Chapter 3: Side Effects

The first side effect hit me at 3:23 a.m.

I'd finally started drifting to sleep, head half-buried under a pile of laundry, when the dreams started—if they were even dreams. I saw lights. Colors I couldn't name. Lines of power running through the city like veins. The entire skyline pulsed. Everything alive. Breathing. And I was floating above it all, connected to every spark, every flicker, every movement.

Then I woke up screaming.

I hit the floor hard, chest heaving. My arms were glowing. Not brightly—just faint blue lines trailing along my veins like they'd been drawn with fire.

And my heartbeat?

Too fast.

Way too fast.

I forced myself to breathe.

In. Out. In again.

The glow faded, but the shaking didn't stop.

By morning, I was exhausted. But I couldn't stay inside.

I had to know what was happening to me.

So I took a chance.

I packed a backpack with a hoodie, a flashlight, water, and a burner phone I bought off a kid for twenty bucks. Then I left through the fire escape, avoiding every camera I could spot.

My destination wasn't glamorous.

An abandoned train yard on the outskirts of the city.

Rusting cars, weeds cracking through the pavement, old warning signs still nailed to chain-link fences. But more importantly—no surveillance. No patrols. No one around to see if I messed up.

I picked a spot between two boxcars and took off my jacket.

It was time to stop running and test this thing.

The first attempt was a dud.

I stood there, holding out my hand, fingers spread wide, trying to will the energy out like I had at the vending machine.

Nothing.

Then I closed my eyes.

Focused.

Remembered the pressure. The heat. The hum in my chest.

This time, a flicker answered me.

A crackle danced along my palm. Blue light. Weak—but there.

It felt like lifting something too heavy with muscles I hadn't trained.

I held it for ten seconds before my legs buckled and I dropped to one knee.

My nose bled.

Not a lot. Just enough to scare me.

But still—I smiled.

Because it worked.

I kept going for hours.

Trying different motions. Pushing with both hands. Throwing energy at a broken shipping crate.

By sunset, the crate had a hole in it.

So did my shirt.

And I couldn't stand without wobbling.

Whatever this power was, it came at a cost.

I got home limping.

Every joint ached.

My head was pounding.

I slept for thirteen straight hours, and when I woke up, my pillow was soaked in sweat, and my hands were trembling.

So yeah—side effects.

But I wasn't quitting.

Because deep down, I knew the League wouldn't wait forever.

And neither would the Rogues.

The next day, I kept to side streets.

Kept my head down.

But I started noticing things.

People looked different.

Not just in how they moved—but in how they felt. I could sense pressure around certain people. A low buzz. Like radio static.

By the fourth person, I realized what it was.

Other powered.

I was picking up on them.

Even when they weren't doing anything obvious.

It was faint. Barely there. But real.

I passed one guy selling knockoff League gear under a bridge. He had that hum. He noticed me noticing, gave a tiny nod, and kept selling.

So there were more of us.

Living in plain sight.

Powered… but quiet.

Hidden.

Watching.

That night, I felt someone watching me.

I was walking home through a service alley behind a noodle shop when the hairs on my neck stood up.

Someone was there.

I turned fast. Nothing.

But I felt it.

That hum again.

Different this time.

Deeper.

Then I saw it.

A figure on the roof.

Still. Silent. Watching me.

No League uniform.

No Rogue colors.

Just a long coat, hood up, face hidden in shadows.

I froze.

They didn't move.

Then—just like that—they vanished.

The next morning, a note was on my door.

Plain paper. No signature. Just six words, handwritten in thick black ink.

"Stop testing. You're not ready."

I checked the hallway. Empty.

Security cam? Disabled.

Whoever left the note knew what they were doing.

I turned it over. Nothing on the back.

Not a threat.

Not a warning.

Just a statement.

But it rattled me more than anything else had.

Because it meant someone was watching all my training.

Not the League.

Not the Rogues.

Someone else.

I went back to the train yard.

But not to train.

To see if I could find a trace of whoever was tracking me.

I circled the whole place twice. Found nothing.

No footprints.

No cigarette butts.

No camera lens flashes.

Nothing.

Then I found a symbol.

Drawn in chalk on the side of a railcar.

A triangle with a circle inside and a line down the middle.

I didn't recognize it.

But it felt old.

And somehow… familiar.

I touched it.

And for a split second, I felt like someone was standing behind me.

Breathing down my neck.

I turned fast.

Nothing.

Just wind and rust.

That night, I didn't sleep.

The side effects were worse.

Headache. Sweating. My body felt like it had static trapped under every inch of skin.

I thought about the League again.

What if I needed their help?

They had labs. Doctors. Scientists.

Could they fix this?

Help me stabilize?

Or would they lock me in a lab and study me like a rat?

I couldn't tell.

I didn't trust them.

But I also didn't trust myself.

Then came the second note.

This one arrived through the window.

Folded neatly.

Same handwriting.

"They'll come soon. Choose wisely."

I stared at it for a long time.

Because the next step was coming whether I was ready or not.

And no matter which way I turned—League, Rogues, or something else entirely—it would mean making enemies.