Unmasking Truths

Troy slumped against the cold metal of his locker, his head thunking against it as he exhaled.

Surviving school today had been like navigating a minefield. Every hallway, every classroom, every corner he turned—people were staring. Whispering. Giggling. Speculating.

The Nerd Club had practically interrogated him, and he had barely made it out with his secret intact.

"Why… is this my life…" he groaned, rubbing his temples.

The school day had passed in a blur of exhaustion and paranoia. He had spent lunch holed up in the library, dodging people like his life depended on it. Because, well, it kind of did.

And now, as the final bell rang, Troy only wanted one thing—to go home and sleep for twelve years.

But as he stepped into the hallway, someone was waiting for him.

"Hey, Troy."

Annie.

She was leaning casually against the lockers, arms crossed, her sharp brown eyes locking onto him.

Troy flinched. "Oh. Uh. H-hey, Annie!" He forced a grin. "What's up?"

Annie tilted her head, studying him. "Where were you during break?"

Troy blinked. "Huh?"

She huffed. "I didn't see you at all. You, Mister Late-Night Snack Run, disappeared completely."

"I—I was, uh—"

"Don't even try lying."

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Hiding."

Annie raised an eyebrow. "From?"

He gestured vaguely around them. "Literally everyone."

A smirk played on her lips. "So, the great Bubble Boy is afraid of a few high schoolers?"

"I am not Bubble Boy," Troy hissed, then immediately winced at how defensive that sounded. "I mean—hypothetically, if I was, which I am not, I wouldn't be afraid! I just… didn't feel like dealing with people."

Annie rolled her eyes. "Well, I was looking for you."

That made him pause. "…You were?"

She kicked at the floor. "Yeah. Kinda felt weird, y'know? We always hang out during break, and suddenly, you weren't there. Made me feel… a little lonely."

Troy felt a pang of guilt.

Crap. He had been so caught up in avoiding people that he hadn't even thought about Annie.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Annie glanced up at him, then smirked. "Just don't do it again."

Troy gave her a tired grin. "I'll try my best, Detective Annie."

She punched his arm. "Shut up."

They started walking home together, the exhaustion of the day melting away as they fell into their usual rhythm—talking, teasing, laughing.

Annie told him about the absolute disaster of a chemistry experiment that had nearly set the lab on fire. Troy told her about a freshman who had tripped on literally nothing and taken out an entire row of lockers like a bowling pin.

By the time they reached her house, Troy was grinning, his earlier stress forgotten.

"See?" Annie nudged him. "The day wasn't that bad."

He chuckled. "You make it tolerable."

She smirked. "I am pretty great."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, Annie."

"Later, Bubble Boy."

Troy groaned as she shut the door behind her.

Instead of heading home, Troy took a detour.

His feet carried him through the city, deeper and deeper into the more expensive part of town, until he reached it.

The last time he had left through Shadow's lair, he hadn't paid attention to where it actually was. But now, standing before the massive wrought-iron gates of a freaking mansion, Troy's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"…Are you kidding me?"

Jace—Shadow—was rich. Like, insanely rich.

Troy hesitated, then walked up to the intercom and pressed the button.

A few seconds later, the gate creaked open.

Standing at the entrance was an actual butler—an older man, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit, his expression one of quiet amusement.

"Master Troy, I presume?"

Troy blinked. "Uh… yeah?"

The butler gave a polite nod. "Welcome. My name is Arthur. Please, follow me."

Troy followed him through the ridiculous mansion, trying not to gape at the gold-trimmed walls and giant chandeliers. Eventually, Arthur led him to an elevator.

The doors slid open.

The underground lair was just as he remembered—sleek, high-tech, filled with weapons, gadgets, and monitors displaying live city surveillance.

Jace was waiting for him.

"You took your time," he said, arms crossed.

Troy huffed. "Yeah, well, maybe warn me next time that your house is a whole Bond villain lair."

Jace smirked. "Intimidating, isn't it?"

Troy rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's train."

Troy quickly realized something.

Jace was merciless.

The training started with basic combat drills—blocking, dodging, striking. Simple enough.

Except Troy was terrible.

Jace weaved around him effortlessly, barely exerting himself while Troy swung and missed, over and over.

"Faster," Jace said.

"I am going fast!"

Jace dodged. "You're slow."

Troy swung again. Jace sidestepped, tripped him, and sent him crashing to the floor.

"Ow."

"Sloppy."

Troy groaned, pushing himself up. "Can you not be a ninja for five seconds?!"

Jace smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

They kept going. Troy improved, but only slightly. His movements were still predictable, his reflexes sluggish.

Jace sighed. "Your technique is garbage."

Troy scowled. "Oh, thanks, Sensei."

Jace studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "You rely on instinct too much. That's good in a street fight, but it'll get you killed against real opponents."

Troy's hands clenched. "I survived Gladiator, didn't I?"

Jace's expression darkened. "Barely."

The words hit harder than they should have.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, unexpectedly, Jace chuckled.

"…You are stubborn, though. I'll give you that."

Troy huffed. "Gee. Thanks."

Jace smirked. "Don't worry, Bubble Boy. You'll get there."

Troy groaned. "I hate you."

Jace grinned.

Meanwhile, far from the city, deep in a hidden facility ,the very villains safe house—

Gladiator stood before the Legion, arms crossed.

Void, ever cold and unreadable, sat with an air of quiet authority.

Bolt, impatient and sharp, tapped his fingers against the table.

Construct, usually the joker, was unusually serious.

"We have bigger problems," Void said. "Our mission is clear—expose the Syndicate before their plan unfolds."

Gladiator clenched her fists. "And what about the vigilante?"

The room went silent.

"…You should have stayed out of that," Construct muttered.

Gladiator's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Bolt sighed. "Because Starman is watching."

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

She swallowed. "That vigilante—Bubble Boy—saw Starman kill that criminal in the alley."

Silence.

Void's voice was eerily calm.

"Then he won't be alive for much longer."

Deep within the belly of a decaying warehouse, the Legion moved like shadows. The air was thick with the scent of oil and rust, the floor littered with discarded crates and broken equipment. It was a villain's den, a safehouse used by the Syndicate for weapons trade.

They weren't supposed to be here long. Just in, grab intel, and out. No casualties—yet.

Gladiator leaned against a rusted pillar, arms crossed, her sword resting against her shoulder. The dim light from the hanging bulb barely illuminated her cold expression. Across from her, Void sat on the edge of a table, her violet eyes unreadable. Bolt paced restlessly, his fingers twitching, while Construct stood silent, his usual humor replaced with a tense stillness.

And at the center of them all sat Starman's name. A specter none of them could shake.

"Bubble Boy should already be dead," Gladiator hissed, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade. "He saw too much. He knows too much."

Bolt scoffed. "Yeah? And yet, he's still breathing. Because of Starman." His voice was laced with something rare—fear. "Why?"

Void's gaze flickered. "That's what we're here to discuss."

Construct, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply. "I don't get it. We've wiped out people for less. Anyone who gets in our way—gone. But this kid? Starman let him live. That doesn't make sense."

"Oh, it makes sense," Gladiator muttered darkly.

The others turned to her.

Void's voice was barely above a whisper. "Explain."

Gladiator's grip on her sword tightened. "Because Starman used to be him."

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

Bolt stopped pacing. "What?"

"He said it himself." Gladiator's gaze was distant, as if recalling something from another life. "A long time ago, he was like Bubble Boy. Before he was…corrupted."

Void's jaw tightened. "And that's supposed to mean something? We're all killers now. We were all 'something else' before. It didn't stop us."

Gladiator shook her head. "No. We kill because we like it. Because we enjoy the hunt. Starman?" She let out a low chuckle. "He doesn't kill for fun. He kills because it's the only thing he knows how to do anymore."

Bolt shifted uneasily. "That's bullshit."

"Is it?" Gladiator shot him a knowing look. "Tell me, when was the last time you saw Starman hesitate? The last time you saw him second-guess a kill?"

Bolt had no answer. None of them did.

Because Starman never hesitated.

Void folded her arms. "So, what? He's keeping the kid alive because he sees himself in him? That's weak."

Gladiator's lips curled. "Weak? No. It's worse than that. He's watching. He's waiting. He wants to see if Bubble Boy becomes like us… or if he breaks."

Construct finally spoke, his voice quiet. "And if he doesn't break?"

Gladiator's expression turned deadly. "Then Starman will be the one to do it."

A tense silence hung between them.

Then—

A sudden click echoed through the warehouse.

Bolt reacted first, blurring to the side just as a hail of gunfire ripped through the air. Bullets tore through crates, sending splinters flying.

"Shit—!" Bolt cursed, dodging between the gunfire.

Void disappeared in a flicker of darkness, reappearing on the rafters above as masked gunmen poured into the room.

"COMPROMISED!" Gladiator roared, unsheathing her blade in a single, lethal motion.

The Syndicate had found them.

Chaos erupted.

Gladiator moved like a storm of steel, her sword carving through the air. The first thug barely had time to scream before she cut him down, his body hitting the floor with a wet thud.

Construct raised a hand, his mind bending reality. A wall of jagged metal shot up from the ground, blocking a wave of bullets before he retaliated—twisting the debris into razor-sharp spikes that impaled their attackers.

Bolt was a streak of electricity, weaving between Syndicate enforcers, breaking bones and snapping necks in a blur of speed.

Void became a phantom, vanishing into darkness and reappearing behind enemies, her hands glowing with raw energy as she sent them flying into the air.

But the Syndicate wasn't weak.

A hulking brute of a man, wearing a reinforced exosuit, charged at Gladiator. She barely had time to brace before he swung a steel fist at her. She ducked, the air cracking as his punch missed, then retaliated—her sword slashing across his chest, sparks flying as metal met metal.

He grunted but didn't fall. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm and hurled her across the room.

Gladiator crashed through a stack of crates, coughing as she rolled back to her feet.

"You're gonna regret that," she growled.

She launched forward, her blade glowing with raw energy as she sliced straight through his exosuit. Blood sprayed as he let out a gurgled scream.

Across the battlefield, Bolt was a whirlwind of destruction, but then—

A flash of red. A blur faster than him.

Bolt barely had time to react before something hit him—hard. He skidded across the ground, pain flaring through his body.

"What the—"

Then he saw him.

A Syndicate enforcer. Another speedster.

"Cute," Bolt muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see who's faster."

They blurred into motion, colliding in a flurry of blows too fast for the eye to follow.

Meanwhile, Void hovered above the battlefield, her hands glowing with black energy. She sent beams of darkness shooting down, consuming the Syndicate's forces. Screams echoed as men were swallowed whole, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness.

Construct was shaping the very battlefield, turning the warehouse into a shifting maze of metal spikes and barriers.

But the Syndicate kept coming.

Gladiator sliced through another wave of enemies, blood staining her armor, when suddenly—

A deafening boom.

The ceiling exploded.

Smoke and dust filled the air as a figure descended from above, landing with a heavy thud.

Gladiator's breath caught in her throat.

Because she knew that silhouette.

Tall. Imposing. Cloaked in shadow.

The air grew heavy with something primal. Something wrong.

Then the dust settled, and his face became visible.

Starman.

The battlefield stilled. Even the Syndicate forces hesitated.

His voice, calm as death itself, cut through the silence.

"Enough."

No one dared to move.

Then his gaze flickered to Gladiator.

"…We need to talk."