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Ben sat in the leather chair near the window, legs crossed, posture relaxed but alert. A book rested open in one hand. The other hung loosely over the armrest. A glass of whiskey sat untouched on the small table beside him, ice slowly melting, condensation running down onto the wood.
The room stayed dim. A yellow desk lamp cast stretched shadows across the oak surface. Papers lay spread out in loose order. Notes. Old documents. A few small tools sat off to the side, carefully placed.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Alan stepped inside without waiting for an answer. His shoulders were tight. His jaw was set. He shut the door behind him harder than necessary.
"Dad, we need to talk. It's important."
Ben looked up from the book. His eyes flicked to Alan's face, then to the way he was standing. The book closed slowly.
Alan crossed the room and dropped the stack of papers onto the desk. The impact scattered a few loose notes.
"I found these in the library's hidden room," Alan said. His voice was tight but controlled. "You knew HeroCorp is experimenting on heroes. Torturing them for decades. Ruining lives." He leaned forward slightly, palms pressing into the desk. "And you just hid this? Why?"
Ben's expression hardened instantly.
"What the hell are you doing going through my things, boy?" he snapped as he stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor. "Are you questioning me now?"
Alan's body locked in place.
Ben stepped closer, closing the space between them. His voice sharpened, low and dangerous.
"Since when do you think you can snoop around?" he said. "Are you trying to piss me off?"
"I'm trying to understand," Alan shot back. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "HeroCorp is doing awful shit, and you just let it slide. Are you covering their crimes? I want to know why."
Ben's jaw clenched hard enough that his teeth creaked.
"Give me those."
He grabbed the papers off the desk in one motion. His fingers flicked outward and a small dimensional rift snapped open beside his hand. The documents vanished into it instantly.
"You don't get to poke your damn nose into matters bigger than you," Ben said flatly.
Alan took a step back, chest rising faster.
"But…"
"There's no buts," Ben barked. "Go to your room. Now."
The force in his voice rippled through the room. The lamp rattled. A stack of notes slid slightly across the desk.
Then Ben stopped.
His shoulders dropped just a fraction. His eyes lost their edge, replaced by something worn and tired. He dragged a hand down his face and exhaled slowly.
"Look, kid," he said.
His tone lowered but still firm and tense. But it was strained now.
"You have no idea how dangerous this stuff is. You're sixteen." He turned away, pacing once toward the window. "If HeroCorp even suspects you touched those files, they'll hunt you until there's nothing left to bury."
He stopped, staring out into the dark glass.
"You never know how life's gonna play out," he continued. "But if you keep your head open and your heart steady, you'll find your own path." He turned back slightly. "Just not this one. You weren't meant to be a hero. So stop trying to act like one."
Alan's pulse pounded in his ears. Fear hit him, but anger burned through it fast.
"And what about those heroes?" Alan said. His voice shook despite his effort. "What about the people they hurt? Someone needs to stop them. If I'm not suited to be a hero, then what are you even doing?"
Ben closed his eyes for a brief moment. His shoulders tensed again.
"Don't let your emotions drown out your intelligence," he said quietly. "I've spent years keeping this family hidden. Years watching my back." His voice hardened. "I'm not going back into that hell. Not because you decided to drag it here."
Alan stepped closer.
"But you're supposed to be the strongest," he said. His voice dropped. "Why aren't you doing something? Why do they have so much power and influence over you? You can do anything, can't you?"
Silence filled the room.
Ben didn't answer.
Alan swallowed.
"What if," he said slowly, "what if we work together? When I'm older. When I'm ready."
Ben's fist slammed into the wall.
CRACK.
Plaster shattered outward, chunks falling to the floor. The wall caved inward around his knuckles.
His eyes flared red for a split second, heat building behind them. The glow vanished just as fast.
"That's exactly the type of bullshit that gets whole families killed," Ben growled. "There is no we. And no together." He turned sharply, pointing at Alan, finger shaking with rage. "These people will tear you apart. They'll tear your mother apart. Your sister. Everyone you love."
His hand dropped.
"The heroes in those files," he said, voice cold, "they're already dead. It's too late for them. So drop it."
A chill ran through Alan's body.
Ben turned away from him.
"Get out."
Alan stood there, staring at his back. His chest felt tight. His throat burned.
"Fine," Alan snapped. His voice cracked despite him fighting it. "I won't dig anymore. Happy?"
He turned and walked toward the door. His steps stayed steady, but his hands shook as he reached for the handle.
Alan slowed near the door, his hand still on the handle. His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as the words burned through his head.
What a fucking loser.I can't believe I admired a coward who gave up on saving people.I wanted to be like him.But he's just useless now.
His teeth clenched.
He slammed the door shut. The impact rattled the frame and echoed down the hallway.
Inside the study room, Ben leaned forward over the desk. His palms pressed hard into the wood, fingers spread wide, veins standing out along his hands. His breathing was heavy, uneven.
"This kid…" he muttered. He lifted one hand and pressed two fingers between his eyes, squeezing hard. "Does he think I like what these monsters are doing?"
He straightened slightly, then leaned forward again, shoulders sagging.
"I've been praying every damn day they don't find out about this family," he said quietly. "And now this stupid kid is pulling us right back under their radar…"
He lowered himself into the chair. The leather creaked under his weight. He exhaled slowly, long and tired, like the argument had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.
Outside, Alan had stopped mid-hallway.
He stood still, one foot half forward, breath caught in his chest.
He heard everything.
His shoulders stiffened. His chest tightened.
So Dad was protecting us?
His jaw flexed.
That knowledge didn't soften anything. It just made it heavier.
Alan turned and walked to his room. He shut the door and threw himself onto the bed, landing flat on his back. The mattress dipped under him. He stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
"Now I feel bad," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. He sighed sharply. "Damn it. This is stupid. I should apologize to him soon."
He turned his head slightly, staring at the wall.
"But for the strongest hero," he added quietly, "he's being chained up. I don't get it."
He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself up to sit.
"I can't just work some shitty ass job and pretend life is normal," he said under his breath. "I can't just wait around while the world walks all over people."
His thoughts spun faster now.
Fear.
Anger.
Purpose.
"If I can't expose HeroCorp for their crimes right now," he said, voice low and tight, "if I can't even defend myself against some idiots at school, then what the hell am I doing with my life?" He swallowed. "What's my purpose here?"
He grabbed his phone from the bed and unlocked it. His thumb scrolled fast. News articles. Fight clips. Martial arts breakdowns. Old documentaries. Videos of monks training, bodies moving with discipline and control.
He stopped scrolling.
His eyes narrowed.
"Training martial arts… China, huh?"
He sat up slowly, elbows resting on his knees. The phone felt heavier in his hand.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Maybe I should go there for a while. Train properly. Become something more."
His grip tightened around the phone.
"If power won't come to me," he said, voice firm now, "I'll build it myself."
His jaw set.
"I'm done being weak."
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