Mark sat in his desk, setting up his new holographic bracelet, as well as all the other supplies he needed for classes. Since all of his electronics were destroyed during the incident, he was grateful to have his mom buy new ones.

  Chris Silvyr’s voice crackled through the call, steady but carrying a hint of curiosity.

  "Haven't heard from you in a while, Mark. How's recovery going?"

  "It's going. I can't do much physically yet, but at least I can catch up on classes. Good thing it happened early in the semester, so I don’t have too much to make up for. How about you? Haven't heard from you in a while."

  "Yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. And, well, I figured I wouldn’t be much help while you were in the hospital. Daniel filled me in on what happened."

  "So, you must've seen it in the news…"

  "Yeah. Why? You sound… off about it."

  "I saw it happen, Chris. And I don’t think it was random. Something triggered it—an external force," Mark said, his voice firm.

  "Aria and I saw it—someone shot something into his neck. A device. That’s what made him lose control."

  "I've never heard of anything like that. I’ll look into it. If what you’re saying is true, this could be big."

  "You could ask Aria—she noticed more than I did."

  "It’s fine. I’d rather dig into it myself."

  "You still don’t get along with Aria, huh?"

  "We’re just… different. We don’t mix well."

  "Fair enough."

  "Anyway, hope you heal up soon. I gotta get back to work."

  "Yeah, no problem. Take care, Chris."

  "You too. Stay safe."

  The call ended, but the unease remained. He tossed his phone onto the bed and let out a slow breath. Maybe he was overthinking things.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Or maybe he wasn’t thinking enough.

  Later that night, Mark’s phone vibrated with a message from Chris.

  "You need to see this."

  Attached was a link to a live broadcast. The title caught his eye immediately:

  'The Manufactured Crisis – What They Don’t Want You to Know.'

  Mark hesitated before tapping the link. The screen flickered, then settled on the image of a man he instantly recognized—Leon Kestrel, one of the most controversial yet influential voices on ability politics.

  He was a former unbeaten world champion in both ability and non-ability fighting categories. He had started in the non-ability division, honing his physique and skills until he became a powerhouse, eventually transitioning into the ability division. His unique gift—manipulating and releasing physical energy—allowed him to push his body beyond human limits, achieving feats of unparalleled strength, speed, and resilience. This made him highly respected, admired for his sheer discipline and mastery. However, his post-fighting career and outspoken views had turned him into a polarizing figure.

  His piercing gaze locked onto the camera as he spoke, his voice steady but charged with conviction.

  Behind him, a massive screen displayed uncensored footage—Alexander’s breakdown, the moment his body convulsed, veins glowing unnaturally. Slow-motion replays zoomed in on the moment a small, metallic dart embedded itself into his neck. The instant it hit, his entire body spasmed, and his abilities spiraled out of control.

  Leon continued. "This isn’t an accident. This isn’t some tragic case of a soldier losing control. This is manufactured. Someone—some group—is testing these devices on ability users. And the ASTF? They were caught off guard, just like everyone else. They don’t understand it, so they fall back on the only response they know—containment through force. But that doesn’t make what happened justifiable."

  Mark’s breath hitched as the next clip played.

  Another recording surfaced, mirroring the same pattern—a different individual, injected with the same device, suddenly turning uncontrollable, wreaking havoc on people and infrastructure. The narrative was clear—these incidents weren’t spontaneous. They were orchestrated to create fear, to justify additional regulations and tighter government control.

  Leon turned back to the camera.

  "We’ve spent months building something bigger than ourselves. A network of those who refuse to be controlled, who refuse to let fear dictate their lives. If you’ve ever felt trapped, like the walls are closing in, you’re not alone. The Vanguard exists for those who want out—those who want freedom. We are not here to play politics. We are not here to beg for change. We take action. We protect our own. And we expose the truth, no matter the cost."

  He leaned forward.

  "They will erase this. They will scrub my name, delete this video, and pretend none of this ever happened. But they can’t silence all of us. We are everywhere. We are growing. And we will not stop. You will hear from us again—sooner than they think."

  The live stream ended.

  Mark stared at the dark screen, heart pounding. The room felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in. A few minutes later it was erased—just like that.

  Like it never existed. He clenched his jaw. Someone wanted him to forget what he saw.

  But he wouldn’t.