
They were relentless, a flurry of calculated blows and brutal instructions. Jace, still reeling from the surprise attack, fought back instinctively, relying on raw strength and speed, but it was chaotic, untrained. He took hits, grunting with pain, but his enhanced durability kept him standing. He managed to land a few blows of his own, feeling the satisfying crunch of metal on metal as his fist connected with a suited arm or leg. He was getting stronger, faster, adapting, even in the chaos. He could feel the tide turning, his raw power starting to overwhelm their initial assault.
Just as he was about to capitalize on an opening, to unleash a truly devastating blow, a voice cut through the din of the fight. "Enough."
The two armored figures instantly froze, stepping back, their movements as synchronized in stopping as they were in attacking. Axel stood at the end of the corridor, watching them, his expression unreadable with his aura of authority radiating through their surroundings.
He walked forward, his gaze sweeping over Jace, assessing the sweat, the grit, the burgeoning determination in his eyes. "Jace," he said, his voice calm and even amidst the residual tension, "Welcome to your training facility. These lovely people," he gestured to the two armored instructors, who removed their helmets, revealing grim, professional faces, "are Kai and Zara. Your primary combat instructors. You will also have… guest instructors, specializing in various disciplines."
Axel inclined his head, a curt, almost dismissive gesture. "Good luck, Jace. You'll need it." And then, with that enigmatic farewell, he turned and walked away, leaving Jace alone with Kai and Zara, and the daunting reality of what was to come.
Zara, her dark eyes sharp and intense, stepped forward, cracking her knuckles. "Alright," she said, her tone all business. "Let's start with the basics. Hand-to-hand. You fight like a panicked toddler flailing at shadows. We’re going to fix that. Starting now."
