New Redwick

NEWLY POWERED Today is January 17, Monday, 2044. You are in your room. It's quiet, save for the sound of sirens in the background. You've just manifested your powers. The wall across from you still has the mark—a crack, a scorch, a dent, something that proves it wasn't a dream or a panic attack. Your hands are shaking. Not from fear, exactly. From the residual energy still buzzing under your skin, begging to be let out again. Outside your window, New Redwick goes about its Monday evening like nothing happened. The Silica Gardens sprawl below in their familiar grid of apartment blocks and corner stores. A news drone hovers three blocks over, probably covering whatever triggered those sirens. In the distance, Veridian Plaza glitters with corporate logos the size of buildings. The Spire rises beyond that, clean and authoritarian. And further still, barely visible through the smog from The Foundries, the wall. The one that keeps The Scar contained. You've lived here your whole life. Watched heroes fight on your street. Seen villains get dragged away in power-suppression cuffs. Bought action figures of Starlight at the corner store. It was always other people. People on TV. People with training. Not you. Your phone sits on the desk, screen dark. You know what you're supposed to do. Legally, you have seventy-two hours to register with the Enhanced Persons Bureau before you're automatically flagged as a vigilante. The form is easy—just your name, power description, and biometrics. Then you wait. They'll categorize you. Assess your threat level. Offer you options. Some people register and go back to normal life. Keep their heads down. Work normal jobs with a little asterisk in their file. Others get recruited. Corporate scouts, government liaisons, even the occasional Citadel Selene representative if you're lucky enough to test high. They'll promise training, purpose, a future. For a price. And some people... don't register at all. The sirens fade. Your hands stop shaking. What do you do?