The System Gave Everyone Superpowers

The opening assembly ended, and the stadium began to empty in two different directions.

Most of the Heroes were herded toward the concourse to catch shuttle buses back to their respective contractor compounds. A much smaller group—maybe fifteen of us in total—were redirected toward a side exit guarded by military personnel.

Mai stood near the railing, staring down at my red badge.

"I'm Level 110," she said. "I'm an S-Tier. Why am I going back to the barracks while you and the painter get led off by military police?"

Yani looked up from his tablet. "The red badges aren't an honor, Portal. The military doesn't care about your Tier, your Rank, or your sponsor payout. They flagged people whose Blessings can mess up the infrastructure of the exam or break the rules." He glanced at me, then at Koda. "Shay's Natural Disaster specialization can wreck a ten-mile radius by accident. Koda can draw weapons out of thin air that don't pass through security scanners. They didn't select you because you're strong. They selected you because they think you're the two most likely people to break something expensive."

"Accidentally," I added. "I'd only destroy something expensive if someone paid me to."

"That's not better, Seasons," Yani said.

Before we followed the military guards down the corridor, Mai stepped into my path and lowered her voice. "Don't show them too much in there, Shay. Brand’s internal records are protected by privacy laws, but if you demonstrate your abilities during a military review, it becomes government property."

"Why does that matter?" I asked.

"Because you've only just gotten Natural Disaster," Mai said. "The military has been studying System specializations for hundreds of years. If you let them analyze you, they might end up understanding your own power better than you do."

Koda was standing a few feet away.

Mai noticed. "That warning wasn't for you, Koda."

The military transport waiting for us outside was nothing like Brand’s luxury vehicles.

It was an armored, dark-green bus with hard metal bench seats, no carpet, sponsor displays, camera drones, or tinted privacy glass. Worse than all of that, there was no air conditioning.

I sat down on a steel bench and immediately felt the Texas heat soaking into my suit. I created a pocket of cool air around my seat.

"Fawn. Stop that."

A gray-haired military officer standing at the front of the bus barked the order. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with a rigid posture, and a chest covered in medals.

I looked at him. "It's ninety degrees in here."

"Unauthorized Blessing use on a military vehicle is a violation of Department of Defense protocol," the officer said. "You want to be cool? Sweat."

I let out a sigh and canceled the temperature drop.

Across from me, Koda raised his finger and began drawing a box on the ceiling above his head, complete with a spinning fan blade. Before the drawing could materialize, three soldiers standing in the aisle raised their rifles and aimed them directly at Koda's chest.

Koda smiled pleasantly, raised his hands in surrender, and wiped the drawing away with his palm.

"I am General Samuel Harrow," the older officer said, stepping into the center aisle. "Senior Military Observer for the Contractor Exam. While you are on this transport and inside Regulation Hall B, Hero titles do not exist. You are not 'Seasons.' You are Fawn. You are not Koda.' You are KD. Is that clear?"

Nobody answered.

Harrow pulled a paper file from under his arm and opened it.

"Shay Fawn," Harrow muttered. "Age twenty. Level One Hundred. Rank Eight Hundred and Seventy-Six. S-Tier Emitter. Forty-million-dollar annual compensation package from Brand. Military service record: zero. Professional experience: one year of shooting commercials and doing light shows."

He looked up from the paper, staring directly at me. "Twenty years ago, a boy born with an S-Tier elemental Blessing would have been inducted into the United States Military at sixteen. You would have been trained to defend our borders, hold the line against threats, and serve your country. Instead, you're getting paid forty million dollars a year to hold cans of sugar water for media drones."

I leaned back. "Twenty years ago, the military offered better contracts."

A few soldiers standing in the aisle visibly bristled, their hands tightening on their rifles.

Harrow turned his gaze toward Koda. "You find something amusing, KD?"

Koda raised his finger:

EVERYTHING.

The word vanished a split second before Harrow could order his soldiers to seize him.

The bus rolled out of the main complex and onto a restricted perimeter road. Through the wire-mesh windows, I looked out at the skyline.

Standing above the treetops was a massive, fifty-foot billboard featuring a picture of The General smiling down at the highway.

The text across the top read: AMERICA’S GENERAL IS BACK.

General Harrow looked out the window in disgust.

"You don't like him?" I asked. "I thought he was your mascot."

"Bradley Majors has never served a single day in uniform," Harrow said. "He refused military enlistment. He took a uniform he never earned, put on a cape, and sold his services to Locke. He turned national service into a private brand."

Harrow turned his gaze back to me. "Before Majors, the strongest Blessing users joined the armed forces. Heroes were considered outcasts, failed vigilantes, and publicity seekers. Majors made heroism look glorious. He redirected an entire generation of S-Tiers away from public duty and into private contracts. And for twenty years, the American public has looked at a corporate shill in a fake uniform and mistaken him for military strength."

I looked out the window. "It worked, though. He's Rank One."

Harrow’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Only because society rewards popularity over discipline, Fawn. Enjoy your rank while it lasts. The storm coming to this country won't be stopped by a sponsorship."

The transport stopped in front of Regulation Hall B—a long, bunker-like concrete building surrounded by anti-Blessing field generators.

We were led through a steel door into a sterile, windowless waiting room with fluorescent lights and metal chairs.

A few other red-badged Heroes from different contractors were already sitting inside.

Sitting in the corner, wearing a plain gray business suit instead of a Hero costume, was a thirty-eight-year-old man holding a leather briefcase. He was currently engaged in an intense argument with two military attorneys.

[Target: Solomon Reed (Fine Print)]

[Affiliation: Jefferson Jefferson]

[Level: 219 | Rank: 304]

[Blessing: Terms and Conditions (A-Tier)]

"I am not signing Section Four," Reed was saying calmly, adjusting his glasses. "Section Four states that any rules or conditions created by my Blessing inside the facility become proprietary property of the United States Government. My Blessing is legally classified as intellectual work under HRC civil law. If you want me to demonstrate my terms, you will sign the indemnity waiver."

The military lawyers looked exhausted.

I watched him for a second and realized the guy was an actual lawyer using his legal training to optimize his Blessing. I made a mental note to read every piece of paper I ever signed for the rest of my life.

Leaning against the opposite wall was another competitor. He wore a sleek, aerodynamic suit and was tossing a ball from hand to hand.

[Target: Jordan Pike (Slipstream)]

[Affiliation: Dawn]

[Level: 119 | Rank: 811]

[Blessing: Friction Control (A-Tier)]

Pike looked up as we entered. His eyes landed on my suit, and he let out a dismissive snort.

"Seasons," Pike said, catching the ball in his palm. "Rank Eight Hundred and Seventy-Six. Must be nice getting a top-thousand rank just because you took down one mid-level street mugger on live television. I had to catch forty villains just to hit Eight Eleven."

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I sat down on a chair and leaned my head back against the wall. "Sounds exhausting."

Pike scoffed and went back to flipping his ball.

Koda sat down next to me, silently watching Pike.

A door at the back of the waiting room slid open.

A woman in a dark-green officer's uniform walked into the room. She was in her late fifties, with short gray hair, and no medals on her chest.

[Brigadier General Evelyn Rook]

[Affiliation: US Military]

[Level: 312 | Rank: None]

[Blessing: War Room (A-Tier)]

"KD," Rook said. "You have drawn fourteen distinct objects in the air since stepping off the transport bus. You dissolved all fourteen before materialization, attempting to conceal your cast speed. Your average drawing time for a functional weapon is point-three-two seconds."

Koda’s smile widened slightly.

"The purpose of this review is not to measure your combat efficiency," General Rook continued, addressing the room. "Your sponsors care about flashy finishes and body counts. The United States Military cares about operational collateral. The Contractor Exam utilizes real infrastructure, real military transport, and System-generated civilian populations. Certain Blessings—if left unmonitored—can compromise the integrity of the entire grid. Anyone who exceeds their assigned operational boundaries will be removed from the exam immediately. We do not care who your sponsors are."

A Hero from Romder stood up. "Our agencies weren't informed about operational restrictions. We were told this was a standard combat evaluation."

Rook looked at him. "Your contractors don't run Texas, Hero. Sit down."

The guy sat down.

"Fawn. Review Room Three," a soldier called out.

I stood up and walked down a hallway into a chamber.

The room was split in two by a wall of glass. Sitting on the other side of the glass were General Rook and four military scientists wearing lab coats, looking at holographic displays.

"State your specialization, Fawn," Rook ordered through a speaker.

"Natural Disaster," I said.

"We have your public data from the Aegis and Brand files," a scientist said, tapping his screen. "However, your specialization contains three distinct Ultimate-class abilities. We require functional parameters for each."

He pulled up a screen showing the word [Deluge].

"Deluge," the scientist said. "Is the fluid generated, or is it drawn from the surrounding environment?"

"It's created," I said. "A tiny puddle forms, then it expands exponentially into a wave."

"Does it require a nearby water source?"

"No."

"What is the maximum volume?"

"I don't know," I said. "I've only used it once."

Rook raised an eyebrow. "You activated an unverified, high-volume fluid spell inside a populated municipal area?"

"It was an abandoned skate park in Janesten," I corrected. "And nobody was using it."

The scientists exchanged a disturbed look.

"Next," the scientist said, pulling up [Quake]. "Seismic output. What is the fault-line depth?"

"Haven't used it yet," I said. "I like my penthouse intact."

"And [Cyclone]?"

"Haven't used that one either."

Rook leaned toward her microphone. "You accepted an S-Tier Specialization containing three high-collateral abilities without testing two of them or verifying your own limits?"

"The System offered it," I shrugged. "Why wouldn't I take it?"

"Because an untested weapon is a liability to everyone standing near it," Rook said. She typed a quick note into my evaluation file. I was pretty sure it wasn't a compliment.

"We will proceed to a controlled strike," the scientist instructed, pointing to a slab of steel positioned at the far end of the room. "Demonstrate 5th Degree against the target."

I stepped up to the line, raised my hand, and focused.

"5th Degree."

A blade of plasma materialized in the air above my palm. I brought my hand down in a sharp chopping motion.

The plasma blade swung through the air, slicing through the slab. The two halves of the block crashed to the floor, the cut edges glowing orange and melting into liquid metal.

Inside the observation booth, the energy meters spiked.

"The thermal output was expected," one of the scientists muttered, staring at his monitor. "But the plasma frequency... it disrupted the energy field of the barrier."

Rook looked at me. "Does Brand know your plasma spell carries a high-yield disruption effect against military-grade forcefields?"

"I unlocked it a couple of days ago," I said. "While escaping a Level Four Hundred and One assassin."

The room went completely silent.

Rook’s eyes narrowed. "You engaged Zado Tan?"

"I escaped one of his spells, threw one attack, and then my sister showed up with her team," I clarified. "I ran away as fast as I could."

Rook gave a nod. "At least you don't lie about your cowardice, Fawn. Most Heroes in your position would have claimed they fought him to a standstill."

"Lying sounds like a lot of work," I said. "Especially if you ask me to prove it."

I walked back out to the waiting room while Koda was called into Review Room Three.

The walls were soundproofed, but an overhead monitor displayed a video feed of his evaluation.

I watched.

The scientists asked Koda to demonstrate his ink materialization. Koda raised his finger, traced a rapid outline in the air, and materialized a semi-automatic handgun onto the table. One of the technicians picked it up, loaded a magazine, and fired a test round into a target. It worked perfectly.

Then, they asked him to draw a military-grade assault rifle.

Koda drew the rifle, but as it materialized on the table, he subtly altered the internal firing pin drawing by a fraction of a millimeter. When the technician tried to rack the slide, the gun jammed instantly.

Koda put his hands up, looking disappointed, pretending he had made a mistake.

I squinted at the screen. The bastard was sabotaging his own test. He was purposely showing them a lower skill ceiling so they wouldn't classify his drawings as a high-level threat.

The scientists asked him a series of rapid questions: Could he materialize explosives? Vehicles? Biological organisms? System Cores? Proprietary military hardware?

For every single question, Koda simply traced a question mark in the air.

On the screen, General Rook leaned into her microphone and said something.

Koda wrote one final sentence across the glass:

LIMITS MAKE BAD ART.

Rook’s response played over the waiting room intercom:

"Restrictions make surviving artists, KD."

Ten minutes later, Koda walked back out into the waiting room holding a folder containing his military restriction sheet.

I was handed my own sheet by a soldier.

I opened the folder and read my rules:

"Seems fair," I muttered, closing my folder. I wasn't planning on blowing up the stadium anyway.

I looked over at Koda. His folder was easily three times thicker than mine, packed with pages of dense legal text and structural bans.

"What aren't you allowed to draw?" I asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

Koda immediately snapped the folder shut and slid it into his coat. "That would ruin the surprise, Seasons."

As we prepared to leave Regulation Hall B, the front doors opened, and a woman in a business suit walked inside beside four Locke attorneys.

[Target: Miriam Voss]

[Affiliation: Locke]

[Level: 14 | Rank: None]

[Blessing: Perfect Recall (C-Tier)]

General Harrow stepped into the hallway, blocking her path. "Voss. What are you doing in a restricted military facility?"

"I'm here to file the exemption paperwork for Bradley Majors," Miriam Voss said. She handed a gold-embossed legal document to Harrow. "The General’s participation as Special Director requires a total waiver from equipment restrictions."

"Majors is subject to the same Department of Defense regulations as every other participant," Harrow growled, refusing to take the paper.

"Bradley Majors is not a participant, General Harrow," Miriam replied. "He is the Director. And more importantly, there is no barrier or restriction in this building that could actually contain his Blessing if he chose to ignore it. The waiver is a formality to save your department the embarrassment of trying to enforce a rule you cannot back up."

Harrow’s face turned red with anger. "He's a mascot in a uniform, Voss."

Miriam smiled. "And yet every single soldier standing in this hallway grew up with his poster on their bedroom wall."

She walked out of the building, her lawyers following close behind.

General Rook stepped out of her office and walked up to the group of reviewed Heroes.

"Your operational restrictions are now active," Rook announced, looking at us. "They were put in place because Operation One takes place inside an artificial city."

She tapped a button on the wall, and a holographic map lit up above our heads.

"The simulated city contains power grids, water networks, hospitals, supply lines, and thousands of civilian constructs," Rook explained. "Multiple contractor units will be deployed simultaneously into different sectors."

"What’s the objective?" Jordan Pike asked. "Capture the flag? Target elimination?"

"The objective will be delivered at zero-six-hundred tomorrow," Rook said. "But understand this: Operation One is designed to expose which of you are incapable of restraining yourselves."

She looked directly at me, then at Koda.

I looked over at Koda. His finger was already moving against his leg, sketching the outline of a burning city in the air.

I squeezed it before he could finish the drawing.

"Not yet, Painter," I muttered.

"You're learning, Seasons."

We stepped out of Regulation Hall B and into the night.

In the far distance, beyond the fences, the lights of the city suddenly turned on—district by district—illuminating miles of skyscrapers, highways, and residential blocks.

High above the skyline, a scoreboard lit up against the sky:

[CONTRACTOR STANDINGS]

[BRAND: 0 PTS]

[LOCKE: 0 PTS]

[FORBE: 0 PTS]

[MTX: 0 PTS]

[JEFFERSON JEFFERSON: 0 PTS]

[OPERATION ONE: CLASSIFIED]

[OBJECTIVES ASSIGNED AT 0600.]

[CONTRACTORS WILL NOT RECEIVE THE SAME OBJECTIVES.]

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