At 8:47 PM, San Francisco began to twitch.
Miles Vance was organizing medicinal herbs in the basement of the Renxin Hall when the bulb overhead flickered wildly before bursting with a loud pop.
Shards fell onto the angelica root he had just sorted.
“Great timing,” Miles said.
An exclamation from Uncle Chen echoed from upstairs in the clinic, followed by the screech of car brakes in the street, the clatter of commercial roll-down shutters slamming shut, and distant explosions.
Not bombs—transformer overloads.
Miles closed his eyes.
He fully activated Wall-Piercing Vision.
In his perception, the city’s power grid transformed into a glowing map of neural pathways, but right now, that map was suffering a seizure.
Violent electrical surges rampaged through the cables like a wounded beast, shattering lightbulbs, smoking out appliances, and setting substations ablaze in their wake.
The pulse’s core was moving, tearing from downtown toward the docks.
His phone vibrated.
Miles answered.
“Boss, seeing the night view?” Remy’s voice came through against a backdrop of wailing sirens.
“A citywide blackout show, front-row VIP seats.” “Where are you?” “On a rooftop with a clear view.
It’s not the gangs—they don’t have this kind of juice.
The underground wire says it might be a mutant going nuts, or some new weapon test.” Miles remembered the woman.
Red hair, anxious demeanor, arcs of electricity leaping between her fingers.
“Leslie Willis,” he said.
“The reporter.” “Livewire?
Interesting.
She should be heading toward the docks right now—the epicenter of the energy is shifting that way.” “Rendezvous,” Miles said, grabbing his jacket.
“Send me the exact location.” “Abandoned plaza on the west side of the industrial park.
I can see her now…
Woah, quite a spectacular show.” Miles exited through the back door of the clinic.
The streets were already in total chaos, cars trapped in gridlock as drivers blared their horns.
People stood outside their vehicles making calls, but the cell towers seemed affected too, leaving connections choppy.
He slipped into an alley, avoiding the main roads.
He walked briskly without running.
Running would draw too much attention.
His Wall-Piercing Vision tracked the spectrum of that electrical pulse like a hound on a blood trail.
Twenty minutes later, he reached the edge of the industrial park.
The blackout here was total, without even emergency lights functioning.
The only glow in the pitch-dark was an orange cast across the distant sky—the burning substation.
His phone vibrated.
A text from Remy: *Ten o’clock direction, two hundred meters, the plaza.* Miles climbed through a gap in a chain-link fence and crossed an overgrown lot.
Then he saw her.
In the middle of the abandoned plaza, Leslie Willis hovered three meters above the ground.
Her red hair drifted upward under the static charge like crackling flames.
Thick pythons of electricity wrapped around her body, blue-white arcs snapping violently and illuminating her face, twisted in agony.
She was screaming.
Not words, but pure cathartic fury.
With every shriek, arcs of lightning blasted outward, slamming into nearby metal objects: streetlights, transformer boxes, stripped car frames.
Every strike triggered a small explosion, flashes of fire briefly lighting up the night sky.
“High drama,” Remy’s voice came through the earpiece.
Miles looked up and spotted a silhouette on the factory roof opposite them.
“She’s lost control,” Miles said.
“It’s not intentional destruction.
She can’t contain it.” “Want me to interrupt her?
One ace of spades and she’ll come crashing down.” “No.
A forced interruption could trigger an energy backlash.
She might detonate or go completely berserk.” “So what’s the plan?
Give her a therapy session?” Miles didn’t answer.
He stared at Leslie, analyzing the energy flow.
Wild and chaotic, but with an underlying pattern at its core.
The energy intensity fluctuated with her emotions.
Peak output during rage, slightly lower during pain, unstable during fear.
“Keep watch,” Miles said.
“Cops, fire department, or anything else.
Don’t let anyone get close.” “Copy that.” Miles took a deep breath and adjusted his internal energy frequency.
He activated the Daoyin Technique—not to oppose her, but to simulate.
He calibrated his aura into an exceptionally stable “earth” frequency: thick, grounded, insulating.
Then he stepped forward.
The first arc shot straight at him.
Miles didn’t dodge, letting it strike the ground half a meter in front of him.
The concrete shattered with a tiny crater, spraying gravel against his pant legs.
A second arc, then a third.
The lightning snaked around him like living things, probing, yet unable to make solid contact.
It was as if an invisible force field enveloped Miles, deflecting the electrical energy, grounding it into the earth, or neutralizing it using a trace of Mister Negative’s power.
He stopped twenty meters from Leslie.
“Leslie Willis!” he called out.
His voice wasn’t loud, but infused with a sliver of the Mountain-Shaking Earth-Shattering sonic control technique, it sliced through the electric roar straight into her ears.
Leslie jolted, turning her head.
Her eyes were pure brilliant electrical light, devoid of pupils.
“Your power is formidable,” Miles continued, his tone as steady as if discussing the weather.
“But it’s consuming you.
Currents born of rage will only burn everything down, including yourself.
You need a voltage regulator, not more sparks.” Leslie opened her mouth and let out an inhuman screech.
An arc as thick as a wrist shot directly at Miles.
This time, Miles didn’t deflect it.
He raised his right hand, palm up, and met the bolt head-on.
Contact.
On the rooftop, Remy nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Boss, are you crazy—” The lightning struck Miles’s palm, but there was no explosion, no scorch marks.
Like a tamed viper, it coiled and contracted in his palm, finally coalescing into a docile orb of electricity, fist-sized, hovering quietly.
Leslie’s screech choked off in her throat.
She stared at the ball of light, the madness in her eyes fading, replaced by confusion and longing.
Holding the orb, Miles stepped forward a few paces.
Only ten meters separated them now.
“I can teach you how to control it,” Miles said.
“Make you the master of the current, not its slave.
In exchange, when I need it, I borrow your power.
A partnership—what do you say?
It beats being hunted down like a monster.” Leslie slowly descended until her feet touched the ground.
The lightning around her diminished, though it didn’t vanish entirely.
She stared at Miles, then down at the electric sphere.
“How can you prove…” her voice was raspy, like gravel scraping sandpaper, “…that you can do it?
Why should I trust you?” Remy’s urgent message crackled in the earpiece: “Boss, two o’clock direction, two blocks out.
The Foot Clan is active.
Taking advantage of the citywide blackout, they’re loading those metal crates onto trucks.
Three vehicles, pulling out now.” Miles’s eyes narrowed sharp.
He looked at Leslie.
“Proof?” he said.
“Opportunity just presented itself.
Some rats are trying to loot in the chaos.
Help me stop one of those trucks, and I’ll give you your first lesson: how to make lightning obey you and hit the exact target you choose.” Leslie frowned.
“What truck?” Miles pointed in the direction.
“Over there.
Black modified truck with an enclosed cargo bed.
Can you feel it?
Metal, engines, lots of people moving.” Leslie closed her eyes.
A few seconds later, her eyes snapped open, sparks flashing deep within her pupils.
“I…
I feel it.” “Take out its engine,” Miles said.
“No need to blow it up, just disable it.
Can you do that?
Control the output—target only the engine.” Leslie hesitated briefly, then raised her hand.
Arcs of electricity gathered between her fingers once more, but this time they didn’t discharge wildly.
Biting her lower lip, she focused intently on that distant point.
A thin yet concentrated bolt of lightning shattered the night sky, streaking like a javelin toward the site two blocks away.
There was no explosive blast—only a dull metallic impact and the sputtering cough of a killed engine.
“Nice work,” Miles said.
Remy’s voice came through the comms: “Direct hit!
Truck’s down.
Ninjas are on alert…
they’re sweeping for the origin point.
Boss, I suggest you guys clear out.” Leslie panted, staring down at her hands.
For the first time, she felt control instead of mere wild release.
“Will they find us?” she asked.
“No.” Miles looked toward the rooftop and signaled.
A few seconds later, a series of explosions detonated in the distance.
Cards detonated, creating a distraction.
“Let’s go,” Miles said.
“That’s enough for tonight.
If you want to learn more, tomorrow night at nine, back alley behind the Renxin Hall.
Don’t use the front door.” Leslie stared at him for a few seconds before her body began dissolving into pure electrical light.
“I’ll come back for you,” she said.
“And if I find out you’re lying to me, the next bolt strikes your head.” She vanished, leaving behind the sharp tang of ozone.
Miles turned and left the plaza.
Five minutes later, he met up with Remy at the designated rendezvous point.
“Maximum drama,” Remy leaned against the wall, spinning a playing card between his fingers.
“So, do we have an electric ally now?
Or a ticking time bomb?” “Both,” Miles said.
“How’s the Foot Clan?” “Two trucks got away, but one was left stranded.
I snuck closer during the chaos—there are three crates left in the truck bed that they didn’t get to unload.
The material is definitely unusual, not standard metal.
The symbols match what we saw last time.” Remy handed over a photograph taken with a micro-camera.
Miles took it and looked.
The symbols etched into the crates were intricate and twisted, resembling ancient glyphs yet carrying an underlying mechanical aesthetic.
“Keep investigating,” Miles said, handing the photo back.
“Find the source of these symbols, who the Foot Clan has been dealing with recently, and where they intended to transport these crates.” “And the budget?
High-level intel like this doesn’t come cheap.” “Reimbursed in full.
Cover what you need upfront, and I’ll settle at the end of the month.” Remy whistled.
“I love working for you, Boss.
I’m out.
I’ll report in by phone at noon tomorrow.” He faded into the shadows of the alley.
Miles walked back to the Renxin Hall alone.
The city’s power was slowly returning, lights flickering back on in scattered blocks.
Distant sirens from fire engines and police cruisers echoed through the night air.
Back inside the clinic’s secret chamber, Miles opened his palm.
A tiny arc of electricity leaped from his skin—a sample of energy he had intentionally retained when touching Leslie.
It danced across his fingertips, docile and controlled.
“Electrical power…
emotion…
transformation…” Miles muttered.