The first thing Marcus became aware of was the steady beeping of a heart monitor. The sound pulled him from the darkness, dragging him toward consciousness like a fish on a line. His eyelids felt heavy, his mouth dry as sand. Every muscle in his body ached with a deep, bone-tired exhaustion.
He forced his eyes open. White ceiling tiles. Fluorescent lights, dimmed. The antiseptic smell of a hospital, but different somehow. More sterile. More clinical.
"He's waking up." A woman's voice, professional but excited.
Marcus turned his head slowly. The room swam into focus. Medical equipment surrounded his bed, monitors displaying vital signs he didn't understand. A woman in a white lab coat stood beside him, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes wide with what looked like relief.
"Marcus? Can you hear me?" She leaned closer, shining a penlight in his eyes. "I'm Dr. Yuki Tanaka. You're at S.T.A.R. Labs. You're safe."
"S.T.A.R. Labs?" His voice came out as a croak. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"Don't try to talk too much." Another voice, male this time. A young man with curly brown hair and an easy smile appeared on his other side. "I'm Leo Reyes, engineering specialist. Well, former engineering specialist. Now I guess I'm more of a metahuman babysitter." He grinned. "No offense."
"Metahuman?" Marcus tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't cooperate.
"Easy." Dr. Tanaka pressed a hand gently against his shoulder. "You've been unconscious for a while. Your muscles need time to remember how to work."
"How long?"
The smile faded from Leo's face. Dr. Tanaka exchanged a glance with him before answering.
"Nine months," she said quietly. "The particle accelerator explosion put you in a coma. You've been here ever since."
The words didn't make sense. Nine months. Three quarters of a year, gone. Marcus stared at the ceiling, trying to process it. His last memory was the shockwave hitting, the pain, the darkness. And now it was nine months later.
"My family," he managed. "My father. David."
"They're fine," Dr. Tanaka assured him. "They've been here almost every day. We called them as soon as your vitals started changing. They're on their way now."
The door opened, and a man in a wheelchair rolled in. Marcus recognized him immediately from the livestream. Harrison Wells, founder of S.T.A.R. Labs, looking older and more tired than he had on screen. His eyes held a weight that hadn't been there before.
"Mr. Chen." Wells stopped beside the bed. "I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you awake. I'm Harrison Wells. I owe you an apology. The accident, the explosion, it was my fault. My hubris. And you paid the price."
"How many?" Marcus asked. "How many people were hurt?"
Wells's jaw tightened. "Seventeen dead. Hundreds injured. And dozens more like you, affected by the dark matter released in the explosion. Changed."
"Changed how?"
"The dark matter interacted with the human body in ways we're still trying to understand," Dr. Tanaka explained. "Some people developed abilities. Metahumans, the media is calling them. You're one of them."
Before Marcus could respond, the door burst open. His father rushed in, David right behind him. The relief on their faces was so profound it made Marcus's chest ache.
"Marcus." His father's voice broke. He grabbed Marcus's hand, squeezing tight. "Thank God. Thank God."
David stood at the foot of the bed, tears streaming down his face. "Nine months, man. Nine months we thought we might lose you."
"I'm okay," Marcus said, though he wasn't sure if it was true. "I'm here."
They talked for a while, his father and David filling him in on everything he'd missed. Ethan had visited constantly, they said. The city had changed. Metahuman attacks were becoming common. The police were overwhelmed.
Eventually, Dr. Tanaka insisted they let Marcus rest. His father squeezed his hand one more time before leaving, promising to return in the morning. David lingered at the door.
"We're glad you're back," he said simply.
When they were gone, Leo helped Marcus sit up. "Want to try standing? See if your legs remember how to work?"
Marcus nodded. With Leo's help, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor felt cold against his bare feet. He stood slowly, testing his weight. His legs trembled but held.
"Not bad," Leo said. "Most people need a few days before they can even sit up."
Marcus took a step, then another. His body felt strange, like it didn't quite fit right anymore. Something was off. The air around him felt different, thicker somehow. He could sense distortions in the space near his body, like ripples in water that shouldn't exist.
Panic flared in his chest. Nine months. Nine months gone. His research, his dissertation, his entire life put on hold. What if he couldn't finish his degree? What if everything he'd worked for was gone?
The air beside him shimmered.
"Uh, Marcus?" Leo's voice rose in pitch. "What's happening to your hand?"
Marcus looked down. His right hand was fading, becoming translucent. No, not fading. It was disappearing into something. A pocket of space that shouldn't exist, a tear in reality about the size of a basketball. He could feel it, could sense the dimensions of it. Roughly one meter across, a bubble of nothing that existed somewhere else.
The medical chart on the nearby table slipped sideways and vanished into the distortion.
"Marcus, stop!" Dr. Tanaka shouted.
He didn't know how. The panic was growing, and with it, the pocket expanded slightly. A pen disappeared. Then a roll of medical tape.
"Breathe," Wells said calmly, rolling closer. "Mr. Chen, look at me. Breathe slowly. You're creating a dimensional anomaly. You need to calm down."
Marcus forced himself to take a breath. Then another. Slowly, the shimmering stopped. The pocket collapsed, and his hand became solid again. The missing items didn't reappear.
"Where did they go?" Marcus whispered, staring at his hand.
"Somewhere else," Wells said, his eyes bright with fascination. "You created a pocket dimension. A small one, perhaps a meter in diameter, but stable enough to contain physical matter." He leaned forward. "Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable."