Ian didn’t open the door.
He stood quietly behind it, peering through the peephole as a man emerged from apartment 402.
The man was tall, at least six-foot-three.
He walked slowly, still panting heavily, his feet leaving bloody footprints with each step.
Ian’s pupils contracted.
He recognized that face—Shockwave, once the rising star of Vought.
His ability was to release directional Sonic Blasts by clapping his hands.
The power was considerable, enough to flip a pickup truck.
Vought had originally planned to package him as a “neighborhood hero”—born in the streets, protecting the streets, endorsing products for the streets.
Energy drinks, corn chips, cheap sneakers.
Everything was going smoothly.
Until that reality show.
Vought arranged an episode of Super New Generation for Shockwave, having him appear on the program to showcase his abilities, gain fans, and pave the way for his future.
On set, Shockwave clapped three times.
The first two times shattered the prop walls.
The third time, he collapsed straight to the floor, unconscious.
Live broadcast.
No edits.
According to later tabloid reports, Shockwave’s superhuman Sonic Blast far surpassed his physical constitution.
If converted into levels, his sonic ability was LV3, but his physical strength was only LV1—barely stronger than an ordinary human.
Every time he released a Shockwave, the recoil tore at his own internal organs.
He had been pushing through, masking his injuries with painkillers and adrenaline for the sake of his future stardom, until during that show, his right eardrum completely ruptured, his intracranial pressure went haywire, and his body finally gave out.
Four hours after the episode aired, Shockwave’s endorsement contracts were frozen.
The next day, Vought’s legal department sued him for “concealing health conditions, causing damage to the company’s brand image,” demanding astronomical compensation for breach of contract.
On the third day, his apartment was repossessed, his bank accounts were frozen, and his position as the neighborhood hero was revoked.
A week later, posters in Queens were torn down, and drinks bearing his image were pulled from convenience store shelves.
In just one week, he plummeted from rising star to the chopping block.
Did Shockwave kill the old landlady?
Why?
Hallucinations from drug use?
Random venting of social resentment?
Or did the old woman recognize him and say something she shouldn’t have?
But none of that mattered now.
What mattered was that he was now walking toward his door.
The footsteps stopped.
Shockwave stood outside, no more than eight inches away.
Ian had already seen him raise his hands—the signature gesture for releasing a Shockwave.
There was no other way.
Ian gripped the doorknob, tucked the claw hammer behind his back, took a deep breath, and then—
Click.
The lock snapped open.
Ian pulled the door ajar, rubbing his eyes.
He yawned, his voice drowsy: “…What the hell’s all that noise?
Another party downstairs?”
He pushed the door open, pretending to have just been woken up, then stumbled forward half a step as if tripping over his own feet.
Only then did he “notice” Shockwave.
Ian’s eyes widened suddenly, like someone half-asleep seeing something impossible.
He raised his right hand, pointing a trembling index finger at Shockwave’s face.
“Wait…
fuck…
you’re Shockwave!”
Ian’s voice shot up sharply.
He swung the door wide open, stepped directly over the threshold, then reached out with both hands and grabbed Shockwave’s left hand like an overexcited fan.
[Target detected for duplication: Former Vought-registered Supe “Shockwave”]
[Available abilities:]
[1.
Super Physique LV1 (Basic enhancement: slight increase in muscle density, bone strength, and organ resilience)]
[2.
Sonic Blast LV3 (Clapping hands releases directional high-frequency shockwaves, effective range fifteen meters, capable of overturning vehicles)]
“Duplicate Super Physique.” Ian didn’t hesitate.
Sonic Blast LV3 might be powerful, but duplication takes time.
He hadn’t tested his ability yet, not knowing how long LV3 would require—maybe five minutes, maybe half an hour.
He was holding Shockwave’s hand, but that hand could be pulled back at any moment, then clapped to send a shockwave blasting him into the wall.
Survive first, acquire the ability fastest.
He selected duplication in his mind, and a progress bar began to rise.
[0%…1%….2%, estimated time: thirty seconds]
“You’re Shockwave, right?
Shockwave the hero?
God, I can’t believe it, you actually live in this building?
Or are you here on business?
Was that sound just now from you?
Must be keeping the neighborhood safe, I knew having a superhero around would make this dump safe.”
“You know me?”
“Of course!
That ‘Thunder Shock Energy Drink’ you endorsed, I rely on it for my night shifts.
Twelve-ounce can, black and green color scheme, with your clapping pose printed on it—gotta say, that design is fucking awesome.
And ‘Crispy Grain’ corn chips, honey barbecue flavor, that stuff is my absolute favorite.”
Shockwave’s brow furrowed slightly, as if some forgotten memories were rebooting.
“Those things…
got discontinued.” His voice lowered, tinged with self-mockery.
“So I stocked up on a bunch of cases.” Ian grinned, showing his teeth.
“Smart people stock up.
That drink really works, way better than Red Bull.
You’ve got good taste in endorsements, really.”
“I really didn’t expect to run into you here,” Ian babbled like a genuine fan, with a hint of nervousness.
“Everyone living in this building is broke, I mean, I’m broke too, but I always thought superheroes lived in high-rise apartments in Manhattan, or some mansion arranged by Vought—”
“I’m not a superhero anymore.” Shockwave cut him off, his tone hollow and numb.
Ian paused, his smile freezing on his face.
He let go with one hand, scratching the back of his head, his expression shifting from excitement to an awkward, cautious concern.
“…I saw that show.
I mean, everyone saw it.
But it’s not your fault, right?
It’s Vought’s problem, they worked you too hard.
You were injured, they should have let you rest, not forced you on TV—”
“Shut up.”
Shockwave looked at the hand Ian was holding.
It had been too long since anyone said these things to him.
People on the street either didn’t recognize him or ignored him.
Without Vought’s exposure, he was becoming more and more like an ordinary passerby.
“What’s your name?” Shockwave asked.
“Ian.
Ian as in land, silent as in silence.”
“Asian?”
“Chinese-American, to be precise.
I was born here.”
Shockwave grunted.
“Listen, this building isn’t safe tonight.
There’s been a home invasion.
The old lady in 402 is injured, I’ve already called for backup.
Stay in your room, lock the door, and don’t come out no matter what you hear.
Understood?”
“Understood!” Ian nodded.
“Just like in the movies, don’t worry, I won’t be that stupid bystander causing trouble for you.
Honestly, with you here, I feel much safer.
Shockwave.
You’ve always been the hero of our neighborhood.”
Shockwave flashed the standard smile he had practiced repeatedly in front of the mirror for his career and approval ratings, then withdrew his hand.
Ian’s fingers closed briefly on empty air before naturally dropping back to his side.
[Duplication Progress: 89%…..93%]
“Go inside,” Shockwave said.
“Okay, okay.
You stay safe too!” Ian took a step back, retreating over the threshold, and closed the door.
That silly smile still lingered on his face as he watched Shockwave’s face through the peephole, observing every subtle change in his expression.
Shockwave lingered at the door for a moment.
Then he turned and walked toward the stairwell.
Ian breathed a sigh of relief.
Thankfully, from his part-time job at the convenience store, he remembered the products Shockwave had endorsed.
“Better move out as soon as possible.
I can use the saved-up college tuition money.
This dump is just too unsafe.”
Footprints.
Outside the door, Shockwave slowly turned his head.
He had noticed it—a trail of dark red, intermittent bloodstains leading from the open door of 402 to the entrance of 401.
“You saw it!”