The testing room at S.T.A.R. Labs was sterile and cold, all white walls and gleaming equipment. Marcus sat in the center on a metal chair, electrodes attached to his temples, chest, and wrists. Cameras pointed at him from three different angles. Dr. Tanaka monitored readouts on a bank of screens while Leo adjusted sensors. Wells sat in his wheelchair nearby, tablet in hand, watching Marcus with that same intense focus that made his skin crawl.
"Let's start simple," Wells said. "Try to create another pocket. Small. Controlled."
Marcus closed his eyes, reaching for that new sense. It was like flexing a muscle he'd never known he had. The air in front of him shimmered, reality bending inward. A sphere of distorted space appeared, roughly the size of a basketball. He could feel its dimensions, could sense the emptiness inside it.
"Excellent," Wells murmured, making notes. "How does it feel?"
"Strange. Like I'm holding something, but it's not really there." Marcus concentrated, keeping the pocket stable. It wanted to collapse, to snap back into normal space. Maintaining it required constant effort.
"Try putting something inside," Dr. Tanaka said.
Leo handed him a tennis ball. Marcus tossed it toward the pocket. The ball touched the shimmering edge and vanished, pulled into the dimensional space. He could still sense it, could feel its presence in that elsewhere place.
"Can you retrieve it?" Wells asked.
Marcus focused, willing the pocket to release its contents. The ball popped back into existence, dropping into his hand. The effort made his head throb.
"How large can you make it?" Wells leaned forward.
Marcus tried expanding the pocket. It grew to about a meter across, then hit a wall. He pushed harder, but something resisted. It was like trying to stretch a rubber band that had reached its limit. The pocket flickered, destabilized, and collapsed. The tennis ball clattered to the floor.
"Interesting," Wells said, typing rapidly. "There appears to be a ceiling to your spatial manipulation. Approximately one meter in diameter for stable pockets."
They ran the test again. And again. Each time, Marcus could create the pocket, maintain it for several minutes, but couldn't push past that one meter threshold. It frustrated him. He could feel more potential there, just out of reach, like trying to remember a word on the tip of his tongue.
"Let's try something different," Wells said after the tenth attempt. "Portals. Doorways through space rather than pockets within it."
Marcus stood, moving to the center of the room. He reached out with his spatial sense, trying to tear a hole in reality rather than create a bubble. The air ripped open in front of him, a vertical slash of shimmering energy about the height of a person. Through it, he could see the other side of the room.
"Incredible," Leo breathed.
Marcus stepped through. The sensation was bizarre, like walking through a waterfall made of static electricity. He emerged on the far side of the room, the portal still open behind him.
Then the exhaustion hit.
His legs buckled. The portal collapsed with a sound like tearing fabric. Dr. Tanaka caught him before he hit the floor.
"That's enough for today," she said firmly.
"No, I can keep going." But even as Marcus said it, his vision swam. Creating the portal had drained something from him, some reserve of energy he hadn't known he possessed.
Wells rolled closer, studying him. "Portals require significantly more energy than pockets. We'll need to build up your stamina gradually." He made another note. "I'm also noticing resistance in your abilities. As if something is limiting your full potential."
Marcus looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Your spatial manipulation should theoretically allow for much larger constructs. The dark matter exposure was significant. But something is holding you back." Wells's expression was thoughtful. "Perhaps a psychological block. Or possibly a physical limitation we haven't identified yet."
"Can you fix it?" The words came out more desperate than Marcus intended.
"I believe so. With time and proper training." Wells smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You'll need help stabilizing these powers, Mr. Chen. Learning to control them safely. I'd like to work with you personally on this. If you're willing."
Marcus nodded, too tired to question it. The idea of having guidance, of not being alone in this, was too appealing to refuse.
They ran a few more tests, measuring his vitals, scanning his brain activity. Everything came back normal, or as normal as it could be for someone who could tear holes in space. By the time they finished, Marcus felt like he'd run a marathon.
Ethan was waiting in the hallway when Marcus emerged. He looked worried, his usual easy smile replaced by tension around his eyes.
"Hey," Ethan said. "Your dad said you were doing tests. Everything okay?"
Marcus hesitated. The lie formed easily. "Yeah, just checkups. Making sure the lightning didn't cause any lasting damage."
"And did it?"
"No. I'm fine." The words tasted bitter. He wanted to tell Ethan the truth, wanted to show him what he could do. But something held him back. Fear, maybe. Or the knowledge that once he said it out loud, once someone else knew, it would become real in a way he wasn't ready for.
Ethan studied his face. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
"I'm not lying."
"You're doing that thing where you won't make eye contact." Ethan stepped closer. "Marcus, whatever's going on, you can tell me. You know that, right?"
Marcus forced himself to meet Ethan's eyes. "I know. But there's nothing to tell. I'm just tired."
The hurt that flashed across Ethan's face made Marcus's chest ache. But he didn't take it back. Couldn't take it back.
"Okay," Ethan said quietly. "If that's how you want to play it."
They drove back to Marcus's apartment in silence. When Ethan pulled up to the curb, Marcus reached for the door handle, then stopped.
"Thank you," he said. "For being here. For everything."
"That's what friends do." Ethan's voice was carefully neutral. "Call me if you need anything."
Marcus climbed out, watching Ethan drive away. The guilt sat heavy in his stomach.
His apartment felt wrong. Too small, too normal. He moved through it like a stranger, touching familiar objects that suddenly seemed alien. His books, his laptop, his coffee maker. All remnants of a life that didn't fit anymore.
He tried to make dinner but gave up halfway through. His spatial sense kept distracting him, making him aware of the dimensions of the room, the space between objects. He could feel the potential for pockets and portals everywhere, like an itch he couldn't scratch.
When he finally collapsed into bed, sleep wouldn't come. He lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of what he'd become pressing down on him.
Somewhere in the city, other people touched by the explosion were probably going through the same thing. Discovering abilities they didn't understand. Trying to figure out how to live in a world that had suddenly become strange and dangerous.
Marcus wondered if any of them felt as alone as he did.
He wondered if any of them had Harrison Wells watching them with that calculating intensity, promising help while taking notes like they were lab specimens.
He wondered if he'd made a mistake trusting him.
But he was too tired to think about it anymore. Too tired to do anything but close his eyes and hope that tomorrow would make more sense than today.
It wouldn't, of course.
Nothing would ever make sense again.