Changes

Luthor (Internal); “The news spread like wildfire—Mom, Gladiator Eve, the number 7 hero, officially retired to ‘shape the next generation.’ For days our front yard looked like a war zone: paparazzi crowding the gates, cameras flashing, everyone screaming her name like she was some fallen monarch. Of course, it didn’t last. It never does. She finally stepped out, gave her interview, spoke in that polished corporate dialect she perfected over the years—words that sound sincere but somehow say nothing at all. She’s a master at that… turning real emotions into PR-friendly noise. Taught herself, too. Some people learn survival skills; she learned spin."

Luthor (Internal); "And the moment she was done? The world moved on. No one actually cared about her retirement—they cared about the empty spot in the top10. Who would claim rank 7? Would rank 8 rise? Would some newcomer leapfrog into fame? Heroes clawing at each other across every screen, every headline. Meanwhile I… just kept scrolling through job listings."

Luthor (Internal); "No luck. Not surprising. These days, unless you've got a power—any power—you’re background noise. Even the smallest spark makes you more employable than someone like me, someone who pretends to be powerless by choice. There are fewer and fewer of us left who refuse to be dragged into the hero machine.LinkedOn is a wasteland—everyone bragging, posturing, trying to sell their abilities like shiny toys. But then… something actually useful pops up."

[Sunbridge Academy — Looking for volunteers for hero disaster combat training]

[Job Description: Seeking ages 18–25 to act as victims in training simulations. No experience required. Competitive salary.]

A gold mine.

Luthor (Internal);"Seems the more I try to pull away, the harder it drags me back in,’ I think. But I need a job. I need to move out. And if I can show her—her—that I’m working at her own academy, as a literal pretend victim? Maybe she’ll finally back off. Maybe she’ll finally leave me alone. Her only son… reduced to a prop in the course she’s teaching. How poetic.”

---

Augustus: “Welcome, everyone! I’m thrilled to announce that this year we’ve successfully gathered fifty volunteers—double last year’s turnout! I sincerely hope all of you are excited to support the next generation of heroes, to help shape the shining spear of the nation that will guide us toward a brighter—”

Luthor (Internal); "She’s not here yet..."

Luthor scanned the crowd, irritation simmering.

Augustus: “Now, each of you will receive this device—a Bubble Ball. If at any moment you feel you’re in danger, simply press the button and the ball will shield you from any harm. Should any injuries occur—minor, moderate, or catastrophic—the academy will cover expenses in full, as specified in your contract—”

Luthor (Internal) "Hard to take this seriously when the speaker looks like a sea lion who faked his own ****, joined witness protection, and is now trying to pass as a motivational speaker. Augustus? Sure, buddy. Whatever… still no sign of her."

??? “Are you perhaps looking for someone?”

A girl slid into his peripheral vision with the confidence of someone who invaded personal space recreationally.

Dina: “Name’s Dina. Pleasure to meet you…?”

Luthor: “Luthor.”

Dina: “Sooo, who’s got your attention? Who’re you searching for?”

Luthor: “Someone.”

Dina: “Ooh, mysterious. Someone special?”

Luthor: “You could… phrase it that way.”

Dina: “And here I was hoping you were single. Shame.”

Luthor: “I am single. What is this conversation right now?”

Dina: “Shhh! Eyes forward! They’re about to come out!”

Augustus: “And now, allow me to present… Class 1A of the Hero Course!”

A shockwave of power rippled across the arena. The students didn’t just walk in—they arrived.

Some swooped down from the sky in practiced formation, others burst up from the ground in pillars of stone or flame. A few teleported in flashes of lightning or glitter-like dust.

Each of them landed beside Augustus with the smug confidence of people who’d never once been told they weren’t special.

Fifty volunteers watched, labeled “helpless,” as the would-be heroes posed and preened—each proudly displaying exactly why the world adored people like them.

Luthor: "Great. A flock of peacocks doing tax-funded gymnastics. Fifty volunteers here… forty-nine victims… and then there’s me: the discount extra."

Augustus clapped his hands together like a delighted seal hosting a talent show.

Augustus: “Before you leave for your stations, there’s someone else I’d like you all to meet! Class 1A’s President and the man voted Most Likely to Become the Next Top Hero by Hero Illustrated! The one, the only—The Balance! Noah Meier!”

A gust of wind slammed down from above, scattering dust, hair, dignity—everything.

From the sky descended the so-called prodigy, slow and dramatic, as if gravity itself signed a contract to make him look cool.

The other students stepped aside instantly, forming a perfect landing zone like trained backup dancers.

Noah stood tall… annoyingly tall. His wings unfurled behind him — huge, black, and edged with feathers that looked like they were dipped in intimidation. His expression was the kind that communicated “I eat lesser beings for breakfast,” and judging from the way his classmates avoided eye contact, he probably did.

He radiated arrogance, menace, and a suspicious amount of conditioner.

If you didn’t know better, you’d assume he was here to conquer the academy, not learn in it.

Luthor narrowed his eyes, unimpressed.

Luthor (muttering): “Dark wings… brooding stare… lands like he wants a slow-motion theme song… still looks like a pigeon that joined a goth phase and never came back.”

---

Luthor: “Alright… let’s get this over with. Time to do what I came here to do—professionally pretend to die.Now… where was I assigned? The ‘Fire Forest’ section? Great. Nothing screams safe work environment like a place with ‘fire’ AND ‘forest’ in the name. That’s probably… over there. The smoke trail of corporate neglect.”

Luthor: “Help! Oh nooo, I’m burning! My life! My dreams! My skincare routine! …This is pathetic. I’m literally screaming into the void. There is NO ONE here. I’m performing to an audience of trees. And one squirrel. And even that squirrel looks disappointed. Shooo!”

???? “AHHHHHHHHH! HELP! SOMEONEEEEEEE! HELPPPPPP!”

Luthor froze.

Luthor (Internal): “Huh. That voice… that’s the girl from earlier. Dina. She’s really going for it. Full Oscar mode. Like, tearful-monologue-in-the-rain levels of commitment. Is she actually in danger? …No, can’t be. We all have the stupid bubble ball. You could press that thing by accident sneezing.”

He looked in the direction of the scream. They didn't stop.

Luthor: “…But… you know… it wouldn’t kill me to check… Probably. Hopefully.”

He sighed dramatically, like the universe personally inconvenienced him.

Luthor: “Fine. Let’s go see who’s dying for real or just auditioning for drama club.”

---

Dina’s voice echoes through the forest—thin, trembling, terrified.

Dina: “Please… please… stop this… I—”

A man’s voice snaps back, dripping with cruelty.

??? “Shut the fuck up. You know why you’re here. Puppets. Entertainment. Nothing more.”

Dina: “Someone! Please!”

SLAP.

Luthor stops.

Not because he wants to— but because his legs refuse to take another step. For a moment he cannot comprehend what he’s seeing, What he’s hearing. His brain rejects it. Refuses it.

Luthor (barely breathing): “Is he… is he actually doing this…? A wannabe hero…? One of them…?”

His pulse hammers in his ears.

He inches forward, and something catches the corner of his eye— a small device embedded into the bark of a tree.

A lens.

Recording.

Watching.

Broadcasting.

A cold wave crashes through him.

Luthor: “They’re filming it…? They’re not even hiding it… They don’t care if anyone sees… They don’t care about anything.”

His voice trembles—not with fear, but with something worse.

Disillusionment.

An unraveling.

Luthor: “How do I stop this…? If I show power, if I reveal anything... She’ll know. They’ll know. Everyone will.”

The forest shifts.

Footsteps, soft but deliberate, approach through the smoke.

A new voice emerges:

??? “What the hell are you doing, Magna?”

Luthor freezes.

His stomach drops.

Luthor: “That voice… Alexei…?”

Alexei’s silhouette materializes—cold, stoic, untouched by the heat or the screams.

Alexei: “I asked you a question, Magna.”

Magna turns, irritated, like a predator interrupted.

Magna: “Alex… relax. I was just about to enjoy my meal.”

Luthor’s breath catches.

He feels nauseous.

Alexei doesn’t rage.

He doesn’t condemn.

He doesn’t even look disturbed.

He’s bored.

Alexei: “Don’t take too long. We need to save the rest. Noah will complain if we fall behind.”

And then he vanishes into the fog, as if the scene before him was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience.

Magna turns back to Dina.

Magna: “Now… where were we?”

Dina: “Please… I didn’t do anything—why are you—”

Luthor steps back until his spine hits the bark of a tree.

He doesn’t feel the heat anymore.

He feels cold.

Colder than he ever has.

Luthor (in disbelief, voice cracking): “No… that couldn’t have been him. A copy. A doppelganger. Illusion magic—anything.”

His breathing quickens.

Luthor (in disbelief, voice cracking): “Alexei would never… he wouldn’t just walk away. Not from this.”

He shakes his head violently.

Luthor (in disbelief, voice cracking): “That fog… no. I know that fog. I’ve been next to him when he summoned it. I felt that same cold drift roll off him every time. Why didn’t he save her…? Why didn’t he even care…?”

He looks down at his hands—hands that suddenly feel small.

Weak.

Useless.

Luthor: “Do they think they’re untouchable…? Above everything—above everyone…?”

A realization coils in his chest—slow, suffocating, poisonous.

Luthor: “What about me? Were they ever really my friends? Or was I just— Just something to use? A name. A connection. A tool belonging to my parents.”

Luthor: “Heroes… aren’t heroes.”