Finn's eyes snapped open. He leaned back in his chair, hyperventilating as he tried to recall the remnants of his dream. Or vision. Whatever that had been. By the second, it was already becoming harder and harder to recall. Something about moving forward?

With deliberate slowness, he got up and tried to summon back the memories, go over what he'd seen in his mind. Before long, he already found himself pacing back and forth in his room, ignoring the posters of Central's hero teams.

The details were becoming scarce in his mind, but he tried to focus as best he could. Either he had been more tired than he'd thought, or there was another factor at play. Something beyond his understanding.

Potentially beyond anyone's understanding.

*******

In the murky depths, a boy floated, his limbs moving with a languid grace, a silent dance with the currents. The tide of gray bore down on him, eroding his once-vibrant essence. But amidst the bleakness, a flicker of longing shimmered within his eyes, resembling a distant star begging to be seen.

With a single movement, he surged through the water, a sleek predator chasing an elusive prey, his gaze fixated on the distant shore. The currents recoiled from his fervor, resisting him as if guarding a long-held secret. They whispered caution, urging him to reconsider his path and heed the mysteries that lay hidden beneath the surface.

Unfazed by the opposition, the boy forged ahead. Every firm motion cleaved through the resistance like a relentless blade. Reluctantly, the currents yielded, guiding him hesitantly toward his destination.

He burst forth from the abyss, hands clasping the forgiving grains of the sunlit shore. A tangible foothold in a realm reborn, at last. Droplets of water ceased clinging to his form, cascading down in a shower of prismatic radiance, each droplet a fleeting prism that refracted the memories of his journey.

They danced in the air, a celestial ballet of liquid gems, as if bidding farewell to the depths which had held him captive. The glistening trail he left behind mirrored his metamorphosis. It spoke of hunger, a desire to prove himself against the shadows that threatened to consume his spirit.

Stretching beyond the sands, a vast expanse of barren land unfolded, devoid of life and sustenance. In the center of this desolate domain stood a colossal mountain, its summit hidden by the clouds.

The boy advanced, eager to commence his climb.

*******

"A way…" he muttered to himself, only to realize he was losing his recollection of the strange mental sequence the more he thought about it. A cold pit formed in his stomach at that revelation, the implications of it weighing on his mind like a heavy anchor pulling him down by its chain.

The flashes were snow in the midday sun, evaporating until there was nothing left save for a vague feeling of being on the verge of a discovery. A silent impulse to do more. Whatever that meant. What more was he capable of right now?

He blinked. Could it be…?

His right hand whipped out towards the wall, as if to break it by sheer force of will alone.

Nothing happened.

Feeling his breath catch in his throat, Finn tried again, imagining some sort of fire or lightning shooting itself at the other end of his room. Once more, though, he got nothing. He gritted his teeth. "Come on," he whispered, bending the cosmos itself in his head in the hopes of seeing a fragment of that power manifest in reality. Predictably, the outcome remained the same.

Sighing, he let his arm fall to his side. He walked back towards his desk and tried to see the items that were scattered across it in a new light. What had just happened, if what he suspected was true, should be phenomenal. There needed to be proof of what he could do now.

It was with a languid motion that he picked up his green notebook and set it aside to look up signs of—

Wait.

That notebook had never been green. Its color was supposed to be white.

As if on command, it turned white again.

For a time, Finn just stood there, frozen in shock. Then he was a whirlwind of movement, turning over each page to see more evidence of the change while trying to invoke that same effect again. Was he really the one doing this? Did he actually have powers? Finally, after all these years?

The pen wasn't spared from scrutiny either, falling victim to thorough inspection as he clicked and turned it at every angle to see if the strange phenomenon he'd just discovered could somehow spread to other things, or if it was limited to one.

Not a second later, he found out that it wasn't. The pen's original dark blue rippled outward over its surface, lightening a bit before settling back into its original color. He pushed the world to do it another time, and that same ripple repeated itself.

He put both items down with quiet reverence, as though treating them too harshly would change what he'd accomplished, and stood straight. The entire space seemed to hold its breath in time with him, because he barely heard a sound while processing this new discovery.

They were real. His powers were real. Feeling the inexplicable urge to confirm them again, he waved a hand.

His vision went dark.

Finn's pulse quickened, panic surging through him. He stumbled backward, colliding with his chair and hitting the floor with a thud. "What…" His voice trembled as he scrambled up, breath shaky. The comforting mess of his room had faded, replaced by looming silhouettes. Eyes darting around as spots cleared from his sight with a series of rapid blinks, he turned his head back and forth. The walls started to close in.

Until they didn't. He took a step forward and noticed the light filtering in from underneath his door, a bright strip in a cocoon of darkness. With that, he calmed down slightly. He visualized the room turning back to its original colors.

And it did. Windows, ceiling, ground and walls lost their black in receding stains, giving way to the usual interior.

That, more than anything, was what convinced him. Not the small changes, but the ability to black out an entire room on a whim. He was superhuman. Only now did he begin to internalize it. That dream earlier had been of a sort he'd heard about yet never personally experienced before. The prelude to one's ability manifestation. It was a widely researched and contested event that had many scientists speculating about their nature, but what everyone agreed on was that all superhumans had at one point had one of these dreams. Since two minutes ago, he could count himself among their number.

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Although Finn didn't smile, he was quite pleased with this outcome. Having the power to do more than waste away among the masses was going to be crucial. Or at least, that would be the case if he could figure out what to do with it, and how it worked. It would require him to test the limits of his new capabilities.

The first idea he had on that front was to grab the pen he'd used his power on and feel for tactile differences when he changed the coloration. Maybe a bit of heat, cold, static. Whatever secondary characteristic he might discover. Unfortunately, the answer seemed to be that there was none.

Aside from the visual distinction from its previous state, the red pen was exactly the same as before he touched it. Even the ink was still blue. That said, he did learn some details. For example, his power was easier to use when he was touching something, though that wasn't a hard requirement. He could also work with lighter or darker versions of the same color, allowing for some nuanced changes on a given surface.

Both those uses were worth exploring further. However, the biggest development was his bangs turning orange. It brought him up short and prompted a quick walk to the bathroom after making sure the hallway was empty.

Inside, with the door locked, he went to stand in front of the mirror. The tiles around him remained untouched. He was the sole focus of his chromatic alteration this time. He watched himself turn gray from top to bottom, with unnatural fiery golden hair sticking out from the rest in stark contrast.

Seeing validation that he didn't have to be all one color spawned more ideas, and he began to try them out. His reflection shifted from black, to white, to yellow, to every other color he could think of. And the various combinations he came up with. Eventually, he settled on trying out the colors of the wall behind him in an attempt to blend in.

He botched it. There was no sugar-coating it. The "camouflage" he had summoned was absolutely awful and wouldn't convince a soul that he wasn't there. If anything, it might make it more obvious that he was here to a passing observer.

Good thing he had time to practice. Undoing his latest attempt reset his "natural palette," if that was the correct term, he held the gaze of his reflection. A pale teenage boy of slightly below average height, brown hair, and bluish-gray eyes. The lean arms adjusting his shirt almost bordered on skinny. He paid it no mind. Physical exercise could come later.

All his concentration went into getting better at being unnoticeable. There was no excuse for being bad at camouflage. If he couldn't do this, he had no business ever using his ability anywhere else. Which was a resolution that led him to train without pause until he was satisfied. Eventually, he had a working preliminary version that proved itself better than not changing his appearance in the first place, even if it was rather monotonous. Complex combinations were still difficult to pull off.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, he was feeling rather satisfied with himself. And he wasn't prepared in the slightest to see his mother standing on the other side, arms crossed.

"Mom?" he said.

"Finn, what were you doing in there?" she asked, her tone sharp albeit not angry. "This is the third time I've come up here to tell you dinner is ready."

"Staring in the mirror," he blurted. A partial truth, if a deceptive one.

Definitely not one she believed, going by her pursed lips and raised eyebrow. "For two and a half hours?"

Every fiber in his body screamed at him to freeze, yet he remained carefully relaxed, doing his best to keep himself from giving a sign that anything was wrong. Two and a half hours. Had it genuinely been that long? He must have been more lost in training than he had assumed.

The question was, how to lie about it? Mom's ignorance was paramount here. She could not under any circumstances find out the truth. She would never understand if he came to her about his powers.

Ultimately, he just stood there and stared in silence. Then he realized the colors on his socks had shifted, and he fought really, really hard not to look down.

"Listen," she continued with a sigh, running a hand through her red hair—actual red hair, not like his poor imitation from earlier. "I know you're a growing boy, and that warrants some 'exploration,' let's say, but I would prefer if we could just eat at a reasonable hour."

Ah. That was… embarrassing. And simultaneously a perfect out. He would have to let her think she was right, as much as it stung.

"You didn't eat without me?" he asked, changing topics.

"Of course not," she replied. "I want to spend time with you. So get ready for dinner, okay?"

"Alright, I'll be down in a few minutes."

"And wash your hands," she called back, heading for the stairs.

Finn watched her leave, moving when she was gone and closing the door to his room immediately.

Minutes. He had minutes. Enough time to make a decision.

What to do from here?

Three main options were available to him. The first was villainy, which was right out. The second was the military, also not ideal considering that it would force him into a command structure with limited upward mobility. Plus, he didn't meet the age requirement of sixteen yet. No way he was going to wait months to start using his power.

That left heroism, the choice he'd been inclined to make already. Typically, you were expected to register with the Department of Heroic Defense and become a government pawn if you received a power. Given the fact that he was a minor, they would have to tell his mother for him to register too, and that was unacceptable. Besides, they would never allow him to pursue his goal.

Becoming an independent was an option as well, except he would have no resources and likely stagnate, forced to patrol the district aimlessly. This was likewise a no-go. He couldn't afford to stagnate.

There was someone he needed to fight, after all.

That left him without a viable choice. If he didn't create an Aegis account, that was.

He rummaged through his pocket, retrieving his phone and searching up the app he was looking for. Having visualized this day for so long, it felt weird to be signing up for Aegis Corp.

An anonymous, decentralized mercenary organization for hero work that had influence in most populated parts of the world. It was a shot at more power that he had to take.

Justifying the decision proved easy in his mind. Even if he didn't take this, everyone knew it was only ostensibly a purely heroic app. Since it was anonymous, nothing stopped villains from gaining access and keeping up to date with public mission postings. Therefore, it was only responsible for him to register. He needed to keep a finger on the pulse.

Loading up the registration screen, he left the name section blank and filled out the necessary information to make an account. It was minimal, all things considered, but that was to be expected. How else would you gain access to the most valuable jobs if no one knew what you could do? He would have to prove himself regardless. And he was intent on doing exactly that.

The home screen had various icons displayed in the middle. Finn tapped the one on the left: the Aegis store.

This was the biggest selling point of the entire organization. In exchange for credits, the currency you received in return for completing missions, you could buy money, weapons, gadgets, primebeast materials, even surgery. If you had the credits, you could buy it. Granted, certain items were illegal to own, but the government had no control over Aegis deliveries.

The sheer breadth of possibilities was overwhelming. He took a moment to steady his mind as he clicked on the mission section.

When was the soonest he could start? Maybe days from now if he went for a combat mission. Taking that into account, he would have to go for other objectives to start out.

Stealth seemed to be the way to go. Similar to Darkshiv, he could spend his time doing stealth missions to gain increasingly more credits and equip himself better. Going this route, he would see no confrontation if he didn't mess up.

Tonight, he concluded. There was no reason to delay if he wasn't going to fight.

Scrolling to the nearest mission under that category, he pressed "Accept."

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