The Pretender stood in a bright, empty world.

  Nothing existed beyond an endless field of white, stretching in every direction, depthless and silent, eerily similar to the void. There was no ground, no sky—only presence.

  Something formed ahead.

  A silhouette emerged from the brilliance, shaped like a person but composed entirely of white light. Small. Featureless.

  A child.

  The child giggled, the sound clear and alive, and began to run in loose, joyful circles, feet never quite touching anything at all.

  Two more figures appeared beside it. One tall and broad. The other is slender and gentle in outline. Father and mother, their forms simple yet unmistakable.

  The child ran to the mother and wrapped tiny arms around her. The father placed a hand on the child’s head, steady and protective. The three clasped hands, light touching light, and walked away together, fading slowly into the white.

  The Pretender watched them go.

  Something unfamiliar stirred in her chest. Warmth. A quiet ache. Whoever—or whatever—that light was, the sight of it made something inside her bloom, soft and fragile.

  Then the world broke.

  Clang. Clang. Clang.Metal struck metal, sharp and rhythmic, cutting through the white like a blade.

  Clang. Clang. Clang.Her eyes snapped open.

  A golden ceiling filled her vision. Polished. Seamless. The light reflecting off it was warm, almost blinding. She inhaled sharply—and froze.

  There was no pain.

  No burning in her lungs. No screaming leg. No broken ribs. Her body felt whole. New. As if nothing had ever touched it.

  Clang. Clang. Clang.

  She pushed herself upright.

  Gold surrounded her. Walls, floor, bars—everything gleamed, humming faintly with energy. It felt less like a room and more like the inside of a sealed relic. Beside her, Divine lay face-down on the floor, massive frame utterly still, deep in unnatural sleep.

  Clang. Clang. Clang.She turned toward the sound.

  A man stood on the other side of a set of golden bars, tapping them idly with a dented tin cup. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Deep brown skin. Warm but sharp features. A neatly trimmed beard framing a strong jaw, blending into a short mustache. Cropped hair. The posture of someone disciplined, practiced—military.

  The garish green undersuit and single-pocket vest made it unmistakable.

  “…You?” the Pretender murmured, her voice rough with disbelief.

  “Rise and shine, soldier,” Havoc said flatly.

  “Wha—what’s going on?!” The Pretender stammered, words spilling in a nervous rush.

  “Havoc’s hands continued their steady rhythm on the bars. “We are back in the white house,” he said flatly. “Our so-called allies tossed us in here.”

  “Wha—why would they do that?” the Pretender asked, unease tightening her chest.

  “They haven’t explained anything. Just asked me to wait until everyone woke up. So I started hitting the bars with this cup to make sure you two didn’t sleep too peacefully,” Havoc replied, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond her.

  A low groan came from beside her. Divine pushed himself up, stretching his huge arms, yawning like nothing had happened. His gaze landed on Havoc, and his confusion erupted into surprise. “Holy shit, there’s a Black guy?!”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Havoc said flatly, indifferent.

  “Divine sputtered, searching for answers. “What the hell is going on here? Where are we? Who are you?”

  His eyes darted to Havoc’s outfit. “Wait a minute… that outfit… The clown—did you rob him for his clothes, you—”

  “I appreciate the concern,” Havoc interrupted, unimpressed.

  “Keep it down,” a woman’s voice cut through, amused but clipped. “How the hell do you still have so much energy?”

  A lanky young woman stepped into view, green jumpsuit, messy red hair framing sharp blue eyes. She seems younger than The Pretender, but she was taller and every gesture she made carried mature confidence.

  Behind her, a bulky man in a red tracksuit appeared. Older—early forties—his dark hair streaked with grey with a mean scar ran along his left cheek. His gloves and sneakers completed the picture of menace.

  “I hope you all had a restful sleep,” he added, his Russian-accented voice was familiar.

  “Divine’s eyes widened in recognition. “Your voice… oh hell no—the commie’s got us!”

  “Think again, dipshit,” the red-haired woman snapped, her Swedish accent sharp and precise.

  “That’s enough,” the Baroness said, stepping forward. Her dress swayed with an authoritative weight, not bothering with any form of pleasantries.

  “Do the three of you have any idea what you did last night?” her gaze slicing through the room.

  The Pretender flinched under it, her mind flashing to the kind woman who’d helped her—who’d seemingly disappeared.

  “What the fuck are y’all talking about?” Divine folded his arms defensively.

  “I was there when you got into the fight, I saw you hurt people and caused unnecessary destruction.” The Baroness answered, her voice stern.

  “You enjoyed hurting them…and worst of all, you got Robert Judd killed.” Disappointment laced her words.

  The Pretender's eyes widened upon hearing the revelation, Divine face meanwhile turned into an offended grimace by the accusations.

  “So that’s why we’re in this cage?” Havoc asked, his voice flat. “You’re afraid we’re going to hurt you?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” the red-haired woman cut in. “No one’s afraid of anyone. We’re just taking safety measures.”

  Divine snapped, “Who the fuck is this bitch?”

  “I’d love to explain, but you wouldn’t fucking get it.” the woman shot back.

  “…666?” the Pretender blurted out, realizing.

  “It’s pronounced Trihexcide, Dolly told me.” she corrected sharply, her accent biting through each syllable.

  “Oh, my apologies, Trihexcide ma’am,” Divine said, dripping with mocking politeness.   “Didn’t know you were just a snotty brat. Now, get us out of this goddamn cage!”

  “We can’t let you out until we can guarantee you aren’t dangerous,” the Baroness said coldly.

  Krov stepped forward, his gaze locking with the Baroness's for a moment before he turned to face the prisoners.

  “Forgive us, comrades.” he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “But we cannot overlook this. The three of you showed your true selves yesterday. You are still a Tyrant despite your lack of memories.”

  “So, you’re keeping us prisoner,” the Pretender said quietly, disappointment lacing her voice.

  “Only until we determine you’re safe to release,” Krov explained. “We will conduct a series of tests to assess your behavior.”

  “Tests?!” Divine exploded. “Do we look like lab rats to you? I don’t know how you commies do things, but we’re not living that shit life here!”

  “Just listen to him,” 666 cut in bluntly.   “He’s the only one willing to hear you out. We would've left you to rot if it weren't for him.”

  The Pretender and Divine stiffened at the veiled threat.

  “Isn’t that unfair?” Havoc spoke up, his tone flat but with a hint of challenge.

  “The three of us have to take a test, but you three don’t,” Havoc pressed.

  “The only reason you have to take the test is because you’ve proven to be dangerous. It’s nothing personal, comrade.” Krov answered firmly.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Do the three of you even know the full story?” Havoc asked, his voice steady. “For all you know, we were just defending ourselves and things got out of hand.”

  “Yeah, that’s right — the black man’s got a point,” Divine jumped in and jabbed a finger at the Pretender

  “The only reason we even got in that fight was ‘cause she’s too damn slow and got her tail caught between her legs.”

  “We were trying save her sorry ass when…” Divine’s words faltered. He frowned, brow furrowing. “…When we… uh…” He blinked, struggling to find the right word. “Shit, what happened after that?!”

  “I… can’t remember. And you weren’t supposed to reveal that we don’t know,” Havoc said flatly. “You ruined the plan.”

  “What?! What plan?!” Divine snapped.

  Havoc sighed, “…Never mind.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” 666 cut in, her voice sharp. “You went insane, started spouting slurs, then you fucking destroyed the entire place and took Robert Judd with you.”

  “No!” The Pretender’s voice suddenly rose.

  All eyes turned to her, surprised by the force of her words.

  “I remember something else,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she hesitated under their stares.

  “I was still awake before… before…” She glanced nervously at Havoc and Divine.

  “...You two were supposed to be dead. I saw you both get shot in the head. I got shot too — in the leg.” She looked down at her leg, as though seeing the wound again. “It was all bloodied… I tried to crawl away… but then, a giant appeared and stepped on us.”

  The group exchanged glances, each one silently considering her story. It sounded crazy—like a child’s wild imagination. But they knew better.

  “My memory’s a bit hazy after that…” the Pretender continued, her voice quieter,

  “but I remember you were dancing.” She looked cautiously at Havoc.

  “And someone else appeared,” the Pretender said, her gaze distant. “I don’t know who, but I think he was a hero. He killed you… and then he attacked me…That’s all I can remember.”

  The room fell silent as everyone processed the story. The weight of the Pretender’s words hung in the air, unanswered questions swirling around them all.

  “Interesting,” Krov muttered, rubbing his chin.

  “If that’s the case,” he continued, his voice thoughtful, “there’s a possibility your past persona as The Tyrants are resurfacing in moments of death. Replacing our current self as a defense mechanism. Fascinating…”

  The others fell silent, contemplating the theory. No one had anything to add.

  “If that’s true,” Havoc interjected,

  “then putting the three of you in the exact same situation we went through would most likely lead to the same results—which means you’re just as dangerous as us.”

  “That's right!” Divine beamed, excited by the revelation not realizing the serious implications.

  “You ain’t got no damn excuses now! Open up this dang cage!!” Divine barked at his captors.

  “No,” the Baroness said firmly, turning away. “We need to discuss this first. Privately.”

  “Fuck you!” Divine snapped. “I want out now!”

  The Baroness ignored him, already striding away.

  “Wait, please!” the Pretender called out, her voice urgent enough to make the Baroness halt on her heels. “Can you… please tell us what you found? Did Robert Judd tell you anything about what happened to us? Did we actually do… what they said we did?”

  The Baroness looks at 666 for a moment, as if discussing whether to tell her or not.

  666 finally let out a long, frustrated sigh.  "The only thing we got from our little heist was terabytes of porn and trivia about Victory,” she muttered, annoyance clear in her tone.

  “Victory didn’t kill us,” the Baroness replied over her shoulder, her voice calm but sharp.

  “It was a collective effort from other heroes, countries military. The only lie is the claim that he did it alone. That narrative was built to make Victory a martyr.”

  “Is that it?” Havoc asked, disappointment heavy in his voice.

  “Unfortunately, comrade… that’s all we managed to acquire yesterday,” Krov said solemnly.

  “I do not want to say we did it all for nothing, but…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  “It is what it is,” 666 finished for him.

  The Pretender swallowed hard, her mind racing with dark thoughts. She can feel herself becoming more uncertain that she first woke up with the rest.

  The Baroness’s heels echoed as she resumed her exit. 666 and Krov exchanged a brief glance before following her, leaving the Pretender, Divine, and Havoc behind.

  Krov looked back one last time. “Many apologies, comrades. We’ll return as soon as possible.” He turned, walking away, 666 following without a backward glance.

  “Hmph,” Havoc said, voice monotone but with a trace of satisfaction. “I think that discussion went well.”

  --------

  The Oval Office felt a little too empty now.

  Leaning back in the leather chair, the Baroness took a slow sip of whiskey. She exhaled sharply, eyes fixed on the two standing across from her in the dimly lit room.

  “This keeps getting more complicated than I hoped,” the Baroness said, setting the glass down with a soft clink.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” 666 replied, her voice steady. “We take whatever we want, leave, and never look back.” She smirked knowingly. “I’ll be taking Dolly, of course.”

  “But I wanted Dolly too, comrade,” Krov said, his tone tinged with disappointment.

  “Do not worry, Dr. Krov,” came a cheerful voice from the computer monitor speakers. “You’ll get me on the weekends.”

  “Aww… thank you, comrade Dolly,” Krov murmured, clearly moved.

  “Much appreciated!” Dolly replied brightly.

  The Baroness raised an eyebrow, unamused. “What about the others?”

  “Up to you,” 666 said casually, shrugging. “Leave them in the cage, or whatever. Let them figure it out themselves.”

  “I suggest we do not proceed with that plan, comrade,” Krov said seriously. “They’ve seen our faces. They might seek revenge… or worse, revert to their old selves. That would be… problematic.”

  666 shook her head, a faint derisive smile curling her lips. “And you think showing our faces was a better idea?”

  “I thought it would appease their humanity. I believe it did…” Krov’s voice dropped low, almost regretful.

  “Are you seriously already attached to them?” 666 asked incredulously.

  “We are comrades,” Krov replied. “We are connected.”

  “Correction,” 666 said sharply. “We are six people stuck in the same boat, forced to work together to keep it from sinking. The Tyrants? Those are comrades. We aren’t the Tyrants.”

  The Baroness nodded slowly. “I’m fine with letting them go, but not just because you feel we owe it to them. Shared circumstances don’t create obligations.”

  Krov’s eyes widened, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “What—you can’t possibly be thinking that. After everything we went through together?”

  “No one should go through what we did,” the Baroness countered firmly. “The situation we’re in is dangerous. And worst of all… it doesn’t make sense.”

  She exhaled heavily. “I think it’s best if we all go our separate ways and pretend none of this ever happened. Agreed?”

  Krov and 666 exchanged a glance, weighing the truth in her words.

  “Agreed,” they said, their voices weary but resolute.

  The meeting room was vast, silent, and empty. A wall of enormous screens loomed ahead, each displaying the same emblem: a tall, beveled V in lustrous gold, paired with a bold T in vivid crimson. The edges of the letters nearly touched, forming a single, imposing symbol of power.

  Eugene stood before them, his reflection fractured across the glass. The logo stared back from every screen—unblinking, unyielding.

  "Where are the others?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp with frustration. "I need everyone on call—right now!"

  "I have deemed it as unnecessary, given the nature of this meeting," a calm, authoritative voice crackled through the speakers.

  "You answer to me. Now, explain yourself."

  Eugene’s fists tightened at his sides."I’ve told you," he snapped, voice low and dangerous,

  "The Tyrants are alive!"

  A moment of static, followed by a smooth, feminine voice: "Whatever you saw was the work of the Workers Association, Jin. We know they made contact with the Duke’s Family months ago. That explains their newfound power."

  Eugene’s jaw clenched. His hands trembled with barely contained anger. "This is bigger than the Workers Association and the Duke’s Family. We haven’t seen this kind of destruction in twelve years."

  Another long silence followed, heavy and suffocating. The weight of it pressed down on him, making the air feel colder.

  Finally, the first voice returned. "The others have testified on this matter, and we concluded they are too weak and disorganized to be the actual Tyrants."

  "Do not dwell on this further," the man continued, his tone final and commanding. "We will handle it."

  Eugene scoffed bitterly. "Then am I supposed to pretend CycloneMan hasn’t been murdered?"

  "His death was a tragedy," the female voice replied evenly, almost disinterested. "We will let the public know when the time is right."

  A pause. "He will be remembered as a hero—another victim of the Workers Association. Do not tarnish his legacy, or the other heroes who sacrificed themselves by suggesting the Tyrants are alive," the man added coldly, warning.

  "But—" Eugene began, voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief.

  "That is all," the man cut in sharply. Ending the discussion as he pleased.

  "See ya, Jin," the female voice teased, mockery clear even through the static.

  And the screens went black. The emblem vanished into the darkness., leaving only a disappointed reflection of Eugene on the screen.

  Eugene exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging in defeat. His head lowered, and he muttered to the empty room, his voice thick with emotion:

  "Victory… What a joke."

  Divine, Havoc, and the Pretender huddled close inside the golden cage, voices lowered as they whispered urgently to form a plan.

  “Listen up,” Divine murmured, glancing up for any guards beyond the bars. “I know how these folks work. They ain’t lettin’ us outta here till they get what they want.”

  “What do they want?” the Pretender whispered.

  “Money. Power,” Divine said grimly. “That’s how cartels operate. They’ll turn us into super-powered slaves, use our abilities for God knows what—and once they’re done, they’ll sell our body parts on the black market.”

  Havoc frowned. “What makes you think they are a cartel?”

  “You saw who’s in charge—it’s that Mexican woman. The commie and that carrot-head just follow her around like trained dogs.” Divine answer confidently.

  “I… I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” the Pretender said softly. “She’s—she’s kind. And I don’t think she’s Mexican…”

  “Course she’s kind,” Divine snorted. “We’re her cash cows. She plays nice, earns your trust, then snaps the leash. But I see through people like her. Always have. Which is why I know exactly how we’re gettin’ outta here.”

  Havoc raised an eyebrow. “Alright. How?”

  “We beat her up,” Divine said, pointing straight at the Pretender.

  “Wha—?” Her eyes went wide.

  “With how she’s protectin’ you, she clearly sees somethin’ in you we don’t. Maybe you’re the money-maker.”

  Havoc and the Pretender exchanged a look.

  They were thinking the same thing.

  *This man is insane.*

  “We beat you up,” Divine continued, lowering his voice. “Not too bad—just enough to make it look like you’re dyin’. They won’t let that happen. They’ll open the cage to save you. Then we strike.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” the Pretender said flatly.

  “Well, I—” Divine started, then froze as heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.

  “Aw, shit. They’re comin’,” he hissed. “We gotta move now!”

  He stepped forward, fist drawing back.

  The Pretender stumbled away, panic rising as his massive frame loomed over her.

  Divine said in a half-whisper, half-growl. “I’ll make it quick and painless—

  WHACK! Divine grunted, staggered, then collapsed face-first onto the golden floor.

  Without hesitation, Havoc and the Pretender began kicking him while he was down.

  “Argh! Argh! What the fuck are you doing?!” Divine shouted, curling into himself.

  “Proceeding with the plan,” Havoc replied calmly, still kicking.

  “OW! Motherfucker!”

  SKREEEE—CHUNK.The cage door swung open.

  “What are you doing?” the Baroness asked, clearly annoyed.

  “We are ruining your cash cow,” Havoc answered flatly.

  “…What?” The Baroness blinked, then sighed. “You know what—never mind. Come out.”

  “You’re letting us go?” the Pretender asked, stunned.

  “Yes. Now move,” the Baroness said curtly.

  “Arrrgh…” Divine groaned from the floor. “Told you the plan was gonna work.”

  A blonde woman woke up on a park bench early in the morning. Sugarlumps were back to normal. She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings.

  *How the fuck did I end up here?*

  Looking down, she realized she was wearing a pink tracksuit.

  “What the fuck?” She stared at it, more confused than ever.

  *I must’ve been hella drunk last night…* She tried to recall anything from the previous night, but her mind was blank. Her head didn’t throb, though—no hangover, no grogginess. Strange.

  She groaned. “I really need to stop answering that old man’s calls. Fuck him.”

  Reaching into her pockets, she pulled out a watch-like device and a small red card. The card read: Get well soon.

  A child had drawn a red mummy, a green clown, and a gray goblin—or was it a demon? She couldn’t tell, but they all are giving her a thumbs up.

  Just then, her watch buzzed.

  You have received money in your bank account.

  She tapped the notification, eyes widening.

  She’s rich.