Chapter 1

A young boy lay motionless on a hospital bed, his small frame dwarfed by the surrounding medical equipment. His face was pale, a stark contrast to the vibrant, curious spirit that must have once shone through his eyes. One of his arms, heavily bandaged, was propped up with meticulous care. The layers of cloth concealed more than they revealed, but hints of severe burns peeked through, their angry red and blistered edges suggesting the extent of his injuries. The beeping of heart monitors and the soft hum of machines filled the sterile room, a constant reminder of the medical team's attentive presence as they worked to stabilize and heal the young patient.

Suddenly, the silence of the hospital room was broken by the creaking of the door. A man in his forties entered, his short hair streaked with gray and his face framed by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He moved with purpose, his expression inscrutable as he took in the scene before him.

Suddenly, the boy gasped awake, his chest heaving as he propped himself up on the bed with his uninjured arm. He clutched his chest, taking several labored breaths before the man in the suit spoke from the doorway.

"Hm, so you're finally awake. I was beginning to think you might not pull through," he remarked coolly, his gaze steady and unyielding.

"H-huh?" the boy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

He scanned the room with wide, confused eyes, taking in the pristine white walls and the array of medical equipment that surrounded him. His face, which had drained of color, slowly began to regain some hue as he processed his unfamiliar surroundings. When his gaze fell upon his injured arm, he winced at the sight of the burns peeking through the bandages. The injury looked worse than he had remembered, and he felt a creeping numbness that made him shiver involuntarily.

The man in the suit stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the boy with a detached curiosity. "You really did that, huh? So tell me, kid, how is your arm?" His voice was calm, almost clinical, as he waited for a response.

The young man stared at his bandaged arm, confusion clouding his features as he struggled to piece together fragmented memories. He didn't respond, lost in thought about the events that had led him here.

"..."

The man in the suit continued, seemingly unfazed by the silence. "Well, I'm sure it's fine. Logan, you're really a strong kid."

The mention of his name brought Logan back from his haze. As he tried to recall the details of what had happened, he felt himself slipping into a foggy recollection, his mind drifting through a plane of fragmented memories and hazy recollections.

—

Flashback

It was a bitterly cold night, the kind where the air itself seemed to bite through layers of clothing. Logan, with his dark hair ruffled by the wind, trudged along the icy streets, his breath visible in frosty puffs. Wrapped in a thick jacket, he pulled it tighter around himself as he navigated the wintry landscape, the chill in the air making each step a bit more labored. The world around him was a muted palette of grays and whites, adding to the starkness of the night.

Logan had just returned from a brisk walk through the frigid city streets. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to, seeking solace in the solitude of his solitary walks. The cold air had nipped at his cheeks and turned his breath into small, visible puffs that dissipated into the gray sky. His guardian, understanding Logan's need for independence, had always granted him permission to explore the city alone. Though he was young, Logan had been trained to handle himself in precarious situations, equipped with skills that made him capable of defending himself if the need ever arose.

As he approached home, the warmth from the building's interior seemed almost palpable, contrasting sharply with the biting cold outside. The familiarity of his surroundings brought a sense of comfort.

"I'm home!" Logan called out, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet house. He kicked off his snow-covered shoes at the entrance, the dirty slush leaving a small trail on the floor as he entered. With practiced steps, he moved through the house, heading towards the living room where he hoped to find his guardian.

In the dimly lit room, his uncle sat in front of the TV, idly flipping through channels with a look of boredom etched on his face. Like Logan, he had dark hair, though it was streaked with gray and framed by a scruffy, barely-there beard. The disheveled appearance contrasted with the neatness of the room, highlighting the difference between the two.

"Oh, you're here," his uncle remarked without much enthusiasm, barely glancing away from the screen. The nonchalant greeting was typical, reflecting his habitual indifference to Logan's comings and goings.

Logan shrugged off the lack of enthusiasm, used to his uncle's detached demeanor. He wandered over to the couch and took a seat, letting out a sigh of relief as he began to warm up from his chilly walk.

"Anything interesting on TV?" he asked, trying to engage in small talk, though he knew it was unlikely to spark much conversation.

His uncle gave a vague shrug, barely shifting his gaze from the screen. "Not really. Just the usual stuff. How was your walk?"

"It was alright," Logan replied, brushing some snow off his jacket. "It was colder than I expected. I think it might snow again later."

His uncle nodded absentmindedly, continuing to flip through channels without much interest. The room settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the low hum of the television and the occasional flicker of its changing images. Logan, feeling the warmth of the room seep into his bones, started to relax.

Logan shifted on the couch, his gaze drifting around the room as he tried to shake off the chill. He glanced at his uncle, who seemed engrossed in the endless loop of television programs. Logan's mind wandered, replaying the events of his walk and the strange feeling he couldn't quite shake.

"Did you need anything?" Logan asked, hoping to break the monotony of the conversation.

His uncle paused, finally tearing his eyes away from the TV. "No, not really. Just make sure to stay out of trouble." The words were delivered with a casual tone, but there was a hint of something unspoken in his eyes.

Logan nodded, sensing the subtle shift in the atmosphere. "Alright. I'll be in my room if you need me."

He stood up and made his way to his room, the door creaking slightly as he opened it. The familiar space was a small refuge, with its posters on the walls and the neatly arranged bookshelves. He closed the door behind him and sank into his desk chair, pulling out his notebook to jot down some thoughts.

As he began to write, Logan couldn't help but reflect on the peculiar sense of tension he had felt earlier in the day. It wasn't the usual apprehension he experienced during his solitary walks but something more subtle and pervasive. He made a mental note to keep his guard up, even in the safety of his home. It was like he was being watched.

The soft murmur of the television from the living room was a distant backdrop to his thoughts.

He vividly recalls that strange sensation from that evening, a moment he couldn't quite explain. It had started innocently enough—he was at a small cafe, in line to order a donut. He hadn't planned on it, but the craving struck him out of nowhere, and indulging in something sweet seemed like the perfect distraction from a long, uneventful day. But as he stood there, waiting for his turn, something shifted within him. Logan couldn't pinpoint what it was at first—just a creeping awareness that made his skin tingle. The lightheartedness of wanting a donut suddenly seemed trivial in the wake of the discomfort taking root in his chest.

It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was deeper than that, primal, as if something ancient in him had stirred awake. A sensation—sharp and insistent—rang in his mind, like a bell only he could hear. His instincts screamed at him, louder than they ever had before, warning him that something unseen was watching. But who? Or what?

He quickly scanned the room, his eyes darting from table to table, desperately searching for the source of his unease. The familiar hum of casual conversation surrounded him, clinking cups and soft murmurs. Nothing seemed out of place. No one appeared to be paying any particular attention to him. Yet, that feeling remained—a heavy presence pressing on his mind, like eyes boring into him from some hidden vantage point.

His rational mind tried to override the panic, insisting that there was nothing wrong, that everything was perfectly normal. But the instincts refused to be quieted. They surged within him, foreign yet undeniable, leaving him feeling trapped in his own body. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, slicking his palms. His heart raced, thudding louder in his ears, as if it too sensed a danger he couldn't comprehend.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

"Sir? Your order is ready... Is everything alright?"

The cashier's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, jarring him back to the present. He blinked, trying to pull himself together. The cashier's concerned expression told him he must look as disoriented as he felt. Tentatively, he raised a hand to his face and wiped the sweat from his brow, startled by the dampness that met his touch.

"I-I'm fine," he stammered, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He quickly paid for the donut, taking the small paper bag with trembling hands. As soon as he stepped outside the cafe's doors, the suffocating feeling lifted—gone as suddenly as it had come.

The night air hit him, cool and grounding, yet he remained unsettled. The instincts had vanished just as abruptly as they'd arrived, leaving only confusion.

Logan stood outside the café, his breath still coming in shallow bursts, his heartbeat slowing only marginally. The wind bit at his exposed skin, grounding him somewhat, but the sense of dread lingered like a shadow just beyond his sight. He clutched the paper bag tighter, the warmth of the donut seeping through the thin material, a stark contrast to the cold sweat still clinging to his back.

What had just happened to him? The feeling of being watched had been so vivid, so undeniable, yet the moment he left the café, it had evaporated like mist in the wind. He wasn't sure if it was his overactive imagination, but the sensation had been so potent that it rattled him to his core. He couldn't shake the thought that whatever had triggered this reaction might not be finished with him yet.

As he continued walking home, his mind replayed the events of the past few weeks. It wasn't just the cafe incident—there had been other moments too. Small, subtle, but strange nonetheless. The tingling sensation along his spine when he entered a room, the odd flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, only to find nothing when he looked directly. The occasional hum of a distant, unidentifiable sound, like a whisper in a language he couldn't understand.

Logan had initially brushed them off as random occurrences, anomalies that didn't mean anything. But now... Now he wasn't so sure. Something had changed, but he didn't know what.

Change of POV - ???

The soft hum of dozens of computers filled the air, blending into a constant, low-frequency background noise. Each machine was sleek and modern, their screens flickering with vivid high-definition videos. Some showcased detailed brain scans, vibrant with shifting colors that highlighted neural activity. Others displayed complex waveforms—electrical impulses rippling through the brain, visualized in a mesmerizing dance of peaks and valleys. The room was bathed in the cool, bluish glow of the monitors, creating a stark contrast to the sterile white walls. Everywhere you looked, there were displays of intricate data: brain waves, cognitive patterns, and neural pathways—each telling a silent story of the mind's inner workings.

The room buzzed with activity as scientists moved swiftly between workstations, their eyes glued to screens and data printouts. Conversations were brief, clipped—focused entirely on interpreting the latest results from their complex experiments. The scent of sterile equipment and faint hints of coffee hung in the air, underscoring the intensity of the work being done.

One man stood apart from the rest, his presence commanding attention as he stared intently at the video footage playing on a central monitor. His expression was a mixture of skepticism and curiosity, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Are you absolutely sure these two can harness Spinal Energy?" he asked, his tone sharp yet cautious. His gaze flicked back to the video, focusing on the two subjects—one seemed to be Logan, the other a middle schooler. "They seem pretty young for this."

A nearby scientist, clutching a tablet brimming with data, stepped forward. "It's confirmed, sir," she replied confidently. "Their brain waves have been under constant analysis for over a month. The patterns align perfectly with those capable of manipulating Spinal Energy."

She tapped the screen of her tablet, revealing a series of complex graphs and neurological scans. "The data doesn't lie. Their neuroelectric responses are off the charts."

The man nodded slowly, still deep in thought, as he studied the evidence. The room around them buzzed on, but his focus was now solely on the unsettling potential of the discovery before him.

A slow grin spread across the man's face, a hint of something dark lurking behind his sharp gaze. "Excellent," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. "I'll get them next evening."

The nearby scientist hesitated, shifting her weight nervously as she glanced up at him. "Uhm, sir," she asked cautiously, "are you… going to personally get them?"

The grin deepened as the man turned his gaze toward her, a subtle edge of menace in his voice. "Of course," he replied smoothly. "And if they comply—well, we already know what needs to be done."

The scientist fell silent, her face pale with unspoken concern. She nodded, though her discomfort was clear. He turned away, his attention already drifting back to the footage on the screen, his mind running through plans and possibilities. Around them, the hum of the lab continued, but there was an unspoken tension that now clung to the air, as if everyone knew something was about to change—and not necessarily for the better.

The scientist swallowed hard, her voice barely more than a whisper as she ventured, "Sir… maybe… try not to be too violent this time."

The man paused, his grin vanishing as his eyes locked onto hers. There was an icy silence, his expression darkening as though he was weighing her words. Then, with a low, incredulous chuckle, he responded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Do you hear yourself?"

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly more imposing. "This isn't the first time," he continued, his tone dropping to a growl. "You know that. And they're not just normal people—we're not dealing with some run-of-the-mill situation here. Think rationally, for once."

He lingered for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between them, before turning sharply on his heel. "I'm leaving," he muttered coldly over his shoulder, striding out of the lab with a sense of purpose that left no room for debate.

The scientist stood frozen in place, her unease growing as the door hissed shut behind him.

The man strode purposefully down the long, sterile halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. His mind was already racing with the details of his plan when suddenly, the sharp trill of his phone cut through the quiet. He stopped in his tracks, pulling the device from his pocket and answering with a terse, "What is it?"

A pause. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he listened to the voice on the other end. "Oh, so I'll have to get them earlier?" he repeated, his tone shifting from irritation to cold calculation. "Not tomorrow evening…?" He ran a hand through his hair, considering the shift in timeline as he paced slowly in place.

"Hm," he muttered thoughtfully. "Given the boy's routine, he'll be near the location of the other target anyway. That'll make things simpler." His voice lowered as he considered the logistics, his mind piecing together the puzzle.

"But what about the public?" he asked sharply, pausing to listen again. A moment passed before his lips curled into a thin smile. "Alright," he agreed. "Yes, if they don't listen to the offer of ten thousand dollars, we'll take them by force. One way or another, they're coming with us."

There was a brief silence as he nodded to himself, then finished, "Thank you for the call." He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket, a glint of something dangerous flickering in his eyes as he resumed his steady pace down the hall.

Change of POV - Logan

The final bell echoed through the halls, signaling the end of the school day. Logan, like many of his classmates, stepped outside into the warm afternoon, the sun casting a golden hue across the schoolyard. He didn't rush to catch the bus or meet up with anyone for after-school activities; instead, he chose to take his time and walk home. It was something he enjoyed—taking in the small details of the world around him.

As he made his way down the street, he noticed an older woman struggling with her groceries by the curb. Without hesitation, Logan jogged over to her. "Here, let me help you with that," he offered, taking some of the bags from her hands. She smiled gratefully, and Logan felt a quiet sense of fulfillment as he carried them to her car.

A few blocks later, he came across a younger kid who had dropped his backpack and scattered his books across the sidewalk. Logan knelt down and helped the boy gather his things, making sure the kid was alright before sending him on his way with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

This wasn't unusual for Logan. Kindness was second nature to him—woven into the way he moved through the world. He never saw it as something extraordinary or as a tool to gain favor. It just felt like the right thing to do. He believed that, in a world that could often be harsh, simple acts of kindness created ripples. Logan didn't expect anything in return, though occasionally he would think about how much better life seemed when people treated each other with decency. For him, kindness was more than just a principle; it was a habit, a way of being, like breathing.

Logan continued his walk, being proud of himself as he left the kid behind. The streets ahead grew quieter, the rush of students from his high school fading into the background. He crossed into the area closer to the nearby middle school, where younger students were just beginning to trickle out, their backpacks slung over their shoulders as they laughed and chatted.

As he approached an intersection, Logan noticed something that made him slow his pace. On the corner, near a shaded area by the middle school's entrance, a girl—no older than thirteen or fourteen—stood rigidly in conversation with two men dressed in dark uniforms. The uniforms were plain, almost official-looking, but not familiar to Logan, which immediately struck him as odd.

The girl had short, choppy black hair that framed her face, strands falling messily over her forehead. She wore the standard middle school uniform: a navy-blue pleated skirt and a crisp white shirt, with a navy blazer loosely hanging open. Her red tie was undone, and her scuffed black loafers and slouched knee-high socks added a disheveled touch to her appearance. Despite her sharp, blunt features and the defiant set of her jaw, there was something off about her posture—stiff, guarded, like she was ready to bolt at any moment.

She clutched the straps of her backpack tightly, her eyes darting around the area, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. One of the men leaned in closer to her, speaking in a low tone, his expression intense. The other stood slightly apart, his gaze sweeping over the area like a sentry.

Logan's gut twisted. Something wasn't right. The men were too close, their presence far too imposing for what should have been a casual interaction with a student. The girl's unease was palpable, and Logan could feel the tension radiating from her even from where he stood. She didn't look like the kind of person to scare easily, but now, she seemed trapped, her usual sharpness buried under mounting anxiety.

He stopped a short distance away, trying to observe without drawing attention to himself. The way the men were positioned blocked most of the conversation from his view, but Logan could catch brief glimpses of the girl's face as she shot them defiant glares, her lips drawn into a tight line.

Suddenly, she shook her head firmly in response to whatever the men were saying. One of the men reached out and grabbed her arm—not roughly, but with enough force to make it clear that this wasn't a suggestion. The girl flinched, her defiance faltering for just a moment as her eyes widened in alarm.

Logan's heart began to race. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Whatever was happening here, it wasn't normal, and the girl clearly didn't want to be a part of it. He could feel it deep in his bones—this wasn't something she had willingly walked into.

Taking a deep breath, Logan started toward the group, his steps firm but cautious. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, but one thing was certain: this girl needed help, and he wasn't about to let her face this alone.

Logan approached the scene with a steady, non-threatening demeanor. "Hey, is there a problem, sir?" he asked, his voice calm and polite despite the gravity of the situation.

The man who had been speaking to the girl turned toward Logan, his expression shifting from stern to surprisingly composed. "Oh, we expected you too," he said, as if Logan's presence was part of their plan.

Logan was taken aback. "Huh?" He looked from the men to the girl and back again, his confusion growing. He had initially thought the men were intimidating a student, but it now seemed that there was something more to this encounter—and that he was somehow involved.

The second man, who had been keeping watch, finally spoke up, his tone authoritative yet strangely detached. "We were informed that you might show up. It appears you're involved in this matter as well."

Logan's mind raced, trying to piece together the meaning behind their words. "Involved? I'm just walking home. What's going on here?"

The first man's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing Logan with a new level of scrutiny. "We need to discuss something with both you and this young lady. It's best if we handle it in a more private setting."

Logan glanced at the girl, who still looked visibly anxious but was now watching him with a hint of cautious hope. "What's this about?" he pressed, trying to make sense of the situation and hoping to defuse any tension.

The man's demeanor softened slightly, but the authority in his voice remained. "It's a matter of importance. If you agree to listen to us, we can explain everything in detail. Otherwise, we might need to resolve this matter differently."

Logan hesitated, feeling the weight of the decision pressing on him. He had no idea what he was walking into, but he couldn't ignore the girl's troubled expression or the unsettling nature of the men's response. The situation was rapidly evolving into something more complex, and Logan knew he had to be careful with his next move.

Suddenly, the man who had been acting as the sentry raised his hand in a deliberate, pointed motion toward the sky.

"Midnight Veil," he intoned with a sense of finality.

Logan and the girl watched in astonished silence as a sphere, pitch black and unnervingly opaque, materialized above them. The sphere began to expand, its edges stretching outwards until it completely enveloped the entire area, obscuring everything within its dark embrace.

The most startling aspect of the phenomenon was not just its sudden appearance but the fact that, despite its obviousness, no one around seemed to react. The few pedestrians and students nearby continued with their routines as if nothing had changed—walking, talking, and laughing without a hint of awareness that the entire scene had been enveloped in an expanding sphere of darkness.

Logan's mind raced. What had just happened? The sphere was impossible to ignore, yet everyone around was behaving as if it were invisible. The blackness seemed to absorb all light and sound, creating a bubble of eerie silence and darkness.

The girl beside him looked equally stunned, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What…what is this?" she stammered, clearly as bewildered as Logan. Her usual blunt demeanor had evaporated, replaced by genuine fear.

Logan's heart pounded. This was no ordinary situation—someone had just conjured a supernatural effect right before their eyes, and it was clearly designed to obscure whatever was happening within it. He had no idea what "Midnight Veil" meant, but its effect was undeniable: the sphere created a bubble where everything inside was hidden from the outside world.

He glanced around, searching for any clues or potential escape routes. The girl's presence suggested she might be in danger, and the men's calm demeanor in the face of such a display made Logan's skin crawl. Whatever was about to unfold, he needed to stay alert and find a way to navigate this bizarre, ominous situation.

Logan positioned himself protectively in front of the girl, his posture firm but his expression calm. His gaze remained steady, a stern glare underscoring the seriousness of the situation, though his voice retained its inherent politeness. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity.

The man who was speaking with the girl, looked at Logan with a mild, almost dismissive smile. "Ah, finally, we can talk without people disturbing us."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself!" he insisted, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.

The man's smile remained, though it seemed to grow a touch more patronizing. "Chill, kid. We just need to talk."

Logan remained steadfast in front of the girl, his gaze unwavering as he demanded answers. The man who had cast the sphere leaned back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, you know those superhero comics or whatever things you kids read these days? Yes? With those awesome powers? Yes, they're real. Superpowers exists."

Logan blinked, momentarily taken aback by the absurdity of the statement. He glanced at the girl, who looked just as bewildered. "...Are you joking, sir?" Logan asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. He was trying his hardest not to believe the magical sphere he just saw.

The man's smirk didn't waver. He leaned in closer, locking eyes with Logan. "Look at me in the eyes and tell me why I should be joking."

Logan's heart raced as he met the man's gaze, searching for any sign of deception or humor. Instead, he saw an intensity that confirmed the man's words were not a prank. The surreal nature of the situation suddenly made a grim kind of sense—this wasn't just an ordinary confrontation.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. "Alright," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Let's say for a moment that what you're saying is true. What does that have to do with us?"

The man's smirk remained as he leaned in closer, his tone now dismissive. "Think about it, kid. Why should we talk to you about powers?"

Logan's confusion deepened, but he maintained his stance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man's eyes bored into Logan's. "It means we wouldn't be here if there wasn't something about you that's relevant to this conversation. So, let's just say you're part of a bigger picture."

Logan's mind raced as the implications of the man's words sank in. The existence of superpowers was something he had always dismissed as fiction, a fantasy confined to comic books and movies. But now, with the black sphere of darkness around them and the men's insistence on discussing powers, reality was challenging his skepticism. The logical part of his brain struggled to deny what he was witnessing—the sphere defied any rational explanation he could conceive.

As he grappled with the concept of superpowers being real, another unsettling thought began to form. If these powers were real, did that mean he and the girl might possess them too? He had never exhibited any abilities or even suspected he had them. Yet, the men's words suggested that both he and the girl were somehow significant in this context.

Logan glanced at the girl, who looked equally perplexed and tense. Her presence here, along with the men's focus on her and him, only reinforced the possibility. He realized he might be part of something far beyond his understanding—something that involved latent powers he had never known he possessed.

Trying to steady his thoughts, Logan turned back to the men. "So… you're saying that both of us might have powers too? But I don't know anything about that. How can you be sure?"

The man's expression was unreadable, but there was a glimmer of confirmation in his eyes. "We wouldn't be here if we didn't believe there was something about you that's relevant. We've been monitoring certain individuals for a reason."

Logan's mind raced with questions. If he and the girl had hidden abilities, how were they supposed to discover or control them? And why had the men approached them now? He knew he had to keep his wits about him, especially if he was about to be thrust into a world he had never imagined existed.

The man's tone shifted to one of grim revelation. "Let me explain how the world really works… You see, in some individuals—whether it's a gift from God or a curse from the Devil—there's something known as Spinal Energy. It's an energy that originates from the spine, more specifically, the nervous system."

Logan listened intently, trying to absorb the information. "Spinal Energy?" he repeated, the term feeling foreign yet oddly significant. "And this energy gives people powers?"

The man nodded, his expression serious. "Exactly. This energy can manifest in various ways, granting individuals abilities that defy normal understanding. Some might have physical enhancements, others can influence their environment, and some might have powers that we're still trying to comprehend."

The girl, standing beside Logan, seemed to process the information with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. Her gaze flickered between Logan and the man, clearly trying to reconcile the strange new reality being presented.

Logan's mind raced. "So, if you're saying this Spinal Energy exists, why are you telling us now? And how do you know we have it?"

The man's gaze hardened. "We've been tracking certain individuals who show potential for harnessing this energy. Your presence here isn't a coincidence. We've observed something in both of you that suggests you might be among those who possess it. That's why we need to have this conversation."

As the man continued to explain the concept of Spinal Energy, Logan's mind suddenly flashed back to various moments when he had felt an unsettling sense of being watched—times when his instincts had screamed at him, but he had brushed off the feeling. It all started to make a disturbing kind of sense now. The eerie encounters, the unexplained vigilance—perhaps they had all been related to this.

Logan kept these realizations to himself, his face betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. He needed to stay composed.

The man's tone shifted to a more pragmatic note. "Now, given the situation, we'd like to offer you both a choice. You can join us, receive guidance on how to harness and control your Spinal Energy, and gain access to resources and knowledge that are beyond ordinary understanding."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "We're prepared to offer each of you ten thousand dollars as a signing incentive to join us."

Logan's mind raced as he processed the implications of the offer and the secluded spot where they were now confined. The men's choice of location, especially before the sphere had descended, began to make more sense. It was as if they had deliberately kept the conversation away from any potential guardians or outside interference. Logan couldn't help but wonder if the men wanted to ensure that the girl, and perhaps himself, were isolated from anyone who might question or challenge their offer.

His thoughts were interrupted by a pressing question that he had to ask. "What's the corporation you're from?" he demanded, trying to pin down the legitimacy of their claim and their true intentions.

There was a moment of silence. The men exchanged glances, a hint of unease flickering across their faces. The man who had spoken initially sighed. "..."

Logan's patience wore thin. "Sirs, please answer."

The first man clicked his tongue in frustration. "Tch, he caught on."

The second man, with an authoritative tone, stepped forward. "Since you caught on, it will be already stupid to talk. You will refuse eventually, even with the offer of ten thousand dollars, won't you? Yeah."

Before Logan could react, the men's demeanor shifted. The second man moved with a sudden, swift motion, and the first man made a gesture that Logan couldn't quite follow. The sphere of darkness seemed to thicken around them, intensifying the atmosphere.

Logan tensed, realizing that their intention was no longer to negotiate. The men were preparing to take them by force. The girl beside him looked terrified, her earlier defiance replaced by panic. Logan knew he had to act quickly.

"Hey!" he shouted, trying to buy time and gauge their next move. "What do you think you're doing?"

The men's faces were stern, unyielding. "We're bringing you with us," the first man said, his tone final. "Resistance won't help you."

Logan braced himself, his mind racing for any possible means of escape or defense. He glanced at the girl, trying to reassure her with a quick, determined look. He had to protect her and himself, but it was clear the situation had escalated beyond a simple negotiation.

The men advanced, and Logan knew he had to make a move—fast.

Logan tried to maintain his composure, his voice still wavering with a desperate attempt at negotiation. "W-wait, we can talk about this! Who said we're going to refuse—"

Without any warning, the first man struck hard, driving his fist deep into Logan's gut. Pain exploded through his body, but what made it unbearable wasn't just the impact. It felt as though the force twisted inside him, like a relentless grinding motion, as if his skin was being stretched to its breaking point with each agonizing second. It wasn't just a punch; it was as if his very flesh was being peeled away from his bones by the sheer pressure.

Before Logan could recover, the second man blurred into motion, his fists a rapid flurry of blows that pounded into Logan's ribs like a sledgehammer. Each punch drove him further into retreat, his body screaming in protest as he desperately tried to defend himself. His arms barely managed to protect his sides, but the relentless assault kept him off-balance, forcing him to stagger backward, his vision swimming with pain. Every hit threatened to drop him to his knees, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet, teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Gah-!" Logan cried out as a vicious blow landed squarely on the same bruised spot, sending a sharp jolt of pain ripping through him. His body recoiled instinctively, doubling over slightly, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, struggling to maintain his stance. Every muscle ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, yet he refused to fall.

"C'mon now," the first man sneered, his voice dripping with amusement. "If you hadn't been so suspicious, we could've let you walk away without a scratch. But no, you had to poke your nose where it didn't belong, huh? Hehehe."

Logan glared at him through narrowed eyes. The pieces finally clicked into place. He knew now, without a doubt, that joining this group would've been a terrible mistake. These men didn't just intimidate — they coerced, bullied, and broke anyone who dared to question them. His suspicions had been dead-on, and now they were punishing him for it.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, his heart sinking as he spotted the girl huddled in the corner, her face streaked with silent tears. The sight of her crying only deepened his resolve — he had to find a way out of this, for both of them.

Just as he turned back around, his instincts screamed at him. The first man's fist was barreling toward him, aimed straight for his face. Logan's mind flashed back to that sickening grinding sensation from the earlier punch — the way the force didn't just knock him backward but seemed to twist his skin, as if tearing it apart from the inside out. He could still feel the phantom pain crawling across his body.

With barely a moment to react, he jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding the brutal strike. His breath caught in his throat as the fist whizzed past him, the near miss sending a wave of adrenaline through his veins. He wasn't going to let them grind him down again. Not if he could help it.

As Logan sidestepped the incoming punch, he instinctively countered with a sharp jab to the man's abdomen. The punch landed solidly, but instead of the satisfying thud he expected, a strange stinging sensation shot up his arm. It was like a jolt of electricity—quick and sharp—forcing him to recoil instantly, pulling back in one fluid motion. His hand tingled with a faint buzz, but he had hit his mark, and it seemed to have some effect.

"Tsk!" Both Logan and the man grunted involuntarily, the shock catching them both off guard. It reminded Logan of those cheap prank toys, like the fake gum sticks that zapped you when you pulled on them. Only this was no joke—it was real, and it stung.

The first man glared at him, then turned to his companion, muttering something under his breath.

"Probably a Type Two Electric..."

Logan's heart skipped a beat at the words. Type Two Electric? What did that mean?

His confusion deepened as the second man spoke up, sounding annoyed. "What? Aren't those really inconvenient? Why bother recruiting him then?"

"Shh, doesn't matter," the first man hissed. "Just finish this before he figures it out. The last thing we need is him getting a handle on his power."

Logan's mind spun in confusion. "So… my power is related to electricity, apparently… but what does Type Two even mean?" he thought, frustrated. He had no clue. He'd never heard of this "Type Two" nonsense before, and as far as he was concerned, he didn't have any powers at all — not until that weird jolt just now.

What the hell is happening? Logan wondered, his heart pounding. Was this shock thing really his power? How was he supposed to control it when he barely even understood what it was?

But there was no time to figure it out. Those guys clearly knew something he didn't, and they were intent on finishing him off before he could learn more. Whatever this "Type Two" was, he had to wing it. He braced himself, ready for whatever came next.

Logan barely had time to think before both men lunged at him, their fists already in motion. His instincts took over, and he raised his arms in a desperate attempt to block the incoming blows. The first punch collided with his forearm, sending a jolt of pain through his body — not just from the impact, but from that strange electric shock that crackled between them.

The man who hit him recoiled slightly, his face twisting in irritation as the shock hit him too. But he shook it off and pressed forward, undeterred.

Logan grunted as the second man closed in, aiming a rapid series of punches at his ribs. He barely managed to twist his body, dodging most of the strikes, but a few hit home. Each time their fists made contact, a sharp sting of electricity arced between them, forcing both Logan and his attackers to flinch.

The men grimaced with each shock, but they kept coming. One of them landed a solid punch to Logan's shoulder, and they both jerked from the sudden zap. Logan winced, feeling the electric sting running up his arm, but the man who hit him staggered back a step, shaking his hand like he'd been shocked by a live wire.

For a brief moment, Logan saw an opening. He ducked low and delivered a hard punch to the first man's stomach. The familiar jolt hit them both, making Logan's fist tingle unpleasantly, but the man grunted in pain, doubling over slightly.

But there was no time to celebrate. The second man was already there, swinging at Logan's head. Logan barely managed to raise his arm in time to block, though the force of the blow sent him stumbling back. Another shock sparked between them, making them both flinch, their movements awkward and jerky as they recoiled from the sensation.

It was like fighting through a field of static, every hit bringing that annoying electric bite. Logan was getting worn down, the shocks making it harder to stay focused, but he could tell the men were feeling it too. Their movements were growing slower, their strikes less precise as the constant zapping began to take its toll.

Still, they were stronger, more experienced, and Logan could feel his body screaming for a break. But he knew he couldn't stop. Not with the girl still watching from the corner, and not with the men closing in, determined to finish the fight before he had any chance of turning the tide.

The two men exchanged a quick glance, their frustration evident. They'd had enough of the drawn-out skirmish and were ready to finish things. Suddenly, they moved in sync, one rushing low while the other aimed high. Logan's instincts flared — he had no choice but to react.

In a split second, he twisted his body sharply downward, ducking under the high blow while spinning on his heel to avoid the low one. As he did, he threw out a desperate kick aimed at the ribs of the man who had lunged low. His foot connected solidly with a satisfying thud — but this time, the shock that exploded between them was far stronger than before.

Both Logan and the man cried out in pain as the electric jolt surged through their bodies. It wasn't just a sharp sting anymore; it felt like someone had jammed a live wire into his leg. His muscles seized up for a moment, his entire leg trembling as if it had been overloaded. The man he kicked staggered backward, clutching his side as sparks seemed to dance across his skin.

"Argh, dammit!" the man cursed, his face twisted in pain. "That shock is getting worse!"

The other man grimaced, eyeing Logan warily now. "I told you, we need to finish him before he figures out how to control it!"

Logan could barely catch his breath, the strong electric surge still making his limbs feel weak and jittery. But seeing the men hesitate, even for a second, gave him a sliver of hope. Whatever this power was, it was growing stronger — and he was beginning to realize that it wasn't just an inconvenience to them. It was a problem they didn't know how to handle.

"Looks like you're the ones who should've been more careful," Logan growled through gritted teeth, forcing himself back into a defensive stance despite the lingering shocks still coursing through him.

The first man, his frustration reaching a boiling point, glared at Logan with a mixture of anger and contempt. "This must be a joke," he growled, his voice trembling with rage. "I ain't getting destroyed by a kid like this!"

With a fierce snarl, he launched into an aggressive spinning motion. His body twisted with unnatural speed and precision, each rotation making his muscles ripple and swell. The air around him seemed to warp with the intensity of his movements, his form becoming a blur of motion. As he spun, his muscles condensed, growing denser and more powerful, giving him an almost inhuman strength.

Logan, already reeling from the previous blows, barely had time to process the change. The man's spinning movements were so fast that he seemed to blend into a whirlwind of fury. Before Logan could brace himself, the man lunged with a force that seemed to defy natural limits.

A powerful punch hammered into Logan's chest with the force of a battering ram. The impact felt like a truck hitting him head-on, the breath knocked out of him in a gasp. Logan staggered back, his vision momentarily darkening as the shock of the punch and the electric jolt from his power intertwined into a searing pain.

The man didn't relent. As Logan tried to regain his footing, the man spun again, this time using his momentum to deliver a devastating elbow strike to Logan's jaw. The blow was so forceful that Logan's head snapped sideways, the shock of the impact ringing in his ears and making his vision swim. He staggered, barely able to focus on his opponent through the haze of pain.

Before Logan could recover, the man was already on him again. Each punch and kick came with brutal efficiency, a blur of force and speed that seemed almost supernatural. A savage right hook connected with Logan's ribs, and he felt a sharp, bone-deep pain as something cracked under the force. The electric shock from the punch only compounded the agony, making his entire side throb violently.

Logan tried to raise his arms to defend himself, but his movements were sluggish, his muscles feeling like they were weighed down by lead. The man's enhanced strength made every strike land with overwhelming power. Another spinning kick slammed into Logan's midsection, sending him crashing to the ground. The shock from the kick surged through him, numbing his senses and leaving him gasping for breath.

The man loomed over him, his breath coming in heavy, determined bursts. "Still think you've got what it takes, huh?" he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "I'll show you what real power looks like."

Logan attempted to crawl away, his body screaming in protest with every movement. But the man was relentless. He grabbed Logan by the collar and yanked him up, delivering a series of punishing blows to his already battered form. Each punch seemed to hit with a new level of intensity, Logan's body barely able to react as it was pummeled into the ground.

Logan's attempts to defend himself were weak and ineffective. The electric shocks between them had become almost unbearable, mixing with the pain from the relentless beating. His vision was a blur of pain and disorientation, and his breathing was ragged and shallow.

The man, now completely in control, showed no mercy. He stepped back momentarily, glaring down at Logan with a cold, satisfied look. "This ends now," he declared, his voice a low growl as he prepared for what seemed like the final, crushing blow.

Logan, lying on the ground and barely conscious, could do nothing but brace himself for the end. The man's spinning force had turned the fight into a brutal display of raw power, and Logan was left at the mercy of his merciless opponent.

Logan's nerves flared violently, a surge of raw, uncontained energy coursing through his body. It felt like his veins were on fire, a searing heat spreading from within. Adrenaline surged through him, mixing with the electric shocks that had been tormenting him. His entire nervous system felt like it was being torn apart, leaving him barely able to see or think clearly. His right arm was the epicenter of this turmoil, the skin sizzling and crackling as if it were burning.

Amidst the chaos, he noticed sparks beginning to form on his arm, each one flaring up like miniature lightning bolts. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of intense heat and numbing cold that made it nearly impossible to focus. Logan's mind was a blur of confusion, his thoughts a tangled mess of pain and disorientation. He couldn't even process what was happening, only that his arm felt like it was about to explode.

Then, as if his body was operating on pure instinct, he recoiled his arm and began to utter words, his voice raspy and incoherent. His growls were unintelligible, but through the haze of pain, his mind managed to latch onto one clear thought. He focused with all his remaining strength and forced the word out:

"Discharge."

In the moment his punch connected with the man's torso, a blinding flash of white light erupted from his fist. The intensity was so great it momentarily obscured everything around them. The man's eyes widened in shock as he was hit with a surge of energy so powerful it seemed to crackle through the air like a lightning storm.

A deafening scream pierced the chaos. The man staggered back, his body convulsing as the electric discharge coursed through him with the force of a million volts. His scream was cut off by the sheer force of the blast, his body writhing uncontrollably as the electricity wreaked havoc.

The man fell to the ground, his limbs twitching and his body smoking from the residual charge. The once confident and intimidating figure was now incapacitated, a charred silhouette against the backdrop of the chaotic fight. Logan, panting heavily, looked down at his own hand, still crackling with residual energy, the overwhelming sensation of power and pain slowly beginning to recede.

Despite his own exhaustion and the lingering pain, Logan felt a strange mix of relief and bewilderment. He had tapped into something new, something powerful.

Logan's brief sense of triumph was quickly shattered. As the blinding light from his discharge faded, he barely had time to register the presence of the second man, who stood looming over him, eyes filled with cold resolve.

"Well, now you're pretty much dead," the second man said, his tone dripping with menace. "Or, well, weakened enough for me to take care of."

Logan tried to muster a response, but his strength was rapidly fading. The intense pain in his right arm was unbearable, a numb and burned mess that felt disconnected from the rest of his body. His vision swam, and the world around him began to dissolve into a dark blur. The adrenaline and energy that had fueled him were ebbing away, leaving him drained and powerless.

As he sank to his knees, his gaze shifted to the corner where the girl was still crying, her eyes wide with fear and despair. Logan's heart ached with regret. He had tried so hard to protect her, to be the hero he imagined himself to be. Yet, here he was, failing miserably and unable to save them both. The guilt was suffocating, mingling with the physical pain as he fell to the ground.

His strength gave out completely, and darkness began to close in around him. The last thing he saw was the girl's tear-streaked face, and he could only think how he had failed her. In those final moments before unconsciousness took over, Logan's mind was overwhelmed with remorse. He had wanted to be the one who made a difference, but now, all he felt was the crushing weight of his own inadequacy and the harsh reality of his defeat.

Change of POV - ???

An old man, dressed in a dark uniform with various insignias, squinted through the dim haze of the black sphere expanding before him. His face was lined with age and experience, suggesting years of service and conflict. He approached the sphere with a measured pace, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Hm, a Type Three user with veil abilities? Not good," he muttered to himself. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the area as he stepped into the sphere's darkness.

Inside the sphere, the scene was chaotic. The faint glow of Logan's electrical discharge still flickered in the air, illuminating the surrounding gloom. The old man's gaze fell upon the two men—the first, incapacitated from Logan's powerful attack, and the second, preparing to strike a fallen Logan.

He moved quickly, his presence barely perceptible as he navigated through the thick, shadowy veil. He approached the men, his steps silent but purposeful.

The old man's attention was momentarily drawn to Logan, who lay unconscious on the ground, his body twitching from the aftermath of the powerful discharge. He noted the girl, frightened and huddled away, but focused on the immediate threat.

"Enough," the old man said, his voice commanding and authoritative. He stepped into the fray with an air of authority, his very presence demanding attention.

The old man assessed the scene with a calculating gaze. He moved swiftly, not uttering a word. As the second man turned to face him, the old man delivered a sharp, decisive knee to his gut. The man crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, barely registering what had happened.

Without pausing, the old man knelt beside Logan. He hoisted the unconscious teenager onto his shoulder with practiced ease, ensuring not to jostle him too much. His movements were efficient, reflecting years of experience in handling crises.

He glanced at the girl, still frozen in fear. "Come with me," he instructed curtly, his tone brooking no argument. "We're leaving. I'm no threat, I'll take care of your friend here."

The girl, though frightened, complied and followed closely behind. As the old man began to carry Logan, he turned to the standing man and threatened him. "Keep the veil active until we reach the hospital," he said sternly. "Or I won't show you any mercy. If you dare to play any tricks, you know what will happen."

The man, now fully aware of the gravity of the situation, nodded weakly, his eyes wide with fear. He started enlarging the black sphere's veil with a strained effort. The veil expanded around them once more, concealing their escape from any prying eyes.

With the veil securely in place, the old man moved quickly through the shadowy barrier, the girl trailing behind and the unconscious Logan securely on his shoulder. The tension was palpable, but the old man's focus was unyielding as he made his way toward the hospital, ensuring both Logan's safety and the continued concealment of their departure.

As the old man carried Logan and dragged the man behind him, his mind raced with thoughts about the unfolding situation.

"This... is strange," he mused, his brow furrowing. "I didn't anticipate such a violent response from them, especially towards teenagers. It's not common for operatives to resort to such extreme measures against minors."

He glanced at Logan, noting the severe condition of the boy's arm. "And this kid... A burnt arm? Truly a self-harming ability, I suppose. The electrical discharge must have taken a heavy toll on him, not just on his opponents. It's a rare and dangerous ability."

The girl's anxious footsteps echoed behind him. "I'll need to make sure she's safe and reassure her," he thought. "She's been through enough already. And this veil… it's holding up, but it's stretching the limits of what's manageable. I'll have to ensure the boy is stabilized before anything else."

His thoughts shifted to the men he'd left behind. "These operatives... they acted recklessly. Tch. Who recruited them must be stupid."

As he navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the veiled sphere, his focus remained on reaching the hospital swiftly. "I must get the kid to medical care immediately. His condition is critical, and the sooner he receives treatment, the better his chances."

With a grim determination, he continued forward, his mind piecing together the troubling scenario while ensuring their swift, concealed passage to safety.

The middle-aged man arrived at the hospital, and as soon as the medical team saw Logan's condition, they swarmed into action.

"Get him inside, quickly!" a nurse shouted, and the man relinquished Logan into their care.

Turning to the young girl who had been anxiously watching, he said bluntly, "You need to go home now."

The girl looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

"Listen," he continued, his tone sharp and serious, "don't mention anything to your parents. It's better for everyone if you just say you got lost. No need to make things more complicated. Here," he said, pulling a mint candy from his suit pocket and handing it to her. "Just go now."

He watched as she hesitated, then took the candy and turned to leave, the weight of his words hanging in the air as he focused on the unfolding situation inside the hospital.

This will be surely a long day for him.

Flashback End

—

The middle-aged man now stood over Logan, who stared blankly ahead, as if lost in his thoughts.

"W-wait, where is that kid?! Is she okay?" Logan stammered, his voice tinged with anxiety.

The man fixed Logan with a steady gaze and replied, "Why would you think I'd get you to safety and not her? She's safe. She's home right now."

Logan's worry seemed to ease slightly, though his confusion remained evident. The man's reassurances, though blunt, offered a sliver of comfort amid the chaos.

The teenager lay in his hospital bed, breathing more steadily as he tried to process everything.

"... So, superpowers really exist?" he asked, still struggling to come to terms with the revelations.

"Yes, kid. They do," the middle-aged man confirmed.

"... Sorry, this is a lot to take in. It was just a normal day and then, suddenly, I was fighting men in uniform and—"

"Yes, I know. Let me explain," the man interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He began to lay out the details, preparing to unravel the extraordinary truth behind the events that had upended the teenager's life.

"So, quick lesson," the man said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside Logan's bed. "You have powers. I assume the men explained the basics to you?"

"Yes," Logan replied hesitantly. "It was something about... coming from the nervous system?"

"Exactly. It's called Spinal Energy," the man clarified. "Spinal Energy is the source that powers various abilities for those who can manipulate it. For instance, the electric attacks you used were fueled by your Spinal Energy."

Logan nodded slowly, trying to grasp the information.

"The people who understand this energy classify it into different types: Type One, Two, and Three."

"Wait, I heard them mention Type Two!" Logan interrupted, his eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and worry as he flexed his arm, which still had visible signs of strain.

"Right. Let's break it down," the man said, settling into his chair with a serious expression. "Type One users can manipulate their Spinal Energy to create and control elements like fire or water. They visualize these elements clearly in their minds, and the energy shapes them precisely."

"Okay, so that's like what I saw those people do," Logan said, his curiosity piqued.

"Not quite," the man replied, shaking his head. "Type One isn't what you experienced. I'll explain more later."

Logan's shoulders slumped a bit. "Aw, dang it…"

"Don't worry. We'll get to it," the man said, his tone reassuring but firm. "Type Two users, channel their Spinal Energy within their bodies to enhance physical abilities or unleash energy-based attacks. They direct this energy through their limbs, which boosts their strength, speed, and combat skills. For instance, someone with lightning abilities might be able to deliver electric shocks with their touch—just like you did—or an ice user could freeze things on contact."

"So, am I Type Two?" Logan asked, his voice tinged with both apprehension and relief.

"Yes, Logan, you are Type Two," the man confirmed, his gaze steady.

"But why did it hurt me too? It shouldn't, should it?" Logan's expression turned to one of confusion and pain.

"That's a complication for some Type Twos," the man explained, his tone softer now. "Sometimes, there's an unlucky combination of classification and energy. You, unfortunately, are one of those."

"Oh," Logan said, the realization settling in with a mix of disappointment and acceptance.

"Let's move on," the man said, his voice regaining its authoritative tone. "Type Three users are the rarest and most powerful. They can alter aspects of reality itself—changing properties of objects or manipulating space. They need to focus intensely and visualize the changes they want to make. It's a highly complex and demanding ability, almost like having a cheat code in this power system. The man with the black sphere you encountered today was a Type Three."

Logan listened intently, absorbing the depth of the information as the man detailed the different types of powers and their characteristics.

"But... why were they looking for me and that girl?" Logan asked, his voice tinged with confusion and lingering fear.

"Because you both can use Spinal Energy," the man said, leaning forward slightly. "They were planning to recruit you."

"By... hurting us?" Logan's eyes widened.

"Hey, I don't know what goes through their minds," the man replied with a shrug. "But that's their method. You refuse, and they force you into compliance."

"B-but I didn't refuse!" Logan stammered.

"Strange..." the man said, frowning slightly. "Did you show them your suspension?"

"Yes..." Logan said hesitantly.

"Well, that might be why. They likely wanted to expedite the process. They knew you would refuse, so they decided to make it quick and forceful."

Logan's face fell as he absorbed the man's explanation. "So, they were just going to drag us into their organization, whether we wanted it or not?"

"Pretty much," the man confirmed with a nod. "They're ruthless about expanding their ranks and controlling people with Spinal Energy. The idea is to break you down and make you submit."

Logan's eyes narrowed with frustration. "But why would they want someone like me, who's just starting to understand all this? I'm still figuring things out."

"They see potential in every user, no matter how inexperienced," the man said. "And sometimes, they prefer to mold new recruits to their needs rather than wait for them to become powerful on their own. It's easier to control someone from the beginning."

Logan sighed deeply, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. "And the girl? Was she also supposed to be recruited?"

"Yes, she was. But given her age and likely lack of control, they might have seen her as a wildcard," the man explained. "She's probably safer now, but they might come after her again if they think she's worth the risk."

Logan clenched his fists, his mind racing. "What do I do now? I'm not ready to deal with any of this. I don't even know who to trust."

"First, you need to focus on recovering and understanding your abilities better," the man advised. "I'll help you get up to speed and prepare you for what might come next. And remember, you're not alone in this. There are others who resist these groups, and they can offer support."

Logan frowned, still wrestling with the new reality he was facing. "So, why are you helping me? What's your angle?"

The man met Logan's gaze steadily. "I'm here to guide you because you're in a tough spot, and you need support. As for my reasons, I have my own stakes in this."

"Yeah, but what's your name?" Logan asked, suspicion lacing his tone. "I need to know who I'm dealing with."

The man paused for a moment, considering. "My name is Marcus. I've got experience with these situations, and I've been around long enough to know how to navigate them."

Logan studied him, trying to gauge his sincerity. "Okay, Marcus. I still don't know if I can fully trust you, but if you're offering help, I'm willing to listen."

Marcus nodded, his expression serious. "Fair enough. Trust takes time. Just know that my goal is to get you through this and to help you understand what you're up against."

Marcus stood up, preparing to leave. "Before I go, you should know where to find me. There's a place you can come to for further training and information. I'll meet you there."

Logan looked at him, puzzled. "Where's this place?"

Marcus gave a brief smile. "It's a private building. I'll send you the details later. For now, tell your guardian you've joined a special club or something. It'll help keep things under wraps and avoid drawing unwanted attention."

Logan nodded, trying to make sense of the advice. "Alright, I'll play along. But remember, I'm still not trusting you."

Marcus gave a small, reassuring nod before heading out. "I wouldn't expect anything less. See you soon, Logan."