[Ability: Unlocks at 5.0% Template Progress]
[Role Points: 0]
Ethan stared at the empty columns on the translucent panel, relief and frustration mixing in equal measure. The confirmation was undeniable. It really was the Doomsday template. Not a knockoff, not some off-brand brute archetype. The real thing. The monster that killed Superman.
But right now?
Zero percent.
Zero role points.
Zero abilities.
He exhaled slowly and leaned back against the cold wall, forcing himself to think instead of spiral. The System had said "role-playing." That meant performance. Acting. Embodying the character. The closer he aligned with Doomsday's essence, the more points he would gain.
The problem was simple.
Doomsday's essence was mass extinction.
The creature didn't debate. It didn't posture. It didn't negotiate. It broke things. It tore through cities. It adapted to whatever tried to kill it and came back stronger. That kind of devastation wasn't something you casually reenacted inside a reinforced psychiatric cell with no powers and a guard rotation.
He flexed his fingers, staring at his hands as if expecting bone spikes to erupt on command.
"Alright," he muttered. "If I can't destroy a planet, I start small."
Before he could experiment further, a soft chime rang in his mind.
[Role Points +1]
Ethan blinked.
"What?"
He immediately pulled up the panel. The number had changed.
It wasn't much. It wasn't even impressive. But it was proof.
Something he had just done counted.
His heart began to race, not from fear this time, but from possibility. He retraced his movements mentally. He hadn't attacked anything. Hadn't shouted. Hadn't smashed the wall. He had simply flicked his wrist absently while thinking.
He repeated the motion, slower this time, studying the way his arm moved.
Nothing happened.
He waited.
A minute passed.
Two.
Then—
[Role Points +1]
His gaze shifted instinctively to his hand.
A narrow beam of sunlight had slipped through the small window high above, landing across the back of his wrist. He hadn't noticed it before.
He froze.
Doomsday didn't draw power from sunlight in the same way Superman did, but the creature absorbed energy. Stellar radiation. Environmental forces. It adapted and converted.
Ethan slowly extended his hand further into the light.
Nothing immediate.
He adjusted his position, angling his forearm so more skin was exposed. The warmth spread across his flesh, faint but steady.
[Role Points +2]
His breath caught.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered, and this time the grin that spread across his face was genuine.
So that was the trigger.
Energy absorption.
He stood up abruptly, dragging the thin bed slightly across the floor until it aligned better with the window. The metal legs screeched against concrete, but he didn't care. If anyone was watching, they'd just chalk it up to another unstable episode.
He climbed onto the mattress and stretched both arms upward, fingers splayed wide, palms angled toward the light. It was a ridiculous posture, somewhere between a yoga stretch and a malfunctioning scarecrow.
He held it anyway.
[Role Points +2]
[Role Points +1]
[Role Points +2]
The notifications trickled in steadily.
His heart pounded harder with each chime. The increments were small, but they were consistent. Progress ticked upward like a heartbeat monitor stabilizing after flatline.
He adjusted again, standing straighter, forcing his torso into the narrow beam so it washed over his chest and face. The sunlight wasn't strong. It was filtered through reinforced glass and layers of security mesh.
But it was enough.
[Role Points +3]
That one made him laugh under his breath.
"Okay," he murmured. "We're getting somewhere."
Minutes passed. Sweat gathered at his temples from the awkward position. His muscles began to tremble from holding the stretch. He ignored it.
Outside the room, cameras observed everything.
Inside the monitoring station, two guards watched the feeds with varying levels of boredom.
"Hey, Paul," one of them said, leaning back in his chair and pointing at the screen. "Look at cell seventeen. What the hell is he doing?"
Paul squinted at the monitor. Ethan stood rigid under the sliver of sunlight, arms raised unnaturally, head tilted back like he was worshiping the fluorescent ceiling.
"He looks like a duck trying to reach the sky," the other guard snorted. "Guess the meds finally cooked his brain."
Paul frowned slightly. "He wasn't acting like that before."
"Buddy," the first guard said, laughing, "we work in a psych ward. Acting weird is the baseline."
Paul rubbed his temple and looked away. The job had a way of warping perspective. After enough time down here, abnormal started feeling routine.
Back in the cell, Ethan's legs finally gave out. He dropped back onto the bed, chest heaving. His body wasn't built for endurance. Not yet.
He wiped sweat from his brow and pulled up the System interface.
[Template Progress: 0.8%]
It wasn't even one percent.
And yet he felt like he had climbed a mountain.
The rate wasn't bad, though. Sunlight exposure generated steady gains, especially when he exaggerated the posture and leaned into the absurdity. The more deliberate the "performance," the higher the increment.
He nodded to himself slowly.
"So it rewards commitment," he said quietly. "Not just action. Intent."
He needed to embody Doomsday's nature more completely. Absorb. Endure. Evolve.
The heavy clang of metal echoed down the hallway.
Ethan's head snapped toward the door just as it unlocked.
A broad-shouldered guard stepped inside the threshold, uniform slightly wrinkled, expression permanently curled into a smirk. Without a word, he tossed a wrapped loaf of bread into the room.
It hit the floor, bounced once, and rolled through a thin smear of grime before coming to a stop near Ethan's foot.
The guard nudged it forward with his boot.
"Lunch," he said lazily. "Don't say we don't treat you special."
Ethan met his gaze but said nothing.
The guard lingered a moment longer, as if waiting for a reaction, then shrugged and stepped back into the hallway. The reinforced door slammed shut behind him.
Silence returned.
Ethan stared down at the bread. Dust clung to the crust. A faint footprint marked one side where it had been kicked.
Anger flared hot in his chest, instinctive and sharp.
He forced it down.
Not yet.
He bent, picked up the loaf, and brushed it off as best he could. Every movement was deliberate. Controlled.
Doomsday didn't lash out blindly. It endured until it didn't have to anymore.
He ate slowly, washing each dry bite down with lukewarm tap water. The humiliation tasted worse than the stale bread.
When he finished, he sat back against the wall and let his breathing steady.
"Soon," he murmured to himself. "You can kick food while you still have something worth kicking."
The sunlight shifted slightly across the floor as the afternoon wore on.
Ethan stood again.
This time, he didn't just stretch awkwardly. He planted his feet wide and squared his shoulders. He imagined the void from earlier. The towering armored figure suspended in darkness.
He visualized bone spurs tearing through skin. Muscles densifying. Cells rewriting themselves to survive anything.
He leaned into the beam of light, chin raised, arms extended not in worship but in defiance.
[Role Points +2]
[Role Points +2]
[Role Points +3]
The increments came faster now.
Sweat soaked through his shirt. His injured body protested every second, but he refused to lower his arms. His muscles burned, then numbed, then burned again.
Template Progress ticked upward.
1.3%
1.9%
2.6%
He gritted his teeth and held the pose.