I stared at them, confusion cutting through the exhaustion and grief. "What are you talking about? What news?"

Camille's hand was shaking slightly as she grabbed the remote from the coffee table. She turned on the TV mounted on the wall, navigating quickly to a news channel.

"This has been playing on loop for the past three hours," she said quietly. "Every major network. Every country. The entire world has seen it."

The screen flickered to life, showing a female news anchor with that practiced expression of grave concern they all wore for serious stories.

"—unprecedented broadcast that appeared simultaneously across multiple platforms approximately nine hours ago. We warn viewers that the following content may be disturbing—"

The feed cut to different footage. Grainy. Shot from what looked like a phone camera. The setting was immediately recognizable—Hugo's office. The same office I'd just fled from.

And there, standing over two bodies, was Mark.

His scarred face filled the frame as he addressed the camera with theatrical intensity. Behind him, I could see Hugo's corpse. And Anthony's.

My breath caught.

"My name is Subject 3834," Mark's voice came through the speakers. "Though some know me as Mark. I am one of many victims of the NovaCore experiments—illegal human experimentation conducted over decades by Hugo Vale and his associates."

He gestured to Hugo's body. "This man. Hugo Vale. Researcher. Father. And, as the world is only now learning, the World President himself."

"That's not possible," Sienna whispered beside me.

On screen, Mark continued. "But I'm not here to talk about Hugo Vale alone. I'm here to talk about his son. Reynard Vale. The man the world has come to see as a hero. A revolutionary. A champion of the people against corruption."

His expression shifted—part rage, part grief. "Reynard Vale is a fraud. Everything he has—his power, his abilities, his multiple jobs—all of it comes from his father's experiments. From the suffering of hundreds of test subjects who were tortured so Hugo Vale could perfect the process."

"He's lying," Camille said, her voice hard. But there was uncertainty there too.

"Reynard reaped the rewards of those who suffered," Mark said, his voice building. "He experienced nepotism on a scale unprecedented in human history. Given power that should never exist because his father wanted to perfect it. And now he walks free, celebrated, while the rest of us—the real victims—hide in shadows."

He moved closer to the camera, his scarred face dominating the frame. "He is no better than his father. Maybe worse, because at least Hugo Vale was honest about what he was. Reynard pretends to be something noble while standing on a foundation of torture and death."

"This is bullshit," Camille said louder. "He's twisting everything."

But Alexis shushed her, eyes fixed on the screen. "Let it play."

Mark stepped back, his demeanor shifting. The rage fading into something more measured. More calculated.

"But I'm not here just to condemn," he said. "I'm here to offer hope. Because we—all of us—can unite. We can fight against this corrupt family. Against the systems that allowed Hugo Vale to operate unchecked for decades. Against the nepotism that elevated his son to power."

His voice took on an almost inspirational quality. "Look around you. At your neighbors. Your communities. We are stronger together than any one person with stolen power. We are the true System—the collective force of humanity united toward justice."

"He's good," Evelyn said quietly. "This is very good rhetoric."

Mark raised his fist. "Together, we will dismantle the structures that enabled this. Together, we will demand accountability. Together, we will stand atop a greater System—one built on truth, on justice, on the shared power of all humanity rather than the stolen power of one family."

He paused, letting that sink in. Then his expression changed one more time—harder, colder, directed specifically at the camera.

"And Reynard," he said, speaking directly to me through time and space and broadcast. "Your time will end. The world sees you now for what you are. You chose the wrong side. You could have stood with us—with the victims, with the real people. But you chose your father's legacy instead."

His scarred lips pulled into something that might have been a smile. "I'll see you soon."

The broadcast cut to black.

The news anchor reappeared, already launching into analysis, but Camille turned off the TV with a sharp click.

Silence filled the penthouse.

"This is bad," Evelyn said finally, her professional evaluator instincts taking over. "This is really bad. With how everything is being presented, there's a significant chance that public perception of Rey shifts dramatically."

"But everyone was supporting him literally moments ago," Sienna protested, looking between us. "The coalition. The exhibition. Everything we've built. That doesn't just disappear because of one video."

Camille shook her head, her wild energy subdued into something grimmer. "That's exactly the problem, Sienna. It was moments ago. Public perception changes massively, especially when hit with something this shocking. Even without the full story—especially without the full story—a majority of the world's populace has already made up its mind."

"The narrative is simple," Evelyn added, her tone clinical. "Reynard is the son of the World President. He gained power through his father's experiments. Everything he's accomplished is tainted by that connection. Whether it's true or fair doesn't matter. It's compelling."

Alexis had moved closer to me during the conversation, her hands checking my injuries with professional efficiency. "Rey has bruising across his ribs. Likely a fracture here." She pressed gently and I winced with Pain Resistance being offline. "Multiple contusions. Exhaustion beyond normal parameters. But nothing immediately life-threatening."

She looked up at me, her platinum hair framing a face full of concern. "You need to clean up. Get the dried blood off. Then rest."

I barely registered her words. My mind was stuck on the broadcast. On Mark's face and the words that he had told the world. On Anthony's body visible in the background.

Was Mark right? Should I even call him that? It's not like that his real name, just one that NovaCore gave. Maybe I am someone who enriched himself with the suffering of others. Thats the whole purpose of my Destroy skill isn't it? Same with people like Hyena or Logan. They were criminals but instead of striving for redemption I simply took everything that they-

A sound from outside pulled my attention. Voices. Many voices. Shouting.

Camille moved to the window, pulling back the curtain slightly. "This is bad."

"What?" Sienna asked, moving to join her.

"There are hundreds of people outside," Camille said. "Maybe more. Security and building guards are keeping them back, but…" She trailed off.

I could hear it now—the chanting. Couldn't make out specific words, but the anger was clear. The demand in their voices.

They wanted to see me. Wanted answers. Wanted… something I couldn't give them right now.

"We'll handle this," Evelyn said firmly, turning to face me. "Rey, you need to go to the bathroom. Clean up. Get some rest. Let us manage the external situation."

"We've got this," Sienna added, her caring nature making her voice gentle. "You've done enough today. Let us take care of you for once."

I nodded numbly, not trusting myself to speak. Not sure I could form words even if I wanted to.

I stood on shaking legs and made my way toward the bathroom. Each step felt like moving through water—heavy, resistant, exhausting.

The bathroom door closed behind me with a soft click, muting the sounds from outside. The voices. The concern. The chaos.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Blood. So much blood covering my torn clothes. My face was bruised, swollen in places. Dried blood crusted in my hair, on my hands, under my fingernails.

Anthony's blood.

I pulled off the ruined clothes with mechanical movements. Dropped them in a pile on the floor.

Turned on the shower. Waited for the water to warm.

Stepped under the spray.

The water hit my back, running red as it washed away the dried blood. I watched it swirl down the drain—evidence of violence, of death, of failure disappearing into pipes and sewage.

But it didn't clean everything. The blood had dried too long, stuck too deep. I scrubbed at my skin, but traces remained. Under my nails. In the creases of my palms. Staining me.

I was without my System. Three more hours before it would reactivate. Three more hours of being vulnerable, normal, weak.

Anthony had died. My bodyguard. My friend. Dead because I'd brought him to Ghana. Dead because I hadn't been strong enough to protect him.

And the public was against me now. Mark's broadcast had seen to that. My father's identity revealed. My connection to NovaCore exposed. Everything I'd built over three years potentially destroyed in a single video.

I slid down the shower wall, pulling my knees to my chest. The water continued to run, hitting my back, warm but not comforting.

I sat there in the fetal position. Exhausted. Injured. Grieving. Lost.

And in that moment—sitting alone in a shower with blood that wouldn't fully wash away and a future that had suddenly become terrifyingly uncertain—I just…

Cried.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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