The Paragons Headquarters was a marvel of modern engineering—a towering fortress of steel and glass, embedded with energy-dampening barriers and cloaked in government funding. It stood as a gleaming testament to power, home to the world's most celebrated heroes—the ones who fought when entire civilizations hung in the balance.

  The elite. The untouchable.

  Inside its vast training facility, four figures stood in the heart of a simulated battlefield. The space around them flickered with digital projections, transforming into a crumbling war zone. The simulated cityscape loomed around them, battered ruins shifting as the Paragons’ elite trained for their next mission.

  Timber grinned, gripping the massive battleaxe strapped to his back. The hulking man—all muscle, broad shoulders, and brute force—stood like a walking fortress, towering over his teammates. His thick beard framed his rugged face, and his flannel-inspired suit, designed for durability over style, stretched over his massive frame. Despite its lumberjack aesthetic, the suit was reinforced with lightweight armor, allowing for both movement and the kind of devastating power that only Timber could unleash.

  With a casual roll of his shoulders, he lifted his axe and brought it down onto a reinforced combat dummy.

  The shockwave exploded outward, splitting the synthetic ground beneath him, sending debris scattering in all directions.

  "You’re gonna break the damn floor again," The Tunnel muttered, arms crossed.

  Unlike Timber, The Tunnel was built for movement, not raw power. His brown-and-black suit hugged his lean frame, designed for agility over brute strength. But what made him immediately stand out was his quirky, eccentric appearance—his long, well-kept hair tied into a top knot, paired with a perfectly twirled mustache that gave him a peculiar mix of gentlemanly charm and mischievous trickster energy.

  With a flick of his wrist, a circular portal appeared in front of Timber, shimmering like rippling water.

  Timber barely hesitated before stepping through—disappearing in an instant—only to re-emerge across the battlefield, swinging his axe mid-motion and cleaving through two newly spawned robotic adversaries before they could react. Circuits fried, synthetic bodies collapsed into sparking heaps.

  “Perfect timing as always,” Timber grunted.

  "You’re just predictable," The Tunnel smirked, closing the portal with a snap of his fingers.

  ---

  Above them, Cerberus hovered in mid-air, arms folded across his chest.

  Cerberus looked every bit the soldier. His clean-cut jawline, piercing blue eyes, and imposing build made him the epitome of controlled power. His red suit was pristine, the fabric and armor tailored for both mobility and dominance—military-inspired, no excess flair, only functional strength and authority. His cape flowed behind him, not out of vanity, but because it was part of the uniform.

  His three heads studied the battlefield with cold efficiency. Each one served a purpose:

  The left head, encased in protective metal plating, flickered as it scanned every detail of the battle, calculating strategies in real time.

  The right head, similarly armored, flashed red, releasing a sudden blast of heat vision—incinerating a robotic enemy that had attempted to flank Timber.

  The central head, the dominant one, remained calm, unreadable, his deep-set eyes locked onto Sentience, their AI-powered teammate.

  "Showoff," The Tunnel muttered.

  "Survival skills need improvement," Cerberus remarked, his voice carrying an unshakable authority.

  Across the battlefield, a thin mechanical hum filled the air.

  Sentience stood motionless—until it moved.

  One moment, the AI was completely still, its sleek metallic silver body reflecting the burning ruins around it. The next, it was everywhere.

  A blur of silver and speed, weaving through the battlefield, dodging Timber’s axe swings, stepping just outside of The Tunnel’s portals before they could close around it. Its movements weren’t just fast—they were calculated.

  Adaptive.

  Sentience had no face, only a sleek, humanoid shell with piercing blue optics—eyes that processed millions of calculations in the span of a second. It had been built for war, and though its exterior was human in shape, there was nothing human about its efficiency.

  “Initiating calculated countermeasures,” Sentience droned, its voice monotone, emotionless—yet disturbingly precise.

  Cerberus smirked. "Let's make this interesting."

  The right head’s eyes burned bright, and a searing beam of energy shot forward, cutting through the battlefield like a flaming sword. The heat would have reduced anything in its path to ashes—except Sentience adapted.

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  At the last possible second, Sentience’s arms shifted mid-movement, unfolding into two razor-thin blades. With inhuman precision, it deflected the beam, redirecting it toward The Tunnel.

  The Tunnel barely dodged, diving through his own portal and reappearing ten feet away, shaking his head. “I swear to god, one of these days—”

  “Adapting,” Sentience interrupted, its glowing blue optics locked onto Cerberus.

  Cerberus grinned. He loved a challenge.

  A deep voice crackled over the intercom.

  "Simulation intensifying."

  The environment shifted, the ruins morphing around them. The ground cracked, walls collapsed, the terrain reshaped itself into something new. The training room was no longer just a city—it was now a fully realized war zone, complete with shifting obstacles, incoming drones, and environmental hazards.

  Cerberus cracked his knuckles. "Let's see if we can actually push ourselves today."

  “Agreed.” Sentience’s form flickered, its body shifting into battle mode. “Increasing combat efficiency.”

  The real fight had just begun.

  Meanwhile, Outside Paragons HQ...

  A lone figure stood on the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the gleaming fortress in the distance. The wind blew gently, rustling the long edges of his dark coat.

  His black mask concealed his features, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable—calculated amusement.

  “They think they’re untouchable,” he murmured, his voice smooth, unhurried.

  From this distance, he could barely see them, but he knew what was happening inside. Knew how they trained, how they thought, how they prepared for world-ending threats—while ignoring the people right beneath them.

  Let them enjoy their little training exercises.

  Let them believe they’re prepared.

  A slow smile curled beneath the mask.

  "We'll be ready soon enough."

  With a snap of his fingers, he vanished into the night.

  The battle simulation had ended, the holographic battlefield fading into static before the training room returned to its pristine metallic state. The scent of sweat and burned circuitry still lingered in the air. The last of the combat drones lay dismantled, their sparking limbs twitching weakly on the ground.

  Timber cracked his neck and let out a deep breath. His massive axe was slung over his shoulder, the edges still glowing faintly from the heated battle.

  “Well,” he huffed, glancing around at the wreckage. “That was fun.”

  "Speak for yourself," The Tunnel muttered, brushing some burned fabric from his sleeve where a stray energy blast had singed him. “Some of us don’t get to take hits like a tank.”

  "Adapt," Cerberus stated flatly, hovering above them for a few seconds before lowering himself to the ground, his cape settling around him with precision. The three heads of the Paragons’ leader assessed the aftermath with cold efficiency.

  The central head watched Sentience, its blue optics dimming as the AI hero powered down to standby mode. "The results are acceptable," Sentience droned. "Though I would estimate that in real combat scenarios, a 40% improvement in reaction efficiency is necessary for a complete victory against a variable opponent."

  "Victory is always complete when I'm leading," Cerberus countered, a smirk playing on his lips.

  Timber scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You ever let yourself take a loss, big guy?"

  "Losses don't exist," Cerberus replied smoothly. "Only lessons."

  Timber let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, you really believe your own hype.”

  The Tunnel chuckled too but said nothing.

  Then, casually, Timber added, "By the way… anyone else been hearing about Damaged lately?"

  The room shifted slightly.

  Sentience continued to power down, showing no outward reaction. The Tunnel remained silent, watching the dynamic between Timber and Cerberus unfold.

  Cerberus' central head arched a brow, but it was his right head that spoke—its voice laced with thinly veiled condescension. "Harkin?"

  Timber nodded. "Yeah. The guy's been making some waves. Keeping the streets clean, taking on cases none of us would bother with. Hell, I even fought beside him the other night. He’s the real deal."

  Cerberus' left head exhaled a short, amused breath, while the central head remained impassive. "A street brawler with a pain tolerance? That's what you're impressed by?"

  Timber frowned. "It's more than that, and you know it."

  Cerberus sighed, stepping forward. "He's reckless, unfocused, and unremarkable. Yes, he has some resilience, but let's be honest—he's just a man who gets beat up enough times until it stops affecting him. Hardly a skill. Hardly a hero."

  Timber's jaw clenched. “You’re wrong about him.”

  Cerberus’ central head tilted, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Am I?”

  Timber’s grip on his axe tightened, but he held his ground. "Maybe if you actually stepped outside your goddamn tower, you’d see what he’s doing for the people you ignore.”

  The air felt heavier for a moment. The Tunnel simply watched, waiting for the moment to pass.

  After a few seconds, Cerberus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "We don’t ‘ignore’ anyone, Timber. We prioritize."

  Timber huffed. "Yeah, tell that to the people who don’t have powers strong enough to be worth your time."

  Cerberus didn’t answer immediately. He simply turned, stepping toward the exit.

  “Let the man handle his low-level thugs," he said over his shoulder. "When something real happens, we’ll step in."

  With that, he strode out of the training hall, his cape flowing behind him.

  The Tunnel exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, well… That went well.”

  Timber let out a frustrated grunt, his massive hands tightening into fists. “Arrogant bastard.”

  The Tunnel smirked. “You knew what he was gonna say before you even asked, man.”

  Timber shook his head. “Yeah. I just… expected more from him.”

  The room fell silent for a moment.

  Then, The Tunnel folded his arms. “You really think Damaged is something special?”

  Timber didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

  "Why?"

  Timber exhaled, looking toward the city beyond the reinforced glass of Paragons HQ.

  "Because he’s not doing this for cameras. He’s not doing it for a paycheck. He’s doing it because someone has to.”

  The Tunnel considered that for a moment before shrugging. “Well… guess we’ll see how long he lasts.”

  Timber narrowed his eyes. “I think he’s gonna outlast all of us.”

  The Tunnel let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Man, that’d be one hell of a twist.”

  Neither of them noticed Sentience standing in the corner, watching, its artificial mind processing the conversation in silence.

  Somewhere in its algorithmic calculations, a curiosity was forming.

  Elsewhere…

  The black-masked figure reappeared in the shadows of a ruined warehouse, stepping forward as if the air itself had spat him out. Figures moved in the darkness, some low-level criminals, others something worse.

  The masked man observed them all, watching as more and more disillusioned, overlooked powered individuals gathered in the gloom.

  They were waiting.

  They were listening.

  His voice cut through the silence, calm and confident.

  "The world has forgotten you."

  "The Paragons don’t fight for you. They fight for their reputation, their place at the top."

  Murmurs of agreement spread through the crowd.

  He continued, stepping forward, his presence commanding.

  "But that is going to change."

  He raised his hands.

  "Very soon… they’re going to know exactly who we are."

  The shadows moved.

  The revolution had begun.