Chapter 2: Pier Pressure

Morning came slow.

Not because the sun was lazy, but because I couldn't sleep.

I kept thinking about the sparks in my hand, the way the vending machine shattered like glass under a storm, the woman in the shadows saying I was "one of them." And the note still open on my phone:

Power Divide.

What did that even mean? A team? A movement? Or just something to hold onto while the ground kept shifting under me?

My hands were steady now. But the charge still pulsed just under the skin, soft and patient, like it had claimed me and was waiting for permission to stretch.

The news was still covering me.

"Blurry footage. Unidentified. Estimated age: late teens to early twenties. Urban hoodie. Suspected male. May be unstable."

Unstable.

That was the word they always used when someone didn't pick a side fast enough.

I didn't go to work.

Not that I'd be missed. My job at the delivery warehouse was already hanging by a thread. Another late shift. One more lost ID scan. And now I was on every drone cam in the district, glowing like a walking fuse box.

So instead of punching in, I wandered the city.

Trying to feel normal.

Failing.

Everywhere I went, the world reminded me of what I was now.

Billboards showed smiling heroes shaking hands with kids.

Digital posters ran clips of battles—flashy League teams stopping train crashes and robot thefts, all perfectly choreographed. Right underneath, a bold logo:

"The League Protects."

But next to that, some vandal had spray-painted a different phrase in red:

"If they protect you, who protects you from them?"

At noon, my phone buzzed again.

Unknown number. Different from the last.

[MSG: "You don't have to be afraid. We've been monitoring you. Come to Tower One. 3 PM. Bring nothing. Say nothing."]

Tower One.

Hero League headquarters.

They weren't being subtle anymore.

At 2:45, I stood outside Tower One's base-level lobby. It looked like a luxury hotel had been fused with a tech lab and a shopping mall. White marble floors. Floating security drones. People in matching gray suits and black glasses nodded as they passed.

No armor. No capes.

Not here.

This was the front.

I stepped up to the reception desk. The woman there didn't ask my name.

She just said, "Please follow the light."

A thin strip of glowing white appeared on the floor and moved forward, turning smoothly toward a glass elevator at the far wall.

I followed it.

Of course I did.

Because I wanted answers.

Because some part of me still hoped the League was what they said they were.

Because I was too curious to say no.

The elevator didn't feel like it moved.

But seconds later, the doors opened into silence.

A large circular room. Windows from floor to ceiling. The skyline stretching in every direction. A long table with five chairs—but only one was occupied.

A man stood and smiled.

Caiden Vale.

I'd seen his face a thousand times—on posters, on training clips, during League press tours.

He was one of their top recruiters. A speedster. Said to be faster than sound, with the ability to create mirror illusions mid-run.

And he was handsome, smooth, and dangerous in the way lightning is—calculated chaos.

"Welcome," he said.

I didn't sit.

"You're faster than the vending machine I broke," I said.

He chuckled. "Not by much. That was impressive."

"I didn't mean to."

"No one does. First triggers are messy. You handled it better than most."

I crossed my arms. "You stalking all new powered people, or am I special?"

He tilted his head. "You're smart. That makes you dangerous. And valuable."

"To you?"

"To everyone."

He walked around the table slowly, hands behind his back.

"You're at a crossroads," he said. "The powers are new. The world is watching. And two paths are ahead."

I said nothing.

He continued. "You join us. Get training. Control. Access to the best tech, medical care, and protection. We'll guide you. Shape your image. Let the world see you as a hero."

"And in return?"

"You follow orders. Work missions we assign. Use your power only when cleared."

I stared at him. "And if I don't?"

"You go rogue. Alone. Hunted. Maybe you end up in a cell. Maybe in a grave. Or maybe worse—you get recruited by the other side. And you burn out like all the others."

He stopped in front of me. Smiled again. No teeth this time.

"You don't want that."

I walked out ten minutes later.

He gave me a week to decide.

No pressure, he said.

But the unspoken message was clear: make the right choice… or live with the wrong one.

I didn't make it far before something exploded.

A shockwave rolled through the street outside Tower One. Glass shattered. People screamed. A League drone crashed into the sidewalk, trailing smoke and sparks.

And from the alley, they came.

Three of them. Dressed in street armor and mismatched masks. Powered. Fast.

Rogues.

One of them lifted a parked car and hurled it through a bus shelter.

Another melted a street lamp with acid dripping from his fingers.

And the third—tall, dark, and calm—pointed straight at me.

"You're the new one," he said.

I stepped back.

Caiden's words still echoed in my head.

"Maybe the other side gets you first."

The tall one stepped closer. "We're not here to fight. Not unless they start it first."

A warning siren blared above.

"Too late," I muttered.

From behind me, League enforcers arrived. Suits of gold-and-blue armor. Jet boots. Electric weapons.

And then—chaos.

I ran.

Again.

Because I wasn't ready.

Because I didn't know how to fight.

Because both sides were turning the street into a war zone.

As I ducked behind a cab, a blast from one of the League's rifles hit a fire hydrant. Water erupted. Steam hissed. Two Rogues leapt into the mist, firing back with bursts of energy.

I turned and saw a kid—eight, maybe nine—crouched behind a dumpster, crying.

A wall was about to fall on him.

I didn't think.

I moved.

The light exploded from my hands before I even reached him. A pulse of power shot out, hitting the collapsing wall and stopping it midair. It froze there—quivering like it was waiting to fall—but didn't move.

I grabbed the kid and pulled him free.

Then released the wall.

It crashed down behind us.

People stared.

The League saw me.

So did the Rogues.

I didn't wait.

I vanished into the smoke.

That night, I sat on my rooftop.

My hands still buzzed. My heart still raced.

I had no answers.

No safety.

No peace.

But I had a decision to make.

Because today proved something clear:

The League might be cleaner.

The Rogues might be louder.

But both sides were dangerous.

And I was done being a pawn in someone else's war.