A new superpower always needs a field day

The can of Cherry Nova sat untouched on the lab bench as the clock ticked past 2:17 a.m.

Jon Kekyll didn’t sleep that night.

He tried—at least in theory. He left the lab in a daze, rode the elevator like a zombie, and fumbled his way into his apartment. But as soon as the door shut behind him and the city’s hush settled over everything, he stood in the middle of his living room, staring at his hands like they were loaded weapons.

He had become something else.

Not visibly. Not dramatically.

But functionally, he was no longer just a man. He was a vector of change. A conductor of reality, pulsing with a charge that didn’t fade. No wires. No programming. Just thought, touch, and transformation.

He barely noticed the dawn light breaking over the window.

He called off work with a single groggy voicemail: “Not dead, just exhausted. Taking a personal day.”

He didn’t even try to sound convincing.

Then, barefoot and still in yesterday’s T-shirt, he began to play.

⸻

It started with the cluttered bookshelf near the door—he touched a yellowing paperback, muttered “wish this was the hardcover edition,” and zap, the book thickened in his palm, crisped into pristine black cloth with embossed gold lettering.

He laughed aloud.

Next was the dying fern on his windowsill. A fingertip to the soil, and crack—the wilted thing perked up like time-lapse footage, its fronds spreading lush and green.

By noon, Jon had:

• Turned his broken coffee grinder into a sleek chrome model that ground and brewed with a single touch.
• Changed his threadbare couch into buttery leather just by plopping onto it and thinking God, this thing sucks.
• Tapped his framed bachelor’s degree and imagined it from the nation’s leading research institution instead of a state school—bam, new credentials.
• Casually walked into the mirror and thought, wish I had abs like five years ago—and sure enough, he did. Along with just a touch more jawline definition.

The bathroom scale agreed.

Reality didn’t protest.

By the time he was showered and dressed—his boxy old hoodie now a fitted zip-up from a brand he couldn’t previously afford—Jon was grinning like a man with a cheat code.

But curiosity doesn’t stay confined to square footage.

By 3:00 p.m., he was outside, walking through the park, sunglasses on and hands in his pockets like a demigod trying not to draw attention.

The power still buzzed in him. It didn’t fade. And the more he used it, the more natural it felt—like flexing a muscle he’d only now discovered existed.

Children laughed in the distance. Dogs barked. Joggers passed. And Jon, ever the scientist, decided it was time for field trials.

He sat down at a bench near the path, crossed one ankle over the other, and picked a test subject.

An older man nearby grumbled as he read his paper, clearly struggling with his thick bifocals. Jon, from ten feet away, smirked and whispered, wish those were sleek designer readers.

Nothing happened.

He nodded to himself. Okay. Needs contact. Good to know.

So he stood up. Stretched. Casually walked past the man, brushing the edge of the bench where the newspaper lay.

Crack.

The paper didn’t change. But the man blinked, lifted his glasses… and found they were lighter, sleeker, and no longer fogging up. His bushy brows lifted in confusion, then settled into satisfaction.

Jon kept walking, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

A woman pushing a stroller passed by, her face tight with frustration as she tried to adjust the sunshade. Jon’s fingers brushed the canopy as he passed, muttering, Wish this thing just worked.

Snap.

The shade snapped into place with a satisfying click, and the baby cooed.

Jon didn’t even look back.

He was grinning again.

It wasn’t about malice. Not yet. These were small improvements. Little edits. Helping hands.

But each one carried that unmistakable thrill. A high without chemicals. A god’s whisper in the ear of the world.

He sat again, this time on a different bench, hands buzzing, eyes scanning the park with a new kind of hunger.

What else could he fix? What else could he improve? And just how far could this go?