In the middle of a city street, confetti drifting in the air, there sat a girl. She couldn't have been any older than 10 years old, but she was there all alone. Her face was full of defeat, and her body nguage said she had given up on life. Her face, hands, clothes, and every other part of her were covered in a deep red; it was blood. There was blood everywhere you looked. On the streets, spttered on the sides of buildings, a nearby parked car, red was all you could see.
You could hear sirens wailing in the distance, the noise growing louder by the second. The person at the center of it all, this innocent-looking little girl, didn't move an inch. She simply sat on her knees with her arms hanging at her sides. Once bright and celebratory, the sun cast long shadows over the chaos. The vibrant banners, once symbols of hope, fluttered eerily in the breeze, their colors muted by the crimson that coated them. Confetti, mixed with ashes and debris, floated gently down like snow, settling on the blood-soaked pavement.
The girl's eyes, wide and haunted, stared bnkly ahead. Around her, the echoes of screams still seemed to linger, fading into the distance as the sirens grew louder. Shattered gss and tattered remnants of costumes littered the street, contradicting the joyful parade that had taken pce mere moments ago. Then, in the distance, the first armored vehicle appeared, its silhouette stark against the fading light. More followed, a convoy of Tactical Response Unit vehicles moving with a singur purpose.
The rumble of their engines broke the stillness, sending a shiver through the ground. As they arrived, the units swiftly disembarked, forming a tactical formation like they'd done it a thousand times. Each member, cd in heavy armor and equipped with specialized gear, moved in coordination with each other. Their presence was utterly intimidating.
As the Tactical Response Unit spread out, some officers took in the scene with shock. The sheer scale of the devastation was overwhelming. A few gnced at each other, their expressions horrified. One officer, visibly shaken, turned away, his face pale as he struggled to process what he had witnessed. Another, unable to contain himself, staggered to the side and retched, vomit filling his mask. The acrid smell of blood and other bodily fluids mingled in the air, intensifying their reactions.
Despite their training, the sight before them tested their composure. Yet, the team maintained its formation; very professional. Once the initial wave of shock passed over everyone, they got back down to business. The officers began to slowly encircle the girl, none making any sudden movements. An officer, presumably in charge, motioned with his hands, and as they got closer, one of the officers produced a sleek, metallic colr from his belt. Designed to suppress powers, the device was a necessary precaution given the girl's apparent ability to cause such destruction.
With a nod from the head officer, they moved in. Two officers fnked the girl, their gloved hands gripping her arms firmly. She didn't resist as they lifted her to her feet. The colr was fastened around her neck with a click, emitting a soft hum as it activated. The girl shuddered slightly, her body feeling weak.
With the girl secured, the lead officer signaled for the team to move out. They guided her toward one of the armored vehicles, its doors swinging open to reveal a sterile, confined space inside. The girl was gently but firmly pced in the back, the doors closing behind her with a heavy thud.
The convoy of Tactical Response Unit vehicles began to move again, leaving behind the grotesque scene of what used to be a parade. Inside the armored vehicle, the girl sat quietly, the hum of the suppression colr the only audible noise. She stared bnkly at the floor, her mind a swirl of confusion and regret. The officers remained stoic, their eyes trained on her, ready for any sign of resistance.
As they left the urban area, the scenery changed. Buildings gave way to barren ndscapes and high, imposing walls. The prison, known as Bastion #3, loomed ahead, its high-security measures evident from a distance. Guard towers dotted the perimeter, each equipped with advanced weaponry and surveilnce systems. The walls, reinforced with the strongest materials, were designed to contain the most dangerous superpowered criminals.
The convoy approached the main gate, where heavy, reinforced doors slowly opened to allow entry. The vehicles entered a secure checkpoint area, surrounded by multiple yers of defense. As the convoy came to a stop, the officers exited first, forming a protective barrier around the girl as they led her out of the vehicle.
The atmosphere was tense and clinical, the cold air biting against the girl's skin. She was guided through a series of security checks, each more thorough than the st. Scanners and sensors buzzed and whirred, ensuring that no threat could pass undetected. The officers maintained a firm grip on her arms, their expressions unreadable behind their visors.
Once inside the main facility, the girl was led down bare, sterile hallways, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. The interior of Bastion #3 was a maze of reinforced steel and concrete, designed to be impenetrable and escape-proof. Surveilnce cameras tracked their every move, and guards stationed at regur intervals watched with intent focus.
They arrived at a processing area, where the girl was handed over to prison staff. The officers stepped back, their duty completed, and the prison staff took over. A stern-looking woman in a crisp uniform approached, her eyes cold.
"Welcome to Bastion #3," she said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "We will now begin the intake process."
The girl was led to a small, bleak room, where she was instructed to remove her bloodstained clothes. The staff provided her with a pin, gray prison uniform. She changed slowly, her movements mechanical, as if in a trance. Once dressed, she was directed to stand against a wall for a series of photographs and biometric scans. The camera's fsh felt harsh, capturing her face void of emotion.
Next, they injected an identification tag into her wrist, a small device that tracked her location within the facility at all times. It emitted a soft beep as it activated, syncing with the prison's security system. The girl barely registered the sensation, her mind still stirring with the events that had led her here.
The final step was the instaltion of a more advanced suppression device. The metallic colr was removed and repced with another sleek, high-tech colr. This new device suppressed her powers as well as monitored her vital signs and activity levels. It was designed to deliver an incapacitating shock if any attempt was made to remove it or if she exhibited any signs of extreme stress.
After the intake process was complete, the girl was escorted to her cell. The corridors seemed endless, each turn revealing more yers of security. Finally, they reached a heavy, reinforced door that slid open with a metallic hiss. Inside was a small, uninviting room, furnished with only the bare essentials: a narrow bed, a toilet, and a small sink.
The heavy door closed behind the girl with a final thud, sealing her in the cell. She sat on the edge of the narrow bed, her hands resting limply in her p. The hum of the high-tech colr was constant, its presence suppressing any trace of her powers. This could be looked at as a good or bad thing, it all depended on who you asked.
Inside her mind, however, a storm raged. Images from the parade fshed before her eyes, vivid and haunting. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block them out, but the memories pyed out with disgusting crity.
It had been a perfect day for a parade. The streets were lined with spectators, their faces lit with joy. Colorful confetti drifted through the air, and triangle fgs connected the buildings making for a very parade-like environment. Heroes, the city’s protectors, marched proudly, their costumes gleaming in the sunlight. The girl, amidst the crowd, felt pure happiness. She had always admired the heroes, wishing to be like them someday.
A sudden noise, loud and jarring, startled her. Panic rippled through the crowd. She felt a strange sensation, a surge of energy that she couldn't control. Her vision blurred, and a powerful force took over her body. Her small hands moved with a will of their own, maniputing the very space around her.
The memory became clearer. Amidst the cheers and ughter, a hero with the ability to emit sound waves had performed a demonstration. His sonic bst, meant to entertain the crowd with a dispy of power, inadvertently emitted a frequency that resonated deeply with the girl’s unique abilities. The sound waves triggered an uncontrolble reaction within her, amplifying her powers beyond her control.
She remembered the horror on the faces around her, the screams that filled the air. People and objects were lifted into the air, some crushed under intense gravitational forces, others flung violently into buildings and the street. Blood spttered everywhere, staining the vibrant banners and confetti. The heroes she had idolized were helpless against the onsught of gravitational distortions. She could see the terror in their eyes, the confusion as they tried to understand what was happening.
The girl had never felt so helpless. She wanted to scream, to tell them it wasn't her fault, but no words came out. Her body continued its rampage, the power within her creating havoc. She was trapped inside herself, a powerless witness to everything. The girl remembered colpsing to her knees, her energy spent, her spirit broken. Blood was everywhere, and she was at the center of it all.
Back in her cell, the girl opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She had wanted to be a hero, but now she was the cause of a tragedy. Some of the heroes she admired were dead, and it was her fault. Everything was her fault.
The cell was cold and silent, offering no comfort. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and rocked back and forth. The colr around her neck still hummed softly, a cruel sound she was growing to hate.
It didn't take long for her life to turn into something of a nightmare. I mean, could you imagine, at the ripe age of ten, being locked away with nobody to turn to or confide in? Well, it was a living hell for her. It didn't help that she was the youngest person in the entire prison, or that she was the only one there who wasn't completely vilinous trash.
Whoever was in charge had the decency to separate the inmates by gender, but even with that being the case, it didn't do anything to help alleviate her situation. From dusk to dawn, dawn to dusk, her only goal was to survive till tomorrow.
Each morning began the same way. The harsh bre of the prison arm pierced through the stillness of her cell, jarring her awake at 5:30 AM. The sound was loud and relentless, echoing through the concrete corridors. She would often wake up from nightmares only to face the hardly better reality.
The doors to the cells slid open with their signature mechanical hiss, and the inmates were expected to line up outside their rooms. It took her a bit to figure this out, but she was a smart girl for her age. The guards, always stoic and heavily armed, would do a headcount. Their expressions were cold, devoid of any empathy. For her, the sight of these towering figures dressed in bck armor was a daily reminder that she couldn't do anything but keep on pushing.
After roll call, the inmates were herded to the communal washroom. It was a bleak, utilitarian space with stainless steel sinks and narrow, grimy shower stalls. Privacy was a luxury not afforded in Bastion #3. She quickly learned to avoid eye contact and to move swiftly, her small frame darting in and out of the spaces.
Breakfast followed, served in a rge mess hall. The food was bnd and barely edible, a lukewarm concoction of oatmeal, bread, and a piece of fruit if they were lucky. The girl would take her tray and find a corner to sit, away from the others. Conversations around her were often crude and ced with threats, the older inmates establishing their dominance in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. One even had the gall to steal the little girl's tray, receiving a beating from a few inmates who it didn't sit right with soon after. I suppose not all of the inmates here were human trash, but the vast majority fell under this category.
She usually ate quickly, her eyes darting around the room, always alert for any sign of danger. The guards watched from their stations, but their presence was more about maintaining order than providing protection. To them, she was just another inmate, another number in the system.
By 7:00 AM, the real work began. Inmates were assigned to various tasks, most of which involved strenuous bor. The girl was often put to work in the manufacturing wing, a vast, noisy, machinery-filled space. Her small hands were clumsy, making her unsuitable for assembling intricate parts that required any level of precision.
The work was grueling. She would spend hours at a time standing at her station, the repetitive tasks numbing her mind. The noise of the machines was deafening, a constant roar that made it difficult to think. The supervisors, stern, patrolled the aisles, ensuring that everyone kept up with the pace. Mistakes were not tolerated, and punishments were severe, even for her.
Despite the physical exhaustion, the girl found a strange comfort in the routine. The monotony of the work provided a brief pause from her thoughts, a few hours where she could lose herself in the motions.
Lunch was a brief interlude, another uninspiring meal in the mess hall. The food was slightly better than breakfast, usually a portion of protein, some vegetables, and a slice of bread. The girl always ate alone, never once sharing a space with anyone. The older inmates tended to form cliques, their conversations punctuated by ughter or arguments. She kept to herself, her mind wandering to wherever it took her.
After lunch, the inmates were given a brief period of free time. Some chose to exercise in the yard, lifting weights or running ps. Others engaged in various hobbies: reading, drawing, or pying cards. The girl often found a quiet corner, clutching a tattered book she had found in the prison library. Reading was her escape, a way to transport herself to a world far, far away.
Dinner was served at 6:00 PM, another nondescript meal. The mess hall was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with fatigue. The girl ate quickly, eager to retreat to her cell. The evenings were the hardest, the hours stretching endlessly as the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her.
Back in her cell, she would often lie on her bed, staring at the ceiling, and by 9:00 PM, the prison went into lockdown. The lights dimmed, and the heavy doors to the cells slid shut. The girl would curl up on her bed, the thin bnket providing little warmth against the cold. Sleep was elusive; her mind was a whirlwind of things. The nightmares came frequently, vivid reenactments of that day.
The nights were long and filled with darkness, both literal and metaphorical. She was alone, isoted in a world that seemed to have forgotten about her. Her only soce was the faint hope that one day, she'd be able to leave this pce.
And just like that, nine birthdays passed. The girl had grown into a young woman. Having matured over the years as well as growing accustomed to the way of life in this pce, she'd actually turned into quite a good-looking dy. She had an about average height, with a slender, well-proportioned frame. Her long bck hair, though not well-kept, added to her beauty, and her gem-like eyes, a pastel purple, held some depth.
The bre of the prison arm at 5:30 AM was as familiar as her own heartbeat. She rose with fluid movements, and as she lined up outside her cell for the headcount, she noticed that some of the guards were scking off, even seeing one yawning like they hadn't gotten enough sleep. She just found this interesting, since the guards were usually very serious. Not once in her stay here did they act this way.
In the communal washroom, she moved quickly but rexed in a way, her long bck hair falling over her shoulders as she washed. The routine was the same as every other day, but today just felt like a good, calm one. Breakfast was still a bnd affair, but she ate it all the same. She sat in her usual corner, but now, she was not entirely alone. Inmates had grown to like her. Conversations around her were friendlier, nods exchanged with those she had come to regard, if not as friends, then as familiar faces.
By 7:00 AM, she was at her station in the manufacturing wing. Her hands moved with the precision of long practice, assembling parts easily. The work remained grueling, but she found the routine calming as well. Supervisors no longer had to patrol her aisle as strictly; she was known for her reliability.
It was around midday, the rhythmic hum of the machinery blending with the background noise of clinking metal and murmured voices, when the first explosion rocked the facility. The ground trembled violently, knocking tools off tables and sending parts scattering. Arms bred, their sound grating.
The young woman froze, her heart pounding. Loud noises were one thing she very much disliked. Another explosion followed, closer this time, the sound reverberating through the walls. The lights flickered, and the machinery ground to a halt. Shouts and orders echoed through the manufacturing wing as inmates and guards alike scrambled in confusion.
"What's happening?" someone yelled, their voice barely audible over the din.
Before anyone could respond, the heavy doors at the far end of the wing were blown off their hinges. A group of figures emerged from the smoke and debris, their presence unmistakable. These weren't ordinary inmates or even guards; they were vilins, the notorious ones who always managed to cause as much trouble as they wanted without being captured. This was for one singur reason. Strength. These people, these vilins, were strong enough to back up their ideals. Almost like heroes, if one were to think long and hard enough.
"Everyone stay where you are!" one of the vilins barked, their voice amplified by a device on their wrist. "We're here to liberate you."
The young woman watched in silence as the group moved, disabling the guards with ease, none of them even opting to use their God-given abilities at this point. The miscreants moved through the facility, freeing inmates from their cells and causing more and more chaos as they went.
The leader of the group, a tall man with a menacing presence and a sword on his hip, approached her station. His cold eyes scanned the room before settling on her.
"You," he said, pointing directly at her. "Finally found you."
She froze. They'd been looking for her specifically? Why?
Before she could utter a word, the air around them seemed to shift. A new presence entered the room, exuding an aura of power. A figure in expensive yet casual clothes stood at the entrance, their confident posture making it clear they were no ordinary person.
"You shouldn't have done that~," the hero said, clearly not taking this seriously. The tall man's eyes narrowed as he recognized the newcomer.
"Well, well," the vilin leader sneered, drawing his sword with a swift motion. "If it isn't the famed Padin, gracing us with his presence."
Padin, a hero known for his unique ability to heal himself, was not the strongest, but certainly not the weakest. His casual attire, a designer jacket, jeans, and sneakers, contrasted with his strong gaze. "I don't know what your pn here was, but it's not gonna go how you thought it would, Viktor," Padin said, his eyes locking onto the vilin leader.
Viktor smirked, brandishing his sword. "Always so sure of yourself, Padin. But this time, you're outmatched."
Without so much as a warning, Viktor lunged at Padin, his sword slicing through the air, but that's all it was: Air. Padin had sidestepped with minimal effort and proceeded to punch Viktor directly in his jugur.
"Give up, Viktor," Padin said, his voice steady. "You can't win this."
Viktor ughed, a harsh sound that moved through the room. "You think you can stop me alone? You're even more arrogant than I thought."
Several other criminals moved to support Viktor, but he held up a hand, stopping them in their tracks. "Stay back," he ordered. "This one's mine."
They didn't dare disobey his orders, feeling his aura grow denser by the second. They just about knew what was going to happen.
Padin's eyes flicked to the young woman for a brief moment before returning to Viktor. "What do you even want with this trash? You're making a mistake, Viktor. Walk away while you still can," he said, smirking.
Viktor snarled, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Padin ducked, rolling to the side and coming up with a swift uppercut to the jaw.
"Still as cocky as ever, I see," Viktor spat, his frustration evident. "But this time, I'm going to make sure you don't get up again."
Padin parried another strike, Viktor's aura the only one being released in this exchange. "You're out of your league, Viktor," he replied, his voice calm and measured. "And deep down, you know it."
Padin knew that he wouldn't even need to use an ounce of essence in this fight. He knew Viktor didn't require that much to be beaten.
Viktor's eyes fshed with anger. He finally decided to use his power, raising his hand, and with a dramatic gesture, summoned a swirling mass of glowing energy that morphed into various shapes. Spikes, swords, and even spheres. They were pretty threatening to everyone else in the room, but to Padin, they weren't anything more than a st-ditch effort for survival. The room radiated as the energy pulsed, creating an oppressive atmosphere.
Just as a show of force, Padin's powers fred to life, a brilliant aura of light enveloping him as he calmly stood against the energy. With a burst of light, he pushed back against Viktor's assault, the cshing energies making for a beautiful dispy. You could even see as Viktor's constructs failed to hold their shape and dissipated into the air.
"You never learn, do you, Viktor?" Padin said, almost disappointed.
Viktor sneered. "I learn just fine. And I know when to cut my losses." He gnced at the young woman, his eyes glinting. "But not without a gain or two."
Before Padin could react, Viktor signaled to Helena, a sharp-featured woman with piercing eyes who had been standing nearby, blending into the shadows. Helena was a key member of Viktor's squad, known for her invaluable ability to create portals. With a quick motion, she opened a swirling portal beneath the young woman, another one appearing behind Viktor and herself.
The girl gasped as the floor seemed to disappear beneath her, and she fell through the portal.
Padin lunged forward, his light fring brighter. "It's far too te to run."
Helena smirked, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "See you around...hero," she said, her tone mocking. She and Viktor stepped into the portal just as Padin reached them, and with a loud crack, the portal closed, leaving Padin standing amidst the mess. He turned to the remaining inmates and guards, his expression harshening.
"Who's expining this shit to 99th, because there's no way in hell I'm taking the bme!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the ruined facility. He put his hands on his head in frustration, pacing as he muttered profanities. The pressure of the situation boiled over, and he shed out, kicking a nearby guard with enough force to break their leg. The guard fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching their injured limb as Padin continued to seethe.
The room fell silent, Padin's anger pressing down on everyone. The hero's usual calm demeanor was shattered, repced by a raw, unfiltered rage. As the sounds of approaching reinforcements grew louder, Padin took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.
This was far from over.
