-----
Later…
The hidden library of Winchester Manor greeted him with its usual chill—old parchment, dust, and quiet. A dim lamp flickered weakly beside a tall, scarred desk. Shelves towered over him like watching giants.
He wiped the last of the sweat from his neck.
"Man… I could use a book or two," he muttered. "Something to kill the rest of the day. Maybe something about heroes without powers…"
He scanned the shelf. Titles passed by—Ancient Threats, The Rise of Ember, Hero Laws…
"My father's secret door should have the old books," he whispered, pushing aside a bin.
Creaaaaak.
The shelf slid open, revealing the hidden chamber inside.
The air felt colder here—older. Black Mentis's suit hung on the wall like a shadow waiting to move. Weapons lay organized on racks. Stacks of books and files covered the tables.
Alan walked slowly, his fingertips brushing the spines of old journals.
"Let's see… maybe something from the pre-hero era… something Dad wrote…or an interesting book."
He stopped. A dusty box sat tucked in a corner under an old cloth.
"…what is this?"
He dragged it onto the desk, lifted the lid—
Papers. Hundreds of them. Some typed. Some handwritten. All stamped with the same insignia:
HEROCORP — Internal Use Only
Alan's heartbeat quickened.
He read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
His face drained of color.
"…what the fuck…?"
Heroes.
Test subjects.
Drugs.
Forced enhancements.
Failed experiments.
Bodies.
Some files listed heroes by codename. Others just showed numbers.
"So they really… experimented on them?" he whispered, flipping another page.
"This is insane… Dad hid this? Why…?"
He kept reading.
Power suppression trials.
Forced evolution tests.
Psychological conditioning.
Termination reports.
Alan's stomach twisted.
He slammed the papers down. "They aren't helping heroes. They're USING them. Breaking them. Killing them. Monsters…"
He stared down at the pile, breathing hard.
"I have to talk to Dad. I—I need answers. Why hide this? Why keep quiet? Why pretend everything is okay?"
He gathered the papers in his arms and stormed out of the hidden room.
-----
Ben sat in a leather chair near the window, reading quietly, a glass of untouched whiskey on the table beside him. The room was dim except for a yellow lamp casting long shadows across the oak desk—documents, notes, small scattered tools.
Alan stepped inside, tension radiating off him.
"Dad."
Ben looked up.
"I found these in the hidden room," Alan said, placing the stack on the desk.
"HeroCorp is experimenting on heroes. Torturing them. Ruining lives. And you hid this? Why?"
Ben's expression went cold instantly.
"What the hell are you doing going through my things?" he snapped, rising from his chair. "Are you questioning me now?"
Alan's body stiffened.
Ben stepped closer, voice sharp.
"Since when do you think you can snoop around? Are you trying to piss me off?"
"I'm trying to understand!" Alan shot back. "HeroCorp is doing awful shit and you just—you hid it? Why?!"
Ben's jaw clenched.
"Give me those."
He snatched the papers from the desk and flicked his hand—opening a small dimensional rift. The documents vanished inside.
'You don't get to poke your damn nose into matters BIGGER than you."
Alan took a step back, frustration boiling.
"But—"
"No 'buts.'" Ben barked. "Go to your room. Now."
The room shook slightly from the force of his voice.
But then— Something in Ben's shoulders softened. His eyes looked tired. Not weak—haunted.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Look… kid…"
His tone lowered—not calm, but strained. "You have no idea how dangerous this shit is. You're sixteen. If HeroCorp even suspects you touched those files, they'll hunt you until there's nothing left to bury."
"You never know how life's gonna play out, kid. But if you keep your head open and your heart steady, you'll find your own path.
Just… not this one. You weren't meant to be a hero. So stop trying to act like one."
Alan's heart pounded. He understood the danger—but anger cut through it.
"And what about those heroes?" Alan asked. "What about the people they hurt? Someone needs to stop them."
Ben closed his eyes briefly.
"Don't let your emotions drown out your intelligence," he murmured. "I've spent YEARS keeping this family hidden. YEARS watching my back. I'm not going back into that hell."
Alan's breathing quickened. For a moment, Alan caught something in his father's eyes — fear. Not of HeroCorp. Of losing him.
"You're supposed to be the strongest," he said quietly. "Why aren't you doing something?"
Silence.
Ben didn't answer.
Alan swallowed hard.
"What if… what if WE work together? When I'm older… when I'm ready—"
Ben's fist slammed into the wall. The plaster cracked, leaving a crater.
His eyes flared red for a split second—furious, dangerous—then faded back.
"That's EXACTLY the type of bullshit that gets whole families killed," he growled. "There is no WE. No 'together.' These people will tear you apart. They'll tear your mother apart. Your sister. Everyone you love."
He pointed at him, voice trembling with anger.
"The heroes in those files? They're already dead. It's too late. DROP IT."
A cold shiver ran down Alan's spine.
Ben turned away.
"Get out."
Alan stared at him—hurt, confused, furious.
"Fine," he snapped, voice cracking. "I won't dig anymore. Happy?"
He walked toward the door. His steps were steady, but his hands were trembling.
In his mind: What a fucking loser… I admired you. I wanted to be like you. But you're just… useless.
He slammed the door behind him.
Outside the study room.
Ben leaned over the desk, palms pressed against the wood, breathing hard.
"Do you think I like what they did?" he muttered under his breath. "I've been praying every damn day they don't find us. And now this stupid kid is pulling us right back into hell…"
Ben sank into the chair, exhaling like the fight drained something out of him.
Alan heard him. Stopped mid-hallway.
His chest tightened.
So Dad was protecting them. But that didn't make it easier.
Alan threw himself onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"I can't just work some shitty job and pretend life is normal," he muttered. "I can't just wait around while the world walks all over people."
His mind churned.
Fear.
Anger.
Purpose.
"If I can't expose HeroCorp now… if I can't defend myself against the idiots at school… then what the hell am I doing with my life?"
He grabbed his phone. Scrolled through articles. Clips of martial arts. Old documentaries. Monk training videos.
His eyes narrowed.
"…China, huh?"
He sat up slowly.
"Yeah. Maybe I should go there. Train properly. Become something more. If power won't come to me… I'll build it myself."
His grip on the phone tightened.
"I'm done being weak."