Uncontrollable power

She didn't believe it, not fully. Her eyes scanned him top to bottom as if to make sure. When she finally leaned in to hug him, Kyle felt her body trembling.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered.

"I'm okay," Kyle said again, softer.

They stayed like that for a long time—just silence and warm hospital blankets. Outside the room, the world kept spinning. Doctors called codes. Nurses wheeled in gurneys. Phones rang. But inside, it was just them.

Finally, Nora pulled back, brushing his hair gently. "The school's coordinating with parents. There'll be a full break starting tomorrow. They want to give everyone time to rest. You'll be home for a few days."

Kyle nodded. "Okay."

"And your friends—they're coming to visit. Jason and Kate. They canceled their trip once they heard."

A faint smile pulled at Kyle's lips. Jason and Kate. He hadn't realized how badly he needed to see them until now.

Later that afternoon, the door opened again—and there they were.

Kate burst in first, her strawberry-blonde hair tied in a messy bun, worry carved into her usually sharp, sarcastic face. Jason followed close behind, his hoodie wrinkled and eyes wide.

"Dude," Jason said, "your bus literally almost killed two bears. That's the most hardcore thing you've ever been a part of."

Kyle blinked. "Is that… really the first thing you're gonna say?"

Kate rolled her eyes and rushed to his bedside. "Ignore him. Are you okay? We saw the footage from the other buses. Yours was the one that went off-road, right?"

Kyle hesitated. "Yeah. It was bad."

They talked for a while—about the crash, the students who were still being treated, the fact that one of the substitute teachers had a broken leg and another needed surgery. And the few casualties. Kyle asked about Maya, but neither of them had heard updates yet. They looked at each other. Who was this girl Kyle was asking for?

Deciding to place the question at the back of their minds. They finally left, promising to drop by again tomorrow, Kyle sat back and stared at the ceiling. His body ached. His mind didn't.

In fact, his mind felt clearer than ever.

The official email from the school arrived two days later.

Due to the severity of the recent accident and the physical and emotional trauma endured by our students and staff, Hammock High School will observe a temporary wellness break. Classes will resume next Month. Counselors and crisis therapists will be available on-site for students in need of support.

Kyle skimmed it while sitting on the couch in his living room, a heating pad strapped to his lower back and a warm compress across his shoulder. His mom, Nora, hovered nearby most of the time—quietly tidying up, making soups, or pacing while pretending to scroll her phone. She didn't say much, but the fear in her eyes hadn't faded. Whenever he winced, she turned sharply, always ready to help.

He was grateful.

But more than anything, he needed time to think.

By the third day of the break, the pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and Kyle found himself standing in front of his bedroom mirror with his shirt off, staring at his arms.

They didn't look different. Not exactly.

But something had changed. He remembered the way his muscles had felt during the bear attack. The raw, furnace-like power that had roared through his veins. It wasn't like lifting weights or adrenaline. It had felt directed—like a wire connecting his brain to his biceps and turning the voltage up to max.

There had to be a way to control it.

Kyle curled his fingers into a fist and whispered to himself, "Okay… again."

He focused.

Aimed.

Pushed.

At first, nothing happened. But then—a twitch. A faint pulse beneath his skin, like a subtle vibration in his forearm. He clenched harder.

Suddenly, the lamp on his desk shattered with a loud crack, the result of his elbow swinging sideways by accident.

Kyle winced. "Too much."

The pain followed again. A tearing sensation in his arm.

Later that night, he tried again—this time in the garage.

He'd pulled out an old bag of bricks from a summer landscaping project Nora had started but never finished. Kyle picked one up, held it over a towel, and exhaled slowly.

Focus.

Just enough.

He told his body to channel strength into his right arm—just the forearm, not the shoulder. Not the whole body. A targeted burst.

At first, the brick wouldn't crack. But on his fifth attempt, the sound came sharp and clean.

Snap.

The brick broke in two, dust falling from the crack like powdered chalk. The vibration rushed back through his wrist, jarring but not unbearable.

Kyle grinned. Then he dropped the rest of the bricks and doubled over, gasping. A spasm crawled up his side like hot wires, and his muscles began to scream.

He clutched his ribs and cursed under his breath.

So… the power was there.

But controlling it was another story.

He journaled every experiment. Every muscle twitched. Every failure.

And through it all, one realization stood out:

The ability wasn't passive—it had to be activated by his thoughts, like a command being processed by software.

That's when the idea hit him.

Not saving the world.

Not vigilante work or becoming some heroic news story.

But something else.

A business.

Kyle Carter, the superhuman freelancer.

Okay, maybe not that cheesy. But there had to be some practical application to this kind of strength, especially if he could learn to control it. Package lifting. Warehouse work. Rescue services. High-level sports. Security. Bodyguard work.

But raw strength alone wasn't enough. Strength without skill was useless. Predictable. Easy to outmaneuver.

Which meant… he needed training.

That night, he sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and logged into a martial arts AI program he'd seen advertised in the corners of his algorithm for months.

TactIQ Dojo.

Marketed as "Combat AI tutors for the modern student."

It had dozens of learning tracks—karate, boxing, jiu-jitsu, even weapons training simulations. Some were ridiculously expensive, others more manageable. Kyle opted for a seven-day free trial of the beginner's tactical hand-to-hand training.

The AI's voice greeted him in an unnervingly calm tone.

"Welcome, Kyle. Before we begin, let's test your reaction speed and body coordination."

It started simple. Reflex drills. Balance tests. Breathing and tension-release techniques. Most users would take weeks to master the first level.

Kyle flew through them in under twenty minutes.

His supercharged mind helped—he could see the movements and predict where each one would lead. His memory was sharper now, and every piece of advice the AI offered stuck instantly. His coordination, though imperfect, improved with each drill.

But the moment he tried combining that with the burst strength?

Chaos.

He punched through a punching bag in one blow.

Knocked over a shelf.

Slipped and face-planted into the floor after a flying kick attempt.

He lay there, winded and groaning, thinking:

"So I'm smart and strong—but still an idiot."

The next day, Jason FaceTimed him.

"You look like trash, bro," Jason said, grinning.

"I feel like a truck hit me," Kyle muttered.

Kate joined the call a second later, brushing crumbs off her shirt. "You training to be a superhero or something?"

Kyle almost said yes. Then shook his head.

"Nah. I'm not saving the world. That sounds like a good way to get killed. But… I might be on to something. Something profitable."

Jason squinted. "Like what? You gonna be a super-powered Amazon delivery guy?"

"Maybe," Kyle said with a small smirk. "At least they'd pay overtime."