Chapter 2

For a long, stretched-out second, Orion didn't move.

The cigarette burned between his fingers, a thin wisp of smoke curling into the cold Brooklyn air, forgotten. His phone sat beside him, the screen still glowing with the group chat. But he didn't see it.

He was staring at nothing. Or maybe, he was staring at everything.

Because the words still rang in his head. Not as an echo, not as a memory, but as something real. A presence that hadn't faded, hadn't lessened. Like the universe itself had leaned down, whispered into his very bones, and then stepped back to watch.

"You have been chosen to represent the United States of America. Prepare yourself."

It didn't make sense.

It didn't make any fucking sense.

Orion let out a slow breath. His fingers tightened around the cigarette, then loosened. He glanced at the city below—horns blaring, people shouting, sirens wailing in the distance. The whole world was reacting, but up here, on this rooftop, it still felt… unreal.

His phone vibrated violently.

Caleb: Yo wtf was that?!

Ava: Please tell me we all just had a collective mental breakdown.

Jace: No. No. Nope. What the hell just happened? Who else heard that???

Orion swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His fingers hovered over the screen. The words blurred together for a second before he forced himself to focus.

What was he supposed to say?

That he didn't just hear the Voice? That it had spoken to him? That out of three hundred million people in the United States, out of eight billion on the planet, the universe had looked at him—a seventeen-year-old kid who half-assed his way through life—and decided he was the one?

He couldn't.

So, he typed the only thing he could.

Orion: Yeah. That was weird.

A lie. A small one. But a necessary one.

Because right now, he needed time.

He needed to think.

His heart was pounding—too fast, too loud. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers threading through messy curls, exhaling sharply. He needed to get inside. Away from the open air. Away from the feeling that the universe had just put a spotlight on him.

Orion stood, crushing the cigarette under his foot, grabbing his phone as he headed for the fire escape. His mind was running a hundred miles an hour, trying to make sense of the impossible.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

How do you prepare for something when you don't even know what it is?

Orion climbed through his bedroom window, shutting it behind him with more force than necessary. The familiar dim light of his room did nothing to steady his pulse. The posters on the walls—old Marvel prints, a faded One Piece flag—looked different. The cluttered desk, the unmade bed, the hoodie draped over his chair—none of it felt real anymore.

His phone buzzed again.

Caleb: Yo, did anyone else get that message?

Ava: What message?

Jace: What message? Bro, THE message. The "People of Earth" shit. You think that was real?

Ava: I'm literally shaking right now.

Caleb: News is freaking out. They're saying this was heard everywhere.

Jace: That's impossible. This has to be fake. Mass hysteria or some government test or something.

Ava: Turn on the TV.

Orion didn't need to.

He already knew it was real.

He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face. His mind was a war zone, thoughts slamming into each other at full speed, none of them making sense.

Alright. Break it down. Think.

1. The Voice was real. He knew that in his gut. This wasn't some prank, some elaborate hoax. He felt it. The world felt it.

2. A tournament. Each country had a champion. That meant there were over a hundred others out there, just as confused—just as fucked—as he was.

3. Seven days. Seven days before the fighting starts. Seven days before he either figured this out or died trying.

Orion swallowed hard. That last thought wasn't dramatic. It was logical. If this was what it sounded like—actual, life-or-death combat—then people were going to die. A lot of them. And unless he figured out how to win, he'd be one of them.

And that's what made no sense.

Why him?

He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a world-class fighter. He wasn't even an athlete. Sure, he worked out. Sure, he could hold his own in a fight. But against what? Other kids in Brooklyn? Random assholes in the streets? That wasn't the same as whatever this was.

The US had Navy SEALs. MMA champions. Olympic gold medalists.

And instead, they got a seventeen-year-old who read fanfiction and half-assed his way through high school.

Orion let out a slow breath, staring at his hands.

What now?

Would the government come for him? Would men in black suits kick down his door, shove him into a van, and tell him he had no choice but to fight?

Would he be trained? Given weapons? Did he even want to do this?

He didn't know.

And then—

Ding.

A sound. Not from his phone. Not from anything physical. It rang out in his mind, clear, crisp, impossible.

Then, a message.

Not on a screen. Not in the air. But burned directly into his vision.

[Power Assigned, Initialization Complete.]

[Orion Graves, Champion of the United States.]

[Power Acquired: ——————]

Orion inhaled sharply.

The world, already spinning out of control, tilted even further.

And then—

Black.