233 I Hate Myself
233 I Hate Myself
Inside the chamber packed with equipment and disposable items, I worked myself to the bone trying to rein in my newly gained potency. Hours slipped by without me noticing, my focus narrowed to nothing but control. At George’s request, I phased object after object, testing precision, depth, and recovery, forcing my instincts to relearn restraint. The room bore the quiet scars of it, warped metal, scorched markers, and stress-tested materials pushed to their limits.
“How is it?” I asked, glancing toward the camera mounted high on the wall.
“All good,” George’s voice replied through the speakers. “Your control curve is stabilizing. You’re rough, but not dangerous. That’s an improvement.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. After that, I took a long shower, letting the heat wash away dried blood, sweat, and lingering adrenaline. I left my gear behind for maintenance, trusting someone else to handle the mess I’d made of it, and stepped out into the hallway feeling marginally more human.
George was waiting for me, as usual, leaning against the wall with that familiar, unreadable calm. He didn’t miss a beat. “You really caused a commotion this time. Disappearing for a week, then coming back only to yeet your house into oblivion. It must suck to be you.”
He handed me a folder before I could respond.
“What is it?” I asked, already wary.
“Your wife’s activities while you were gone.”
I didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. I sighed and looked at him. “Why?”
George chuckled lightly. “Why? Are you expecting to find a juicy case of adultery or something?”
“That’s not funny, George,” I said flatly. “Why did you let her into the Company?”
“Relax,” he replied, holding up a hand. “She didn’t parachute into her position. There was a full interview, background checks, aptitude testing, the whole process. She’s qualified. It’s a management role, nothing field-facing, and she’s technically on probation. If it bothers you that much, just say the word and I’ll kick her out.”
I thought about it longer than he probably expected. The easy option was right there, to pull rank and remove the risk entirely, to keep her somewhere safe and predictable. The thought made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t like.
“No,” I said finally. “It’s fine. She’s free to do what she wants. It’s her life. She’s not a canary in a gilded cage.” I hesitated, then added more quietly, “Just… just watch out for her for me, George.”
He nodded, expression softening just a fraction. “Of course I will. Who do you think I am?”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it more than I let show.
I headed toward the private room I had requested from George and paused outside the door. For a moment, I wondered if knocking even mattered anymore after everything that had happened. I did it anyway.
“Come in,” Nicole’s voice called from inside.
I stepped in and found her sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the television. The news was running footage of a recent clash between capes outside the Council of City-States, replaying explosions and containment fields from half a dozen angles. The GDF logo sat in the corner of the screen, their popularity clearly on the rise as their actions grew broader and more influential.
An interview with Griffin followed. She stood confidently before a cluster of microphones after subjugating a villainous cape who had attempted a heist involving sensitive technology. I recognized the case immediately. I had read the file just this morning. The villain had been chasing “clues” about multiversal hopping tech, which set off more alarms than the news would ever admit.
That worried me. The SRC and the Company had a monopoly on that technology, enforced with extreme prejudice, yet traces of its existence were clearly leaking into the villain circuit. I couldn’t help but suspect that an old job of mine, a particularly messy heist, had left ripples that never fully settled.
Nicole turned to look at me. “How did it go?”
I spread my arms wide in an exaggerated gesture. “Good news. I can now give safe hugs.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the TV, her annoyance still very much present. I couldn’t blame her. This morning had been a disaster on every conceivable level.
“Maybe later,” she said quietly, almost under her breath.
I perked up immediately.
“Awww, so cute,” Onyx chimed in as she appeared out of nowhere, wrapping me in a sudden hug and planting a peck on my cheek. “Hey, Nicole, if you don’t mind—”
Onyx vanished mid-sentence, exorcised on the spot.
Silver peeked over from the sofa, happily eating an imagined scoop of psychic ice cream. “Hello~! How you doin’, Nick?”
“All good,” I replied, choosing not to comment on the surreal domesticity of the moment.
I grabbed a glass of water and drank deeply, feeling the tension slowly bleed out of me. As I set the glass down, something caught my eye on the counter. I lifted the lid and stared inside.
Curry.
“You hungry?” Nicole asked.
“When did you find the time to buy ingredients?” I asked, genuinely baffled. I distinctly remembered the groceries meeting the same fate as the house earlier.
“I asked Phasecrash to buy groceries for me,” she replied calmly, “and Two-D helped me cook.”
Wow. That was one way to utilize bodyguards. Or, in this case, highly trained errand runners.
“I’ll heat it up first,” Nicole added, already standing and moving toward the kitchen.
“Is there something I can do?” I asked, hovering awkwardly near the kitchen.
“Just relax,” Nicole replied without looking back. “I can handle it just fine.”
I retreated to the sofa and sat down, letting my shoulders finally loosen. Silver leaned against me comfortably, her presence warm and familiar in that strange psychic way of hers. The news continued to drone on in the background, eventually shifting to the debut of a new cape within the GDF. The chyron read Tempest.
I didn’t need the name explained. It was Chad, unmistakably so, just with a new costume and a carefully curated smile. He’d always wanted to stay on the hero side of things, and in another life, he probably would have thrived there. Unfortunately for him, his father’s scandal had poisoned his prospects so badly that the SRC became his only viable option. Things between Chad and me were still awkward because of our shared past, but the hostility had long since burned out. Fighting side by side had a way of grinding old grudges into dust.
Thinking about that made me oddly grateful that Leverage had quietly left the GDF without turning Amelia into an issue. Last I’d heard, she’d gone fully solo, no corporate backing, no handlers, just a vigilante carving her own path. That sort of life never ended cleanly, but it was her choice.
“Let’s eat,” Nicole called out.
I moved to the table and took my seat. Silver appeared on my left, and Onyx materialized on my right with perfect symmetry. Nicole let out a long sigh as she set the plates down. “It’s my power,” she muttered, “but sometimes it feels like it’s not my power at all.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Onyx said with a grin.
Silver glanced between us and tried to steer things back on track. “Um, let’s eat?”
Before Nicole could respond, Silver grabbed Nicole’s plate and pulled a psychic copy of it into her own hands. Onyx turned toward me, opened her mouth expectantly, and said, “Feed me, babe.”
Nicole didn’t even dignify that with a look. She simply took her plate and dragged out another psychic copy, sliding it over to Onyx with ease. We started eating in relative silence, the news still flickering in the background.
Nicole finished first, setting her utensils down neatly. I finished second, feeling genuinely full. Onyx came in third, chewing more slowly as if trying to savor the moment.
“Thanks for the food,” I said, reaching for a glass of water.
Nicole glanced at me with mock irritation. “I’m envious. You all can just stuff yourselves endlessly without worrying about weight.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d eaten more than Nicole’s and Onyx’s dinners combined, and I still wouldn’t gain an ounce. As for Onyx, being a psychic construct meant the entire concept of metabolism didn’t really apply to her in the first place.
“Nyam, nyam, nyam, nyam—” Silver’s voice accompanied the sound of her inhaling the rest of her food at an alarming speed.
Onyx shot her an embarrassed look. “Can you… please just stop?”
Silver frowned defensively. “But it tastes good.”
Nicole beamed, clearly pleased despite herself. “I’m flattered, but you know you can just save the ‘memory’ of it and eat it anytime you’re craving it. Anticipation adds to the joy of eating. If you overdo it, you might lose interest in food altogether.”
“Oh,” Silver said thoughtfully. “I get it.”
She then proceeded to finish everything anyway, including the plate itself.
Onyx facepalmed. Nicole stared in disbelief. Silver looked guilty for exactly half a second before trying to justify herself. “It would’ve been a waste to leave it alone. It’s still made of my mental energy, you know?”
A familiar headline crawled across the TV, and my stomach sank the moment I recognized the footage. It was the entire ordeal from this morning, already packaged and framed by a breathless news network. Somehow, they had managed to interview the girl scouts. At least their faces were blurred, which was the only mercy in the whole mess.
“There’s a scary lady, shouting,” one of them said.
Onyx and Silver both glanced at Nicole at the exact same time. Nicole noticed, slowly turned her head toward them, and did not look amused.
Another girl chimed in, “There’s a weird man with a weird mask, and he wears a suit.”
Nicole’s glare snapped straight to me. I raised my hands and shrugged. What could I even say to that?
The testimonies grew increasingly inconsistent as the segment continued. One girl said she didn’t remember anything at all. Another claimed she fell asleep. One insisted there were three women, while another swore the house itself had disappeared. One said the door vanished right before she knocked. One complained that nobody bought their cookies. The anchor stitched it all together like it made sense.
Then came the summary. “The women? There was the pretty one, the crazy one, and the weird one.”
“I was definitely the pretty one in the equation,” Nicole said immediately, arms crossed.
Silver tilted her head and murmured, “I think you were the crazy one…”
Onyx muffled her laughter behind her hand, clearly relieved she hadn’t earned that particular label this time. I barely registered it, because the reporter had already moved on.
“This marks the first appearance of Eclipse since his rumored and infamous involvement in the destruction of the Monarchy,” the reporter said. “A global-spanning criminal organization. Many are afraid to ask what Eclipse’s plans are for Markend. Peace now reigns in the city, but only because the big man appears to desire peace. How long will that last? I’m Monica Lin, reporting for MCN.”
The feed returned to the studio, and the anchor forced a stiff smile. “Speaking of Eclipse-related events, we have breaking news from Jacob Palmer, live on the scene—”
The screen cut abruptly to chaos.
The camera shook violently as shouting and crying filled the audio. The reporter staggered into frame, breathing hard, eyes wild, before ducking behind a corner with the cameraman. “Let’s just hide here,” the cameraman pleaded.
“No,” Jacob stammered, forcing himself upright. “We have to tell the people about this.”
Behind him, crowds ran in every direction, panic spilling through the street like a flood. Jacob swallowed and continued, his voice barely holding together. “At exactly 10:29 p.m., the Markend mayor walked to the podium and gave a speech about the welfare of the citizens. He promised a happy ending to all of us, and then he killed himself by twisting his own neck.”
My breath caught.
“Eclipse appeared shortly after,” Jacob went on, tears streaking down his face. “And then—fuck—they’re all dead. We’re all dead—”
Someone screamed, high and shrill, and blood splattered across Jacob’s face. A hand entered the frame and crushed his head inward, phasing it straight into his chest in a wet, impossible motion. The cameraman shrieked, sobbing as he backed away. “No, please! I got kids—”
The camera fell, clattering against the pavement, the angle skewed. We could still hear him begging. A hand seized him by the throat and lifted him off the ground, his feet kicking uselessly.
In the studio, the anchor was already screaming. “Turn it off! Turn it off! Censor it, do something!”
“We can’t!” someone shouted back, panicked.
George burst through the door behind me. “Nick, there’s an emergency—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the TV.
On the screen, the cameraman slipped out of view, but his skin peeled away moments later, sloughing off and collapsing into a heap that exposed what lay beneath. His organs fell off, scattering in a bloody pile within the frame. It was raw, obscene, and unmistakably real. Someone picked up the camera and steadied it.
A man in a suit filled the frame, wearing a porcelain mask.
“The end is coming,” the stranger declared calmly.
He reached up and tore the mask away.
It was my face.
The smile was wrong, stretched too wide, eyes shining with manic certainty. “My name is Nicholas Caldwell,” the man said, voice echoing through the room, “and I’m your doom.”
The room went dead silent.
“Shit.”
I thought someone else said it, but that was all me.
“I hate myself.”