Caspar slouched over as he sat in his study, he felt the weight of the world press down on his broad shoulders. The room was his sanctuary, his escape from reality when he needed a sliver of control. Old books and yellowed paper were in every corner, the paper cracked and bindings broken. Every 'one' piece was a handpicked choice.
Sunlight sliced through the thick curtains, casting uneven stips of light across the room. On his desk, was a framed picture of him, his wife, and a much younger Emery, all frozen in carefree moments. She had a gap-toothed grin back then, it made his chest hurt. Before she took up the suit.
The clock was ticking behind him mercilessly. Every ticking second was a countdown to another disaster. The SCRA was understaffed and was plagued by its own–cliques, politics, and power-hungry agents too busy licking their own asses to solve a thing. And Him? He was reluctant to be their anchor; they had tried prodding him as the city's number one hero.
A position he had no interest in. His own agency, Paragons of Pacifica wasn’t keen on it, whether for better or for worse sentiments.
His fingers tightened around his ceramic mug. AN old declassified newspaper he had haggled from the Pacifica Intelligence Agency in his hands. The paper was crinkling and was smudged by countless flipping and decay. He scanned for patterns, anything–a date, a name, a town. His legs tapped anxiously on the floor as he accidentally chipped the rim of his mug with his strength.
Then he saw it.
“Taahoo Hollow.”
The name hit him like a hammer, a place close to where he grew up, now dragged away from the light, and memory holed out of existence. The mug trembled in his hand. The crack spiraled outwards. He took a deep breath, putting the mug down with the sensitivity of a bomb technician, he pressed his arms on the desk.
Stay calm Caspar.
His powers were as much a curse as it was a gift. Super strength, super speed, durability—it all felt so redundant when his own body rebelled against him. Even holding a goddamn coffee mug required him to measure his strength by a tight margin. Control, control, control. Flying and punching people was easy? His powers flowed there like they wanted him to battle. It was when he wanted to live life, that it became hard.
The coffee was ice-cold when he sipped, he didn’t mind. Eyes locked on passages of text.
His door creaked open.
Rosemarie stepped inside, her presence soothed his tension. His breathing lightened. She wore a simple sundress, the casual kind he loved, her brown hair was loosely tied back. She had a warmth around, her that cut through the unnatural anger he felt.
“Still obsessing over those ancient scraps?” she teased, leaning over him. Her voice was light and playful, but there was a thread of concern woven into it.
He couldn’t afford to stop.
Caspar forced a faint smile. “Just… catching up on history,” he murmured, his voice low and distant. “Personal history.”
Her hand found his shoulder, kneading gently at the tension that had built up there. “You’re still having those dreams, aren’t you?”
He nodded, the movement barely perceptible.
“You never want to talk about them.”
He shook his head, swallowing hard. “I can’t. I get... frustrated. You know how it is.”
She sighed, her fingers brushing his temple in a quiet gesture of understanding. She knew better than to push when he was like this.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said softly. “There’s something my parents need help with later, so I’ll be gone most of the day. Don’t forget to eat, alright?”
“I’ll try to swing by if I’m not preoccupied,” he said.
Probably not likely, but she knew that.
She stood around for a minute longer, then when she finally left, the cold crept back in, and his muscles tightened again. The warmth was gone.
His attention flipped to an article, they grew up near a farm between two towns– one was Taahoo Hollow. The other he couldn’t remember. He kept flipping through the pages with an urgent drive, switching from one paper to another.
One strange case happened 25 years ago. Several ‘gifted children’ were just gone. An entire class disappeared, gone like the wind. The teacher was found dead. Parents, scared and mad. The government investigation yielded little results. A month later a quarter of the town had burned down in inferno. An unnatural fire they had called it.
His mind went back to when he was a six-year-old boy, he and his brother were working on his Pa’s farm.
He remembered the glowing embers and the smell of town cooking. His father had forced them into the house, slammed the door shut, and rode off towards the fire. Hiding them like the fire was a monster.
A monster?
Juniper.
Her name tickled the edge of his mind.
He was afraid, for her and of her. Of what she could become. She already carried three powers to his knowledge, he knew of them through footage and Emery’s accounts. She was in an unstable position for her age. Both of their parents were sent to the labor camps during the revolution.
There was a chance they were still out there in the outskirts, under military supervision. The military branch of the government never eased the penalties on the prisoners. They were kept from the public eye.
Perhaps if they were alive, he could use them as leverage against her. He shook his head.
No, Caspar, he who wishes to fight monsters should not…
Hundreds of blood-soaked corpses flashed in his head. Men, women, and even ch–
“Fuck!” he swore silently.
It was a slaughter that should never have taken place. His jaw was clenched, eyes squeezed shut, as he remembered it in detail.
He didn’t believe the girl was bad, he was just scared she would end the same way the copykiller. One wrong day, and she could spiral out of control, one wrong trigger button. And another disaster for the history books…or lack thereof.”
And Emery. She didn’t come by as often. She was slipping away from them. His broody, bratty little sister in all but blood. Perhaps he’d made a mistake in requesting she investigate Juniper. From what it looks like, she seemed ambivalent about the girl. And he hated that hesitation.
Every high-ranking member of the SCRA and the Paragons has found out about her. They all told him to back off, that she was Arkangeal’s little pet project.
Definitely a would-be killing machine, in the OBB’s devil queen’s hands.
His closest colleagues. Vale. Petal-lance. And M65, They said it was unhealthy, that he was being overly paranoid.
But his reality was so much more grim. He saw the truth, he would speak it. He didn’t want another copy killer.
His eyes landed on the final line of an article, the words ate his chest.
Hundreds gone, reduced to ash.
The door creaked open.
“Cas?” Rosemarie’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.
He didn’t answer immediately, his mind still full of smog, smoke, and flames.
“Cas?” she repeated, stepping closer.
He finally turned to her, forcing another strained smile. “Yeah, I’m here.”
He blinked the words on the papers before him blurring into meaningless ink smears. "My ears are open, do you need anything honey?" he asked, his voice distant, still locked away in the darkness.
She tilted her head smiling, but it was that teasing kind of smile, the kind she used when she wanted to coax him out of himself. "So, what do you want for breakfast?"
"The usual," he replied, fingers tapping on the wooden desk.
"The usual," she echoed, mocking his monotonous behavior. "How very exciting."
He tried to force a chuckle, but it came out hollow. She sighs, lighthearted yet carrying something underneath.
"Can you come here for a second? I have something to show you."
"Give me a minute," he said, not looking up. Eyes glued.
"Caspar," her voice dropped, becoming stern at once, like a teacher scolding a student "Now."
His attention snapped to her, and for the first time in what felt like hours, his thoughts slowed. She rarely pushed like this, unless something was wrong.
"Alright, alright," he said with exaggerated exasperation, standing. "No need to be so rude, Mommy."
"Don’t call me that," she said with a laugh, already pulling him close as he reached her. Her arms slid around his waist, doing her best to grab his large frame. Despite being a lean bull, he always felt amazed at how small her bubbly smile made him feel.
“What’s going on?” he asked, much more concerned now. “You don’t get agitated unless something is off.”
She leaned back, taking a good look at him, then pressed her hand gently against her stomach.
He stiffened. “Rosemary?”
Her smile faltered for just a moment, and he felt a dread well up in his chest.
“I didn’t tell you because… well, with my past medical issues…” She hesitated, her hand dwelling on her abdomen. “But I might be pregnant.”
The words hit him like thunder. Time seemed to slow down, the world narrowing until all that existed was her. Her shaking body, her trembling hand.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of disbelief, and something close to hope.
She nodded and pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket. She held it up, a miniature sonogram. The image was fuzzy, barely more than a blur but to him. It was a whole new world, a whole new person.”
“That morning sickness I’ve been complaining about? It wasn’t just bad food,” she said, laughing nervously.
His mind raced. The doctors had told them it was going to be hard, that his altered DNA made conceiving a child improbable, if not impossible. And yet here she was, smiling at him with confidence that just maybe…
“What if…” he started, his voice trembling. “What if something goes wrong again? What if…”
She silenced him with a hand on his cheek. Her hand brushed away a tear he hadn’t noticed he had. “Don’t overthink it and just let yourself be happy. Caspar, we’re going to have a baby. You’re going to be a father”
“I—” His breath stopped, and he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground as carefully as if she were made of porcelain and glass. His strength was a reminder of how much he could break, but this—this was the one thing he wouldn’t let shatter. Every once of control mattered here.
“Caspar,” she whispered into his ear, her voice warm. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said, his words thick with emotion.
It seems that the house may once again draw some life. The silence weighed on them, the emptiness of a home too big for two. There could be more. Maybe two, three, maybe five.
Then their moment broke apart.
His phone vibrated on the desk, intrusive and disturbing. His eyes closed, exhaling slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, as reality set in. He’d be raising a child in this hell world.
The sirens blare in the streets outside. A red alert flashed across every screen in the house, the quiet broken by urgency.
“Attention all available heroes: state of emergency. Immediate response is required. Follow directives and await further instructions.”
“God Dammit!” he shouted.
He confirmed his attendance, on his phone. Every wailing sound stopped in the house, the sirens outside still audible. His heart hammered with panic.
His thumb pressed the green confirmation button, and the call to action spread throughout the house. The TV echoed with wailing alarms, flashing red across the walls like a heartbeat pounding out panic.
Not now. Not today.
It had only been a minute since he was told life-changing news.
“Rosemary,” he called his voice tight, already knowing what he’d see when he turned.
She stood in the doorway, her hands cupping her stomach. Her joy was gone, replaced by the fear he saw every day.
“I know,” she whispered. “Duty calls.”
He moved across the room, in several strides pulling her tightly, pressing his lips to hers, trying to memorize what they had in the moment, to burn it before stepping into the chaos.
“Do not leave the house,” he said, his voice shaking with urgency. “Lock the doors. Contact your parents. You know where my gun is. Use it if—” He stopped himself, choking on the thought. “Just… please. Until this is over. Please. Stay safe.”
He pulled away. Responsibility settled on him like a burden, he tensed, muscles bulging, his shirt stripped off.
The suit waited for him in the wardrobe of his study. It wasn’t just armor or a disguise. But a reminder of how strong he had become and what he had to be. Casper was gone. Caspar smiled, Caspar deserved fatherhood and a beautiful wife.
Aegysthos could have none of those things.
He slipped it on piece by piece, metallic fibers clung to him like a second skin. His human vulnerability faded away, discarded almost.
Rosemary waited in the doorway, observing him with pride and fear.
He lingered around longer than he should have. “If the SCRA did their damn job, this city wouldn’t be a circus.”
Rosemary took a step closer. “Don’t waste time blaming them. Go already. The people need you…” Her voice trailed off, and he turned to her.
“No, I need to be with you right now,” he said, his voice heavily amplified. “This isn’t right.”
She said nothing.
He slid on the helm, it was locked with a gas-powered mechanism, hissing as he unsealed it. Squeezing out the air inside. Aegysthos stood before his wife, posture rigid, muscles underneath the armor.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice vibrating through the helm. “If anything happens—anything—call me.”
Her words came out brittle. “You’re overreacting. Go already,” she said, but her eyes said she wanted him to stay.
He hesitated for one breath, then another, then turned and stepped out of the house.
****
The city from afar was in chaos. Screams of fire. Heroes in his neighborhood were already on the move, silhouettes darting between buildings. He nodded to the few that met his gaze. Camaraderie amongst the violent storm.
The notification pinged on his phone: Central Business Area. Fire. Explosions. Maniacs with flamethrowers.
He launched into the air, but the cold wind didn’t settle his rage.
He was fighting for more than the city. He wasn’t just fighting for strangers and innocents or duty. He was fighting for his wife. For his unborn child.
The future was fragile, he couldn’t let it slip away.
Flames licked hungry at the buildings, consuming everything everywhere. Beneath the smoke of a flaming pillar.
He saw a man using a flame gun, spewing fire as he ran after civilians.
Aegysthos didn’t hesitate.
He landed with a crash, the impact beneath him forming a small crater. The man spun around, weapon raised. He spoke but Aegysthos heard nothing.
Red clouded his vision.
This wasn’t about mercy.
It wasn’t about the rules or the code he’d once held to so tightly.
This was for his family
.
He rushed forward, grabbing the maniac by the throat, and lifting him as the flamethrower fell to the ground.
“You’ve made your last mistake.”
The man struggled, his words choked away.
But Aegysthos didn’t care.
Not today.
The world burned around him.
He needed to make sure his own didn’t.
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