Park — sunset

  Jason grabs a hoodie. Leaves.

  He doesn’t walk.

  He runs for a few kilometers.

  Gets there.

  Cuts through the park like he’s running from a decision

  that’s still glued to his back.

  He stops in front of the biggest tree.

  The oldest. The thickest.

  The one that, in his head, should hold.

  He breathes hard.

  “Fuck… I need to try.”

  His face is tight. Skin stretched over his cheekbones.

  And a thought slides through him like a cold blade:

  What if I blow everything up…?

  Jason looks around.

  No one.

  He swallows.

  He feels ridiculous. He feels huge. He feels dangerous.

  He looks for an excuse—

  a “light” version to trick his brain.

  “Alright… whatever,” he mutters, forcing a laugh.

  “One punch in the air… then I run.”

  Then he hears it.

  A high-pitched hum. Distant.

  A dot in the sky.

  A drone.

  Jason barely lifts his gaze.

  His heart punches once, hard, in his chest.

  OPOM.

  The organization that watches and intervenes

  when powers become a problem.

  It never sleeps.

  Jason drops his head immediately.

  Soft, off-key whistling. Hands in his pockets. Hood up.

  He fakes normal.

  Fakes that his heart isn’t hammering up into his ears.

  The drone passes.

  A slow circle.

  Then keeps going.

  Moves away.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Jason waits a couple more seconds.

  Then he actually stops.

  ---

  Activation

  Jason inhales.

  Deep.

  He slips into position without realizing it.

  Not a movie pose.

  The body finding alignment.

  His right arm tenses.

  Muscles swell unnaturally, fast—

  like something under the skin is pushing out.

  A vein throbs along his forearm.

  Then another.

  Heat.

  Not normal heat.

  Heat rising from inside,

  like molten metal flooding his arteries.

  Jason freezes.

  Fear.

  “What the fuck is happening!?”

  He shuts his eyes.

  Forces his voice low,

  like speaking softly might calm the beast.

  “Calm down… it’s just a punch…”

  A broken breath.

  “…just throw the fucking punch.”

  The veins… ignite.

  A faint glow under the skin,

  like embers beneath ash.

  The sky is gray.

  The sunset looks dirty.

  Absolute silence.

  Like the world is holding its breath.

  ---

  Impact

  Jason swings.

  Not at someone.

  Not to kill.

  Just to know.

  And the world answers.

  POOOOOMMMHHH!!!

  It’s not a bang.

  It’s pressure. Sound. Pure violence.

  A shockwave rips leaves from branches,

  lifts dirt, bends the air like an invisible wall.

  The tree explodes.

  It doesn’t fall.

  It explodes.

  Wood shards blast outward like bullets.

  Cars get hit.

  Windows shatter.

  Alarms erupt—hysterical, one after another.

  The crown collapses onto a sedan.

  Metal crumples under the weight and the shock,

  like it’s paper.

  The stump stays there.

  Black.

  Slightly charred.

  Tiny glowing embers spit vicious pinpricks of light.

  For a moment, in the smoke,

  reality itself looks like it caught fire.

  ---

  After

  Jason is frozen.

  He doesn’t move.

  His arm detonates with pain—

  the same sensation as before, but worse.

  A wave of cramps slams from hand to shoulder,

  like his body is trying to shut down something it can’t control.

  Short breaths. Light panting.

  His mouth opens on its own.

  “Holy shit…”

  He grips his arm.

  Teeth clenched.

  “Fuck that hurts…”

  The words spit out.

  “…what the hell did I just do…”

  He laughs.

  Hysterical.

  A broken laugh that can’t stand upright.

  Then his eyes burn

  and nervous tears spill out, uninvited.

  He snaps.

  Spins around.

  Runs.

  Not out of cowardice.

  Out of survival instinct.

  Because now he knows—

  staying means being seen.

  And if he’s seen… there’s no going back.

  ---

  Sky — above the park

  The OPOM drone banks.

  This time, it doesn’t move on.

  Pistol Boy.