Second Dawn

Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the modest apartment's walls. Remond groaned softly, running a hand through his hair as he sat up, muscles still sore from the previous night's run-in with the thieves. The faint bruise on his knuckles throbbed with each beat of his pulse, a harsh reminder of the line he'd crossed.

Yawning, he reached for his phone, squinting against the glare. Several notifications blinked on the screen—news alerts, missed calls from Rebecca, a few texts from Alina. But one headline caught his eye, bold and glaring:

"WORLD'S FIRST SUPERHUMAN MANAGEMENT COMPANY: SUDDEN RISE OF UNKNOWN SUPERHUMANS!"

The words seemed to pulse, each letter digging into his brain. Remond sat up straighter, heart pounding as he swiped open the article. His eyes darted over the paragraphs, disbelief tightening his grip on the phone.

"Earlier this morning, the world was introduced to 'Second Dawn,' the first official superhuman management company. Founded by none other than—"

Remond's fingers tightened on the phone, breath catching in his throat. —Catherine Cain, CEO of Second Dawn.

He stared at the name, disbelief giving way to a chilling realization. His mother.

For a moment, he couldn't move—couldn't think. Then, almost on autopilot, he lunged for the remote, jabbing the power button. The TV flickered to life, screen filled with the sleek logo of some news channel and the anchor's face, voice smooth but urgent.

"... in an unprecedented announcement, Catherine Cain, CEO of Second Dawn, revealed the existence of superhumans and introduced a structured way to manage them within society. The company claims to ensure security and order while integrating these individuals into various sectors..."

The screen shifted, camera focusing on a grand stage. The hall was packed with reporters, microphones thrust forward, flashes lighting the dark. And at the center of it all stood a woman—tall, poised, eyes cold but fierce. Her hair, once golden brown, was streaked with silver, but her expression was unmistakable.

Catherine Cain.

Remond's breath hitched. She was alive. And not just alive—she was standing at the helm of a company that was parading superhumans in the open.

"Fifteen years ago," Catherine's voice came through the speakers, smooth and unshaken, "I lost my husband and my son in a tragedy that reshaped my life."

Remond flinched, jaw clenching.

"Since then," she continued, "I have dedicated myself to building a world where tragedies like that no longer happen. A world where power can be controlled and used for good. Second Dawn is the answer to that vision—integrating superhumans responsibly into society."

The camera panned to the side, revealing a line of figures—men and women in sleek suits, some with barely concealed auras of power flickering around them.

Remond's hands were shaking, remote slipping slightly. "Superhumans. Out in the open. Managed, controlled, displayed like—"

He fumbled for his phone, dialing a number on instinct. Ho Dieng. The line rang once, twice, then clicked.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please—"

He cursed, hanging up, then tried again. Same response. He pressed a hand to his forehead, heart pounding. Stay calm. Think.

On the screen, Catherine continued, eyes glinting under the stage lights.

"With Second Dawn, we can eliminate threats, reduce crime, and ensure that power is never abused. This is a new era—an era of order and responsibility."

The crowd erupted in questions, voices overlapping, but Remond barely heard them. He sank back on the couch, staring numbly at the screen.

His mother. The company. Superhumans. What the hell was going on?

---

Days of Change

The following days blurred into a surreal haze. Every news channel, every article, every conversation seemed to revolve around the same thing—Second Dawn and the superhumans.

Crime rates plummeted almost overnight. Newscasts were flooded with grainy clips of masked figures—superhumans—stopping robberies, apprehending armed gangs, even assisting in rescue operations. Each scene was a carefully orchestrated display of power—telekinesis halting getaway cars, fire manipulation disarming thugs, a speedster appearing as a blur to stop a street fight.

"A new dawn, indeed," one anchor quipped, smile too wide. "With these heroes patrolling our streets, we might just be entering the safest era in history."

Remond watched it all in silence, eyes dark. The efficiency was unsettling—how quickly the public adjusted, how eagerly they accepted this new world. How polished and perfect each broadcast seemed, with Catherine's words at the center, smooth and unflinching.

But under the polished surface, something felt wrong. Too rehearsed. Too obvious.

---

A Cold Welcome

It was a week later, during a late-night broadcast, that the doubts solidified. Remond leaned against the kitchen counter, half-empty mug in hand, as the screen flickered to a familiar sight—an alleyway cordoned off with police tape, reporters swarming.

"—apprehended during a routine patrol by one of Second Dawn's operatives," the reporter said, heels clicking on asphalt. "The suspects were found unconscious, displaying signs of severe trauma, though none are life-threatening. The efficiency of these new heroes is undeniable, but some citizens are raising concerns about their methods—"

The screen cut to a witness—face blurred, voice shaky. "I mean, they stopped those guys, yeah, but it was brutal. Like… they didn't even hesitate. Makes you wonder, you know? Who's keeping them in check?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Remond's grip tightened on the mug. Who's keeping them in check?

His mother's face flashed on the screen, eyes cold. "We ensure our operatives follow a strict code of conduct," she declared smoothly. "Their actions are necessary for the greater good."

Remond stared at the screen, a cold chill running down his spine. "Necessary for the greater good!" He thinks it in disbelief, "How can even think like this? No it can't be."

He exhaled slowly, setting the mug down with a soft clink. Whatever this was, it wasn't just about safety.

---

Threads of the Past

Hours passed in a restless blur. Remond's phone lay silent on the counter, no word from Ho Dieng, no calls from the studio. Just the quiet tick of the wall clock, counting down seconds that felt too slow and too fast all at once.

Finally, he sank onto the couch, head in his hands, mind racing. His mother—alive and powerful, commanding an army of superhumans. Ho Dieng—silent and unreachable. And the public—applauding the sudden peace without questioning what lay beneath.

He closed his eyes, jaw tight. He needed answers. Answers about his mother, about Second Dawn, about the powers running unchecked in the city. But he couldn't act rashly. Not with so many eyes watching.

Stay low. Stay hidden. Find out what's really going on.

But as the city lights blinked through the window, casting fractured shadows across the floor, Remond's eyes narrowed, resolve hardening.

No matter what it took, he would uncover the truth.